Spirit Tiger (17 page)

She dreamily thought back on her earlier self and how she had made no effort to curb her young husband, but had gone along with what he wanted, never imagining it would ruin them both so utterly. As she recalled, she had never even really fought it, or fought with Ruslan to change his ways. Instead, she drifted calmly with the current he provided, even pretending that this was a normal way to live. Perhaps it was normal, perhaps everyone calculated their winnings, or more specifically their losings, every night and never planned beyond that.

Her plans for a family, for children, for a life of which she would be proud, all faded without her even acknowledging it. It seemed unbelievable that she had let everything go so thoughtlessly. Perhaps she had believed at some point they would be rescued by parents or siblings. Indeed, they had required constant rescuing, but in the end, their families could not sustain it.

Munira believed Ruslan had welcomed the were-tiger as a way of finally leaving a life he could no longer go on living. No doubt, he had never considered what would become of her, because Ruslan had always worried only about Ruslan, and never anyone else. And perhaps she had also never worried about anyone at all, not even herself. Even now, she could not achieve histrionics or simple tears, but only look calmly, even beyond calmly, at what was happening to her. She wondered whether she should make the trip to Pasir Puteh, or end it right here. She had nothing to look forward to and no reason to believe her sister would be overjoyed to find one more destitute mouth to feed. Though she would do it no doubt – out of familial duty and pity.

Munira sat on her small and ragged pile of belongings and stared vacantly into the street.

She would have to do something, but she didn't know yet whether she'd have to do it
now
.

Chapter XXIV

The search for the other Thai thugs had yielded nothing. Osman could find no one who remembered seeing them, and the police in Patani seemed extremely pleased to report that none of them had returned home. Upon further urgent questioning, they admitted they were perfectly happy to maintain this state of affairs, and not at all anxious to remedy it by looking for them. In broken English, the police chief informed Osman they considered it a gift and, indeed, hoped never to find them again in their district. In fact, Osman was welcome to the hoods if he could ever catch them.

He hung up the phone, which had been a real trial, between static on the line and imperfect English on both sides. He was surprised he actually understood anything, but the gist was clear even if the words were not: Thailand had just gladly washed its hands of these men, and no further phone calls would change it. He felt abandoned but didn't know why, since they hadn't been working together anyway. It was up to Malaysia now.

Accordingly, he had Noriah brought into the station, as he himself was too listless to go out to her house and track her down. Maybe the atmosphere here on Jalan Sultan Ibrahim would impress upon her how serious this really was and encourage her to finally cooperate. She was brought in looking put-out and unhappy, her former wide-eyed entreaty now morphed into flintier irritation.

‘Why are you bringing me here?' she huffed as she sat down in the interrogation room, allowing her opinion of the décor to show on her face. ‘You know I'm busy, what with the building and –'

‘Did you know one of your Thais was found dead near Pengkalan Kubur?'

‘My Thais? I have no Thais.' She leaned back with her handbag on her lap, ready to leave immediately if possible.

‘You're not answering me.'

‘I didn't know any of them were dead. How would I? I haven't seen them.'

Osman's patience was quickly evaporating. ‘
Cik
Noriah,' he began, gritting his teeth, ‘we have two men who've been horribly mauled near Pengkalan Kubur.'

He then recalled Maryam's advice regarding the evidence. ‘It looks like a tiger, but we don't think it is. We think it's a person trying to make it look like that. I don't know why either of them was killed, but I can tell you I know both had a connection to you, and I think that's significant.'

He wished Maryam were here. She'd know how to talk to this
Mak Cik
. But Maryam was still in quarantine and Rubiah would not leave her, so he and Rahman were on their own. He felt lost as he steeled himself for the answer.

Noriah considered her options. ‘These Thais you talk about, why do you think they'd be connected to me? You've told me that before, but I told you, they just came down here to prey on me, not because I hired them. Or anything.' She was stopped by the look on Osman's face.

‘We spoke to the police in Patani,' he said tiredly. ‘Your men were bragging in some bar about being hired to come here. I can't wait any longer for you to finally start telling me the truth.'

Noriah sat silent.

‘
Mak Cik
, you will be our guest tonight,' he told her politely. ‘Maybe after that, you'll start cooperating.

‘I don't know,' he said to Rahman, suddenly feeling too tired to even move his legs. ‘I can't stay polite when all around me, I see people trying to deceive me. It can only mean they're hiding something awful.' He sighed, and Rahman looked sympathetic. Noriah looked alarmed.

‘Look,' she instructed him, ‘I think you may have misunderstood. I mean, just not understood my Kelantanese, and so you've drawn –'

Osman shook his head. ‘No.' he said curtly, and turned to leave.

‘You know,' Noriah began, tripping over her own words, ‘I don't think I should be staying here. I'm not a criminal, you know.'

‘That's just it,' said Osman, smacking the doorjamb for emphasis. ‘I don't know. And you can stay here until I find out. I'm just so tired of this.'

With that, he closed the door and left for home. He was more exhausted than the day really warranted, and he attributed it to listening to lies all day. His head pounded, and by the time he reached his house, after the shortest of walks, he was already pale and feverish, alternately hot and cold. Azrina took one look at him and hustled him directly into bed, immediately administering Panadol and hot tea, and he had never been as grateful for her presence as he was just then.

Noriah, meanwhile, was escorted to her cell, where she was dumbfounded by the accommodations. She sat alone, wondering how she had come to this, locked in a dirty jail cell of all places. Surely this was all a terrible mistake, and she'd be released momentarily with sincere apologies and be driven home where she could clean up and relax. She couldn't do it here, it wasn't possible, and anyway, where was that young policeman who was no doubt on his way to take her home and grovel for the mistake? She smoothed her sarong and closed her eyes, imagining herself elsewhere, refusing to think about the death of that Thai and where the other two might be. It didn't matter to her anyway, as long as they were out of her house and life.

Perhaps, she thought pragmatically, it was just as well he was dead, unable to contradict her story. She would not like the police having long discussions with them – if that were even possible, given the language barrier.

She began to feel forgotten here in this awful place and called out to Rahman, whose name she couldn't remember. ‘Young man!'

Rahman knew she meant him. He trudged into the cells, dreading the discussion.

‘Young man!'

‘
Che
Rahman.'

‘Yes,
Che
Rahman. I know you realize there's been a terrible mistake and I shouldn't be here.'

Rahman stood quietly, not wishing to be rude to a
Mak Cik
.

‘I didn't do anything, and I certainly don't know those men, so what could I tell you?'

‘
Mak Cik
, it's no use in saying that anymore. They already told us. The police in Patani, I mean, and we know you hired those men. It would be helpful …' here he hesitated, knowing it was a doomed request, ‘if you would just stop denying what we already know.'

To his amazement, and it would have been to the amazement of everyone who knew her had they witnessed it, Noriah began to cry. Silently, without sobbing, with tears running down her face. It alarmed Rahman, who wasn't sure of the correct etiquette when a
Mak Cik
cries, because he had never seen it. He rushed out for a box of tissues, which he thrust at her and then backed away.

Looking at the ground, not raising her eyes, she told him, ‘I can't stay here, I really can't. I've got to leave.'

On this point, Rahman was clear. ‘I'm sorry,
Mak Cik
, you can't leave. We need the whole truth.' He almost smiled, sure that Osman would be proud of him.

‘It's just that … I'm not the kind of person who should be here,' she sniffed, looking woebegone.

Rahman worked up his courage, threw back his shoulders and acted as a real policeman, not a well brought-up
kampong
boy, would act.

‘
Mak Cik
, there is no kind of person who should be here, unless they've been involved in a crime. And I'm sorry to say, that's you,
Mak Cik
. And you've been lying since you started speaking to us. Maybe if you stay here overnight, it will give you a taste of what it will be like if you really end up in jail, for years instead of one day. You won't like that either, but believe me when I tell you,
Mak Cik
, that is what you're looking at.'

He walked out of the cell area and back to his desk. He was sweating, and his hands were shaking. What if his mother and grandmother had heard him talking that way to a woman her age? Old as he was, they'd twist his ear until he screamed.

The next morning, Osman was in bed with a fever, brought on by his frustration with the case and an almost universal lack of cooperation on the part of any of his suspects. His yearning for some clarity was almost physical, a longing so intense it couldn't be ignored without causing harm.

Azrina was sure this had made him ill and continued to sap his strength. She forbade him to think about the case, but he tossed in a feverish half-sleep dreaming of tigers and jerking himself awake, disoriented and a bit frightened.

Secretly, Azrina cursed the case. It was all this talk of were-tigers that had invaded both Maryam's and Osman's minds, leaving them weak, confused and defenseless against any malevolent forces which might choose to attack them. And the killings seemed to have unleashed no end of these forces, which threatened to fell anyone connected to it.

But she was determined it would not vanquish her, and she would not allow it to bedevil her husband. She would call a
bomoh
and start her counterattack.

Noriah was much the worse for wear after her night in the cell. She had not slept, but waited all night for Rahman to realize his mistake and come to take her home. He never came, though she pictured him up all night as she had been, tormented by having mistreated a
Mak Cik
and wrongly imprisoning her. But Rahman had long since returned home and gone to sleep without a qualm.

Her involuntary tears of the night before had not led to any confession, or even convinced her a confession was necessary. She regarded it as a nervous reaction to the indignity of jail rather than a sign that she could no longer impede this investigation. If Rahman thought it signaled the melting of her defenses, he was badly mistaken and had not reckoned with the pure steel of her will.

As much as she enjoyed thinking of herself in that way, she was indeed losing determination. A lack of sleep, the horrifying cell, and the threat of remaining there for years to come rattled her badly. Leaning her head despairingly against the bars, she stared at the wall opposite, praying for deliverance.

As did Maryam, though in far more salubrious surroundings. She was comfortable in Rubiah's house, of course, and the food was excellent. Pak Lah began his campaign immediately, sending back the curse on Maryam to the one who sent it.

Pak Lah quietly sat with Maryam and Rubiah, working on getting some essence of the curse from Maryam onto something his
jinn
helpers could use to identify the originator of this spell. He had her lie down and grasp some flowers, while he stroked down her arms with cloths, to drive the
jampi
into her palms and what she held in them, which he would then give to his familiar spirit helpers, his supernatural assistants, his
jinn
. They would then find the culprit and infect them with this sickness.

He was not happy flinging about this kind of malevolence, but it was a horrible thing someone had done to Maryam. Now he believed the best way to cure her would not just be to work on her, but to actively hurl back such evil, thereby freeing an innocent person while punishing the guilty.

Mamat could not sit still, thinking about how he had been so cruel to Maryam when she was the victim of a curse, not the active force in her own downfall. He had blamed her, he had banned her from her own home, when she was the victim. He should have protected her, but had only made it worse, and he was now filled with guilt. He should go to her and apologize, he acknowledged that, but instead, he allowed his own shame to keep him from it. Mamat, plagued by an active conscience, was at every moment planning to see her in an hour or so, but managed to keep postponing it. Still, he realized just the act of seeing her would make him feel better.

Ah Pak was planning a wedding, and should have been happy, but he seemed listless and jumpy. His wife was concerned. Her husband had always been an amiable man, enjoying the groups of men at his store to discuss birds, enjoying his own flock, enjoying his home and family. For the past two weeks, he'd asked his daughters to feed the birds, while previously, he wouldn't let anyone else near them. He looked them over in the evenings with an indifferent eye, not even reaching in to pet them or even bothering to check on whether the girls had actually followed his orders. He was a different man now, an uncaring visitor, shuffling around the house and store with little interest in anything. His wife feared he'd been possessed by a
pelisit
and his soul was in danger. He himself believed he was eaten up with guilt and afflicted by this, and his suffering was really no more than he deserved.