Spirit Play

by Barbara Ismail

  ‘The kind who never spent a cent,’ Mat stated firmly. He lowered his voice and looked hard at Rahim. ‘But they say…’

  The two men carried on a silent conversation as Maryam watched them. It seemed as though they came to a conclusion, and Mat cleared his throat.

  ‘That is, they say, you know…’ he hesitated, and Maryam forbore to encourage him, fearing he would stop altogether. ‘His family has had, well, a familiar spirit, they say. For a long time.’ He nodded again, and looked around furtively, as though the very mention of it might summon it to appear before him.

  ‘Really?’ Rubiah asked. ‘And that’s how he got rich, through this evil spirit?’

  Rahim answered, his eyes still on Mat. ‘He keeps it in a bottle,’ he added, his voice hardly above a whisper. ‘I’ve seen it on board sometimes. It looks like a grasshopper.’

  ‘He feeds it on his blood,’ Mat murmured. ‘You know, he pricks his finger to feed it. Or his wife does, and it’s robbed her of her mind. And it goes out and brings back money for him. Or makes sure money comes to him,’ he amended.

  Rahim picked up the thread. ‘It’s not just fishing. How do you think they got all the rice land they have?’ Maryam looked interested but said nothing.

  ‘They got it all during the war, the Japanese time. People were losing their land left, right and center, families had nothing to eat except what they could catch. But this family collected land. They never suffered when the Japanese were here.’

  Maryam had heard of families collaborating with the Japanese and growing wealthy but didn’t expect to run into one of them here, now.

  ‘But,’ she sputtered, ‘do they still have it?’

  The two men nodded solemnly. ‘They never let go of anything they get,’ Rahim assured her. ‘They still have it.’

  ‘It isn’t just the Japanese, it’s that evil spirit as well. And you don’t want to talk about it too much, in case Murad notices. He could send it after you, Mak Chik, to punish you for talking about it.’ He was speaking faster now, more nervously. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t say anything, but you must be careful.’

  ‘He still has it,’ Mat added. ‘It’s still active. Believe me. The other owner of his boat didn’t make much when he sold it. Just him.’

  Mat then stood up to leave and said his goodbyes. Rahim stood to follow him, but first dug his toe into the sand and kept his gaze on it.

  ‘You must be careful,’ he said softly. ‘You don’t know how he could be if he thought you were after him. And his familiar, it knows things, and it won’t like you asking questions. You may not believe me,’ he lifted his head suddenly, and looked right at her, ‘but I’m telling you the truth.’

  He looked around nervously, then leaned forward to them. ‘Look what happened to Mak Chik Jamillah!’

  ‘Was that the familiar? Why?’

  Rahim appeared to be in an agony of apprehension. He whispered again. ‘It didn’t want her asking questions about the boat! It’s protecting the money!

  ‘They say,’ he added hoarsely, ‘there was a huge grasshopper in her yard for the next couple of days, and no one could kill it.’

  With an anguished glance, he said goodbye and began to walk away. But his manners got the better of him.

  ‘Come,’ he said, returning to them. ‘I’ll find you a taxi.’

  Chapter 10

  IT HAPPENED SO FAST, Maryam could never really remember the order of events. She had just left her yard with a particularly good batch of blue rice which she felt she must share with Rubiah (who ought to have been impressed, it was really that good) when she was felled by a hard smack across her forehead, which dropped her unconscious onto the path before she could utter a sound.

  The heavy stick with which she was hit made a solid thud as it connected, and this alarmed the geese. Their frantic honking and flapping brought Mamat down the steps to investigate, and in the dark, it took him a few moments to see Maryam lying still and silent, the plate shattered and rice, chicken and vegetables flung to the ground.

  He did not remember calling out as he rushed to her, but it brought the neighbors, who helped him carry her into the house and lay her down on the couch. In the light, he could see her forehead, already swelling around a braided mark. They all recognized it: the enam sembilan, or 6-9, was a traditional Kelantanese weapon, generally used to teach a lesson rather than for mayhem. A club wrapped in thick rope at both ends, it could pack a wallop, and also left a distinctive bruise—the rope pattern. It was not used to kill, but to humiliate.

  Aliza slipped out of the door, walking around the edges of the small crowd surrounding her mother. She stood on tiptoe, peering over the shoulders of the neighbors to see her mother lying deathly still on their living room couch and her father’s panicked face. She also heard the murmuring of concerned neighbors. She went silently and swiftly through the village to Rubiah’s house, arriving out of breath and with growing anxiety.

  ‘Auntie!’

  Rubiah came to the door, wiping her hands with a dishrag. ‘Liza? What’s happened?’ She took in Aliza’s red face and the tears starting to stream.

  ‘My mother, Auntie! Someone hit her on the head! It looks like she might be…dying!’

  ‘God in heaven!’ Rubiah cried, ‘I’m on my way.’ She hurried down the stairs, followed by a frightened Aliza. As they hurried past Aziz’s house, Zaiton called to her from the top of the stairs.

  ‘Liza! Where are you going?’

  ‘Something’s happened to my mother,’ Aliza told her, calling from over her shoulder as she ran home.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think she was hit with something. Over the head.’

  ‘No!’ Zaiton ran down the stairs and clasped Aliza’s hand, pulling her towards the house. ‘Tell me what happened!’ she demanded.

  Aliza pulled her hand away. ‘I don’t know yet. I have to go back home!’

  ‘Wait!’ Zaiton tugged at her harder, pulling her off her feet.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Aliza was becoming frightened; this girl no longer seemed like the one she knew.

  ‘Aliza?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Let me get up,’ she said slowly. ‘Wait a minute.’ She got up gingerly, feeling her knees, testing them, to see if they had been hurt. It appeared they had not. She limped a few steps toward Zaiton. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nothing.’ The two girls stared at each other. ‘Just come with me to my house.’

  Aliza shook her head. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just so we can talk.’ Zaiton tried to smile and take Aliza’s hand again. Before she could grasp it, Aliza whirled away and ran as fast as she could towards her own house.

  ‘Dad!’ she screamed as she ran, ‘Dad! Help me!’ She tripped on a large rock, and was flung headfirst onto the path, hitting her head as she fell.

  As she passed, neighbors poked their heads out the windows and started down off their porches. Aliza lay dazed in the dust, her head seeming to pour blood on the ground. Zaiton, in hot pursuit, almost fell on top of her, but was seized in the unyielding grasp of one of their neighbors.

  Three women pulled Aliza to her feet and started walking her home; she was barely conscious. They half-walked, half-dragged her into her own yard, where her sister Ashikin was already running towards her. When she reached Aliza, she folded her into her arms.

  ‘Sister!’ Aliza pitched forward in a dead faint, bringing both of them to the ground.

  Daud, Ashikin’s husband, was there immediately, standing in front of them both to protect them, while Ashikin called for help. Zaiton was soon frog-marched in, held in the unsympathetic grasp of two of their burlier neighbors.

  ‘What’s this?’ Daud demanded of Zaiton.

  She stared up at him, her eyes wide, unable to speak. Aziz now burst into the yard, stopping short before he tripped over his daughter. He looked wildly from Daud to Zaiton, taking in Ashikin and Aliza sheltered behind him. ‘Why?’ he finally aske
d Zaiton. She burst into tears.

  ‘We saw Aliza fall,’ one of the burly men said sternly. ‘Zaiton was chasing her, and she tripped on a rock.’ He then turned to Daud and spoke kindly to him.

  ‘These head wounds bleed a lot,’ he explained, ‘but she still needs a doctor.’

  Daud and the neighbors were now in animated discussion with Aziz while Zaiton crouched behind her father, wailing. The men ignored her, while the women went inside for cloth and water.

  ‘I don’t know what she’s doing or why,’ Aziz insisted heatedly to Daud. ‘I only heard someone fall, so I went out to look.’

  Daud turned his most threatening face to Zaiton. Had she not been beside herself, she would probably have remained serenely unthreatened. But she was now caught up in her own hysteria and beginning to choke on her sobs. ‘Where’s Rahim?’ she babbled. ‘Is he inside?’

  ‘Rahim?’ Aziz looked momentarily mystified, and then horrified. ‘Is he here? Did you see him tonight?’

  Zaiton continued crying, and in towering frustration, her father slapped her, hard. She fell silent immediately. He looked over at Daud, abashed, but relieved to have quieted her. ‘Now, tell me!’ He commanded her. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ She threatened to break into tears again, but a good look at her father’s face convinced her to avoid it. ‘I thought maybe…’

  Osman shouldered his way into the crowd, and looked down with evident surprise at the girl squatting in the dirt.

  ‘She tried to grab Aliza,’ Daud explained quickly. ‘She chased her to stop her from coming home, and she tripped on a rock. We need a doctor here, too.’

  Osman turned and signaled his men; the doctor was now working on Maryam and would next move on to Aliza. Osman hated to see the whole family involved.

  ‘We’re trying to find out why. Which is hard!’ Daud added in frustration.

  Osman turned to Zaiton, ‘Well?’

  ‘I was looking for Rahim.’

  Osman looked confused. ‘Why Rahim? Why Aliza?’

  Zaiton gave a monumental sniff and looked around at the faces before her. None seemed particularly sympathetic—or that patient, for that matter. She decided it best to talk quickly, before her father moved to hurry things along again.

  ‘I thought he might be here. Because, you see…’

  Aziz snorted impatiently. ‘Listen to me, daughter, you’d better talk and talk fast, or else…’

  ‘I thought he might come here to talk to Mak Chik Maryam. About my mother’s death. If he were here, I wanted…to know,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘Did you think he might hurt her?’

  ‘No! Of course not! No, I just wanted to find out what happened to Mak Chik Maryam.’ She turned to her father and spoke rapidly. ‘He wouldn’t hurt anyone, Dad. He’s a good man. No, I wasn’t worried about that, just that I didn’t know what happened, so I was…worried.’

  ‘What did she say?’ Osman asked Daud, cursing himself again for not understanding.

  ‘She only wanted to find out what happened.’

  The doctor came down the stairs, looking for his next patient. ‘How is my mother?’ Ashikin asked while cradling the still quiet Aliza.

  He grunted. ‘I’m putting her in the hospital now; it’s just to be on the safe side. Concussion possibly. But we have to be careful. That’s going to leave a nasty bruise. I haven’t seen an enam sembilan attack for…I don’t know how long. What’s it about?’

  Ashikin shrugged.

  ‘Another concussion? What’s going on here?’ The doctor then knelt down next to Aliza, looking concerned. He wiped away the blood, still streaming down her forehead. He shook his head sadly.

  ‘She’s also going to the hospital. Her daughter?’ Ashikin nodded, tears spilling from her large eyes.

  ‘They should go quickly,’ he said to Osman. ‘I’ll go with them.’

  Moments later, an ambulance came screaming into the village, lights flashing. Maryam, Aliza and the doctor, accompanied by several policemen with strict orders not to let the two women out of their sight, were soon rushing back to Kota Bharu.

  Chapter 11

  OSMAN THOUGHT HE WOULD go mad with worry. He had patrolled the hallways of the Kota Bharu General Hospital too often. In fact, Rahman (his sidekick, as he thought of him) had only recently been released after a serious head injury nearly cashiered him. And now Maryam and—worse—her young daughter were here with similar injuries. (Although, he fervently prayed, not as critical as Rahman’s.) He ought never to have asked Maryam to help him, but how was he to know her daughter would also get involved? He peeked into their rooms and continued to pace the corridors.

  Maryam was awake, but groggy, constantly running her fingers along the heavy rope pattern on her forehead. Mixed into her anger and fear was humiliation: she had been branded a busybody, carrying a mark every Kelantanese would recognize as a warning to cease interfering. Never mind that she was working at the express request—no, demand —of the police. That might not be immediately apparent, but the mark she now bore certainly was.

  She had not yet been told about Aliza, and Mamat was dreading the conversation. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so guilty; he had never encouraged Aliza to be involved and had not known she was. (Even if she was, he didn’t feel he had a real grasp of the story). But he felt obscurely that, as her father, he should have somehow known and stopped it. He thought grimly he should put a stop to it now, and also insist that Maryam stop investigating, once and for all, but he also knew that now she would never give it up until she found out who had done such a thing—not only to her, but to her daughter as well. He sat outside Aliza’s room, his head in his hands, considering his inability to protect his family, and occasionally, when he heard Osman’s footsteps, lifting his head to glare at him.

  Aliza had narrowly avoided serious damage but had a large and ugly scar on the back of her head which had, of necessity, been shaved. It wrung Mamat’s heart to see her without her hair, looking so small and vulnerable. Ashikin spent most of the days she had been in the hospital sitting with her, even sleeping there with her.

  Ashikin had also called her brother Azmi, serving in the army, who had been granted leave and rushed back to Kota Bharu. Maryam had been amazed and delighted to see him, but it frightened her too. She had begun to suspect, in a confused sort of way, that something else was terribly wrong. Why else would Azmi have left camp to come back?

  The family gathered in Maryam’s room, and she watched with mounting fear as they all walked solemnly in, even Yi carrying Ashikin’s daughter Nuraini. At any other time, this would have set off a torrent of baby talk and delighted smiles all around, but now only Yi paid attention to her. ‘Where’s Aliza?’ Maryam asked, not as clearly as she would have liked.

  Mamat looked uncomfortable and took her hands. Maryam began to cry. ‘What’s happened to her? Is she dead?’

  ‘Why would you think that?’ Mamat cried. He flinched from the very thought.

  ‘No, Mom,’ Ashikin swiftly took over. ‘She’ll be fine. She’s here too. I’ve been with her the whole time.’

  ‘Tell me.’ Maryam attempted to stop crying, but could not. Mamat sat next to her, his arm around her shoulder, trying to calm her. ‘Sayang, sweetheart, she ran to get Rubiah when you were hurt. And on the way back, you see, Zaiton tried to grab her, and…’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It seems Zaiton thought Rahim…is that the right name?’ Ashikin nodded. ‘She thought Rahim was there, when you were hurt. That she thought Rahim had hurt you.’

  ‘Rahim?’ Maryam seemed dizzy.

  ‘Well, that’s what she said. And she grabbed Aliza when she was coming back home, and Aliza fought with her to get free, and she fell.’ Mamat sat silent.

  ‘And…’ Maryam prompted.

  ‘And she hit her head on a rock.’

  Maryam began crying again. ‘Oh no! It can’t be!’ She looked around. ‘Where is she? Is she alright?’

  ‘She
’s getting better,’ Ashikin assured her. ‘She still doesn’t remember what happened very well, but the doctor says she’ll be fine.’

  ‘They had to shave her head!’ Yi piped up.

  Maryam stared at him. ‘Oh no! When can I see her? I want to see her right now!’ She climbed out of the bed and stood up, looked around, and fainted. Mamat caught her and placed her back on the bed, with Azmi’s help. ‘You didn’t have to tell her that!’ Azmi told Yi. ‘She didn’t need to know that right away!’

  ‘Stop,’ Mamat said tiredly. ‘She’d find out anyway. It doesn’t matter.’ He turned to Ashikin. ‘Can she walk yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet, but Aliza’s young. She’ll be better very soon.’

  ‘I can’t take both of them sick.’ Mamat sat down suddenly on the bed. ‘I just can’t.’ Ashikin sat next to him with her arms around him.

  ‘We can help, Dad.’ She gave Azmi a meaningful look.

  ‘I’m here now,’ Azmi said, taking his cue. Azmi was tall and lean, and looked a great deal like his father, with high cheekbones and large eyes. The army had whipped him into excellent shape, and he was strong and confident, a son both Maryam and Mamat were immensely proud of, and certainly, in this dire situation, a welcome source from which the whole family could draw strength.

  His father, for the first time that Azmi could remember, looked haggard, and his strong-willed mother had just passed out. He felt as though he had entered an alternate universe, where the parents who had always cared for him, sometimes more than he wanted, now looked to him for guidance. He and Ashikin would have to care for their family.

  He’d seen Aliza, so fragile with her head shaved, looking like an injured bird, and Yi, lost with no one to care for him. Daud was taking him home to his own family, ostensibly to help with Nuraini’s care, but mostly to have him safe and surrounded by family. It was clear Ashikin was needed by her parents, and he could at least take Yi off her mind.