Spirit Play

by Barbara Ismail

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m confused.’

  ‘You certainly have a right to be!’ Rubiah declared. ‘Maybe you need to rest.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Maryam said fretfully. She turned to her side, wincing. ‘It hurts when I move.’

  ‘No surprise about that. Look what you’ve just survived.’

  ‘Wake me when you find out how the others are.’ And almost as soon as she closed her eyes, she was asleep.

  The hallway of Kota Bharu General Hospital had become a makeshift triage staging point and pandemonium reigned. Osman tried to cut through the crowd and reach the doctor in charge to get some kind of report. He found him in the emergency room, stitching up the neighbor who had first been stabbed. ‘You’ll be alright,’ he assured him tiredly. He turned to give the nurse some instructions, then turned and found Osman.

  ‘The police, right?’

  Osman nodded. ‘What’s the summary here?’

  The doctor blotted his forehead with his sleeve. ‘It’s unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything like it. Let’s see, I have a middle-aged woman admitted, with wounds in the shoulder and arm. She’s got stitches but seems stable.’ That would be Maryam, Osman guessed.

  ‘I have a young woman with a blood transfusion, she’s lost a lot and I don’t know the prognosis. Her husband is in with her. I can’t even operate until she stabilizes.’ Zainab.

  ‘Two other women with cuts to the arm; the wounds have been closed, they’ll be alright. A man admitted, nasty cut to the arm, just missed killing him. He’s getting blood, and I think, I hope, he’ll be alright. The man with the keris? He killed himself. Fell on it. He’s dead.’ The doctor was silent.

  ‘And one young woman lost too much blood, she died a few minutes ago, poor thing. Never regained consciousness.’ He shook his head slowly.

  ‘Zaiton?’ Osman asked with a slight quaver in his voice.

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t remember her name. She’s in there,’ he pointed to a room at the end of the hallway.

  Osman took the long walk down the corridor, not wanting to find what was at the end. Rahman joined him on the march. ‘Any dead?’ he asked.

  Osman nodded, suddenly too dejected to speak, and Rahman maintained a discreet silence. In the room were the two bodies, father and daughter. Zaiton looked like a wax doll, so white and bloodless.

  Osman stood over her, and began to cry, making no noise, tears falling out of his eyes. Such a waste of two lives, both so very young. It was more than he could bear. Rahman stood quietly next to him, a solid presence. ‘What drove him to it?’ he finally asked, but Rahman had no answers.

  After several days, the uproar died down. Injured villagers returned to their homes, wounds began to heal, the first, overwhelming shock of the disaster ebbed, leaving Penambang to interpret what had happened, able to consider it now rather than freezing into immobility.

  Maryam was back at the market, unable to move her arm, but comforted by the noise and the bustle which formed the background to her daily life. Ashikin sat next to her, with Nuraini on her lap, helping show the fabrics and keeping her mother occupied with the baby.

  ‘Isn’t it fun coming to work?’ she cooed to her grandchild, passing her a stream of snacks and stuffed toys to keep her smiling. ‘Are you happy here?’

  Nuraini’s shrieks of glee made clear she was. Customers stopped by and smiled at the three generations manning the stall and could not resist chucking the baby under the chin while they were there. And then, of course, buying something. Maryam sighed with contentment: life got no better than this, and furthermore, lunch was to be delivered right to the stall!

  Osman, however, had not been able to fall back into a comforting routine, though Azrina tried her best. She urged him to declare the case closed—three of his suspects were dead, and it appeared that everyone involved with the case had lost the impetus to continue digging. ‘Please,’ she implored him. ‘I think everyone’s been through enough. One of them must have done it!’

  He looked at her with exhausted eyes which sleep itself did not seem to cure. ‘That isn’t how I look at it,’ he tried to articulate why he was so unsatisfied. ‘I want the person who was actually guilty.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Mak Chik Maryam about it?’

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t bother her right now. It isn’t fair.’ With that, if nothing else, Azrina agreed.

  And then a call arrived: a policeman at the tiny station near Semut Api contacted Osman on the crackly phone line, clearly excited about having vital information to be passed on to headquarters.

  ‘Chief Osman?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered slowly.

  ‘Zainal Abidin here, from Pantai Cinta Berahi police.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I thought you would like to know…(here crackling intervened)…came back from Thailand. He’s here now!’

  ‘Who?’ Osman felt a spark of excitement.

  ‘Rahim! He’s back from Thailand, staying with his parents.’

  ‘Really? I’ll be right out. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere!’

  ‘Will do!’ Zainal Abidin said smartly. Osman could almost hear him salute over the phone.

  Chapter 33

  ‘WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?’ Osman demanded.

  Rahim hung his head and looked abashed. ‘Thailand,’ he mumbled.

  The two of them sat in the only chairs in the small police hut, on the beach. Rahman and Zainal Abidin were lounging outside on a bench, drinking iced tea and swapping stories of the force. Every policeman in Kelantan had heard about Rahman’s capture of the murder suspect at the Kota Bharu market, and his subsequent injuries, and Rahman was not averse to retelling the tale yet again.

  ‘Well, you certainly haven’t helped your wife much, have you? You just left her here to fend for herself? Do you know what happened to her?’ Rahim sat there dumb, as Osman grew angrier.

  ‘She confessed to killing her own mother,’ Osman continued. ‘Can you imagine how confused and guilty she must have been? And you were in Thailand,’ he said witheringly. ‘Too embarrassed to help her.’

  Rahim seemed to have turned to stone, unable to move or think. Finally he squawked, ‘She confessed to you?’

  ‘Yes, she did,’ Osman assured him. ‘Before she died.’

  Rahim stared at him.

  ‘You knew she was dead, didn’t you?’

  ‘I just heard. That’s why I came back.’

  ‘It’s a pity you didn’t come back earlier, when you could have helped her.’

  ‘But I was thinking of going back,’ he said, slowly. ‘I mean, the baby and everything…’

  ‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’

  Rahim stared at him, apparently unable to understand the question. Osman prodded him.

  ‘Not since I left.’

  ‘But you knew she confessed.’

  Rahim nodded, still looking surprised.

  ‘Why did you leave?’ Osman was growing more furious with each question and halting answer, and he could not really explain why. It seemed that all his wrath and fear were focused on Rahim; someone had to be at fault for all that had happened. He knew it wasn’t fair but was unable to control it.

  ‘My parents thought I should.’ Rahim now looked uncomfortable. ‘They heard she’d confessed, and thought if she killed her mother, then who else wouldn’t she kill?’

  ‘Is that fair?’ Rahman interjected, he and Zainal Abidin having listened at the door. ‘I mean, do you think she did it?’

  ‘She said she did.’

  ‘Did she talk to you about it?’ Rahman took over the questioning, as Osman looked ominously as though he might explode.

  ‘She did the night before. She told me then.’

  ‘And you said…’

  ‘What could I say?’ Rahim protested. ‘I was shocked, surprised, I didn’t know what to say. “You killed your mother?” ’

  ‘Did she mean to, do you think?’

  ‘Kill her? I don’t kno
w.’

  Osman abruptly jumped back into the interrogation. ‘Rahim, that isn’t an answer. Perhaps it would be best if you come back to Kota Bharu with us. We can talk more easily there.’

  ‘Wait a minute! My parents…’

  ‘They can come too,’ Osman fairly spit. It would be much better to have Maryam talk to him, he was too angry to get anything done.

  But the station in Kota Bharu was crowded and loud. Rahim’s mother protested loudly that her son had been dragged—yes, dragged!—from his home in Semut Api all the way to Kota Bharu for no reason. No reason at all! Even the cups of coffee provided to her did not lower the volume.

  Rahim sat at the table, lighting one cigarette from the butt of the last, his coffee cooling in front of him. Zainal Abidin wandered around the office, asking about everything, exclaiming in delight at the equipment available.

  And finally, Maryam and Rubiah came in, taken from the market against their will, part resigned, part sulky, prepared with their own cache of cakes. They both gave Osman disgusted looks as he held the door open for them to come into the room. Even with the door closed, the hum of noise still penetrated, though it was not as piercing as it had been with the door open.

  ‘He just came back from Thailand,’ Osman explained to them.

  ‘Why?’ Maryam asked.

  It took Rahim a moment to realize he was supposed to answer. ‘Oh! I heard what happened.’

  Maryam looked at him, saying nothing.

  ‘You know, about Aziz becoming amok.’ He gestured towards her arm. ‘I see you were hurt…’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Maryam agreed. ‘I was.’

  He gulped.

  ‘So, you came back here when you heard Zaiton had died?’

  He was silent, as though he didn’t realize anyone was speaking to him.

  ‘Rahim!’ Maryam ordered in her most military voice. ‘Answer me!’

  ‘Oh. Yes, when I heard she had…died.’

  ‘And the child, too, of course.’ As soon as she said it, she berated herself for meanness. Was that really necessary?

  He sat stone-faced.

  ‘And Aziz and Jamillah,’ she continued inexorably. ‘Except for Zainab, who lost so much blood she’s still in the hospital, nearly the whole family is gone. What a tragedy.’

  He mumbled something unintelligible.

  ‘What?’ she prompted him.

  She realized he was talking to himself, not paying any attention to her. She waited. Whatever he was doing, he needed to finish this discussion with himself before she could continue questioning him. She was becoming impatient but knew that interrupting would just drag out the process, and she was interested in learning how this argument would end.

  He drew his sleeve over his forehead and covered his eyes with his hands. ‘I can’t,’ he said clearly, and shook his head. He looked up at her, rose from his chair, and paced the length of the table. ‘I just can’t,’ he repeated, louder this time. Then he sat down.

  It seemed he had come to a decision. He looked at Maryam and then at Osman. He put his hands flat on his knees and bent over. ‘Alright. I’ll tell you.’

  They waited silently.

  ‘I did it.’ He was rocking back and forth. ‘I did it, and I let Zaiton confess to it and probably drove her father to amok, and I knew the truth all the time but didn’t say anything.’

  It was now Maryam’s turn to stare. Rahim was moaning softly. ‘I should have stopped her, I know, but I couldn’t think of any way to do it except to tell her it was me who did it, and I was afraid. So I let her confess and went home, and listened to my parents tell me to leave her because she killed her own mother. But it was me.’

  ‘And we thought you were so nice,’ Maryam said with a note of disillusion. And then she thought about what she’d said. ‘You’re a good liar,’ she continued. ‘Very cool, you didn’t flinch when we were questioning you.’

  ‘I know. I just didn’t think about it.’

  ‘There are people who would have trouble doing that.’ She paused. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  He rubbed his hands on his sarong, as if to clean them. He sighed. He asked for coffee, for cigarettes. ‘Tell me,’ she ordered him again.

  He lit his cigarette and stared at the floor. ‘Zaiton thought her mother would come around to let us marry,’ he began, his face smoothing out as he spoke, as though the very act of unburdening himself would ease his conscience.

  ‘I knew she wouldn’t. I’d had a talk with her, you see, the day before the main puteri. My family had already gone to ask for Zaiton, but her parents were very vague, very non-committal, and my father noticed it right away. He said it was no use, they wouldn’t agree.

  ‘So I thought, maybe if I talk to Mak Chik Jamillah and tell her how hard I would try to be a good husband, she’d change her mind. She was the one against it, you see, not Pak Chik Aziz.

  ‘So I spoke to her. She wasn’t feeling very well, I knew that, but after all, Zaiton was having a baby and we didn’t have lots of time. I told Zaiton to tell her mother she was pregnant—that would change her mind for sure. But she wouldn’t.’

  Rahim shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t do it. She was afraid to tell her parents; and was hoping to get married without anyone finding out.

  ‘So, when I went to speak to Mak Chik Jamillah, she didn’t know, so she didn’t understand why I was so anxious. She tried to be nice about it, and said she didn’t think I was ready yet to support a wife. A polite way of saying I was too poor, I suppose. Maybe if I worked hard and made something of myself, she said, we could marry then.

  ‘Well, even if we had time for that, Zaiton would be long married to someone else by that time. I told her then. About the pregnancy. I did.’

  He looked up at them, to gauge their reaction. Maryam identified with the mother; how would she feel if Daud had told her that about Ashikin? She’d be livid, and she imagined that was just what they were going to hear now about Jamillah.

  ‘She was furious!’ Rahim continued, validating Maryam’s surmise. ‘I thought she’d kill me. Really. She threw me out of the house.

  ‘Before the main puteri started, she said something to Zaiton like “We have a lot to talk about”, or something like that. Zaiton told me to meet her at the house when it was all over, and we’d talk to her together. I didn’t tell her about my conversation with her mother. Plenty of time for that, I thought.

  ‘So, after the ceremony, Zaiton was putting her mother to bed, and she leaned out the window and called me to come in. I did…’

  ‘Through the window?’ Osman asked.

  Rahim nodded. He seemed to enjoy his recitation. ‘Mak Chik Jamillah was really tired. I could see that. She told us, “I don’t have the energy right now. We can do this tomorrow.”

  ‘And Zaiton said, “Why can’t you just agree now? Why are you being so difficult?” Her mother just looked at her, and told her that she knew she was pregnant, and she was ashamed, and she wouldn’t decide anything now. And she lay down, you see, and Zaiton lost her temper. I think she fell asleep in a second, like that!’ He clapped his hands and lit another cigarette.

  ‘Zaiton just stood there, wringing her hands. “She’ll never say yes!” she kept saying. I told her “Don’t worry. She has to. We’re having a baby! Just wait.”

  ‘But no, she just kept moaning about how her life would be ruined now. But really, Mak Chik,’ he asked Maryam directly, ‘what mother is going to stand in the way of her daughter marrying if she’s already having a baby? It doesn’t make any sense.’

  Maryam had to agree. ‘Is that why you did it? Got pregnant, I mean.’

  Rahim blushed. ‘No, it was a mistake. It never should have happened.’

  ‘But if it hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to marry her, you know.’

  He shrugged. ‘Anyway, Zaiton got more upset, and finally pushed her mother to wake her up, but she was too deep in sleep for that, and she rolled over on her face. “Leave her there,” Zaiton said. Then
she had to go back into the living room with all the relatives. I stood there, ready to leave, and then suddenly, I thought, maybe I can get rid of all the problems about getting married. If Mak Chik Jamillah were gone, it would go smoothly. Pak Chik Aziz would agree, we’d get married and no more arguments. I wouldn’t have to worry about the next day and how she would scold both of us and maybe scold my parents as well. Just like that, it seemed like a good idea and the perfect time to do it. Who would know? No one.

  ‘I don’t know what came over me, Mak Chik, I really don’t. I just rolled her over again to face the wall and held the pillow over her face. She didn’t struggle much. I held her neck to do it faster. Then I put the pillow back on the bed and went out the window.’

  ‘And you never told Zaiton.’

  ‘No. You know, afterward it seemed like a dream, like I didn’t really do it. It only took a minute, someone else’s minute. Maybe I should have told her so she wouldn’t blame herself. But I thought she’d be angry at me.’

  ‘Angry at you? I should think so!’ Maryam could hardly believe he worried about that after committing murder. ‘You weren’t afraid to kill her mother, but you were afraid she’d be angry at you.’

  ‘I guess,’ he said lamely. ‘I just wanted things to go smoothly.’

  Chapter 34

  OSMAN AND AZRINA CAME to the house, to find the rare sight of Maryam and Rubiah lounging around on the porch, smoking cigarettes and drinking iced tea with sweetened condensed milk, congratulating each other on the end of the case.

  ‘Mak Chik!’ Azrina cried as she mounted the stairs, Osman trailing behind her. ‘You really found the killer!’

  Maryam was modest, dismissing it as though it was the kind of thing she regularly managed every week. ‘But how are you?’ Maryam asked.

  They sat down on the porch, and Osman passed out cigarettes. Maryam lazily called for Yi and ordered him to get more iced tea from the stall close by and to bring out the tray of cakes. ‘Ordinarily, I wouldn’t do this,’ she apologized.

  ‘But we’re taking the day off,’ Rubiah explained. ‘After the case and all.’