Shadow Play

by Barbara Ismail

  “Who knows?” His mother answered for him, “I’ve seen a side of Zurainah I never thought I would. I would never have believed, never, that she would try to push you in front of a car, Kak.” And yet…” she paused, thinking. She shook her head almost absently.

  “You have a family,” she explained to Maryam. “Your kids are married and have their own kids. You think you know them, both your son and your daughter-in-law. But you don’t.”

  She gave Arifin a hard look, but after all, he was her son. Of course, she’d want to blame someone. and Arifin was her own boy.

  “Whatever Arifin did — may have done,” she corrected herself, “it was because of her,” She finished with an air of satisfaction, as though she had set the record right. “This was all in Arifin’s mind,” she put her hand on Maryam’s arm to ensure her attention. “You should believe me when I tell you.”

  “Maybe,” Maryam tightened her lips. “But no matter what may have pushed you, Che Arifin, you still killed a man who had done nothing to you.”

  Arifin’s mother jumped in immediately as counsel for the defense. “Nothing? First Kak,” she held up her finger. “I’m not saying my son has actually done anything. We don’t know, do we?” Maryam gave her a rather cynical look, but stayed quiet. “But even if he did, and again, I’m not saying he did, it certainly wouldn’t be considered nothing if Ghani interfered with Zurainah. That’s a serious crime, even a religious crime. You can’t just wish that away.” There was a battle light in her eyes as she rode to her son’s defense. Maryam knew she would object to almost anything she said, but she plowed on.

  “That’s what made you kill him, wasn’t it? He was teasing you and you let yourself get that jealous. It’s hard to believe you killed someone for something so meaningless.”

  She let her words hang in the air, listening to the muted noise from outside.

  “You’re being charged,” Osman added from his corner, “for Ghani’s murder.”

  His mother gasped and put her hand over her mouth, her tears starting again. “You can’t,” she cried. “You don’t know what happened, and besides,” she looked around frantically, “there are children to consider here. Children without a mother!”

  “I guess it’s over,” Arifin lisped through his swollen lips. His mother let out a long, low moan and buried her head in her hands.

  “Never mind,” he said vaguely. “He always made me think it could’ve happened with Zurainah. That night was awful. Poor Aisha! She was there with her brother, and there’s Ghani threatening to divorce her.” He paused to recover his energy. He could barely be understood through his broken face, but they all listened intently. “I thought he said that because he wanted to marry Ainah. That’s what I really thought.” His mother continued her keening.

  “He came back into the panggung after Aisha left, crying so, and lay down with his golok. ‘I can’t take any more,’ he said. Mahmud, the serunai player, told him to shut up. ‘You’ve put her through hell,’ Mahmud told him. ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to go through a little yourself.’ Ghani tried to answer him, but then everyone told him to shut up, so he went to sleep.”

  He stopped and panted. He was clearly tired. “I lay there thinking about all those things he’d say about Ainah, getting madder and madder. Then Ghani got up to go outside. Everyone was asleep, I thought, and I followed him out. He put the golok on the ground and I grabbed it and killed him. It was so quick,” he marveled. “So quiet. I couldn’t believe I’d done it. I stuck the golok back in the ground and wiped my hands with his towel.

  “When I turned around, I bumped right into Dollah. ‘What the hell have you done?’ Dollah asked me. I didn’t need to explain.”

  He panted again and gestured toward a glass of water on the bed table. Osman held the straw for him to take a drink. He nodded and breathed with his mouth open, deep gasping breaths. “Dollah smacked me across the face and told me to get back into the panggung and keep my mouth shut. He came in and we both lay down. You saw us in the morning.”

  “Why would Dollah protect you?” Maryam was shocked to hear this.

  “Don’t know.” Arifin was falling asleep. “Doesn’t matter. What can you do?”

  “What will we do?” his mother plucked at Maryam’s sleeve. “What will happen to him?”

  “Jail, I guess,” Maryam shrugged. She looked at Osman, who nodded.

  “But, can’t you … I mean, look how ill he is,” she babbled. “Don’t you think it would be better just to let him go home?”

  “You mean to just forget about it?”

  She nodded eagerly. “Exactly. Of course, he’d never do anything like this again!”

  “No,” Osman shook his head slowly. “I can’t do that. There’s also the police officer in a coma, damage your son caused.”

  “ “But the children!” she reminded him, clearly not listening to anything he said. “I think it may have been Zurainah at the bottom of it all,” she continued, speaking faster with each succeeding word, “I don’t think Arifin really knew what was happening, you know. I think…”

  “Mak Cik,” Osman said calmly, implacably, “murder is murder.”

  Chapter XXXII

  I didn’t think it would be Arifin,” Maryam confided to Osman over a large iced tea at Rubiah’s stall. The upper floor of the market was empty now, in the quiet between the high tides of morning and afternoon shoppers. “I really thought he was killed because he took a second wife. I didn’t dream it wouldn’t have anything to do with that at all. It was just a schoolyard fight, if you ask me.”

  Rubiah leaned her elbows on the counter, flicking a dish of cakes towards Osman with a meaningful look. “He killed Ghani because Ghani teased him. They’re just boys! Never grew up.”

  Maryam lit a cigarette and passed them around. “How can you explain something like that? A young man losing his life for really no reason at all. At least if there was something beneath it all. But no! Nothing at all, not even something going on with Zurainah. And now he’s dead, and Arifin, well, I suppose he’s as good as.” She looked over at Osman who had a mouthful of cake.

  He swallowed guiltily, as though he’d been caught stealing. “He’ll be in prison for his whole life, unless he’s hanged.” He stopped. Perhaps that wasn’t the right thing to say in front of ladies. These ladies, however, took it well; they had suspected such an outcome all along. “You’re right,” he hurried to agree. “He hasn’t got much of a life in front of him.”

  “The poor children,” Maryam sighed. “I feel so sorry for them. And they’re so young. They’ll never remember their parents.”

  “I guess they’ll grow up in their grandparent’s family,” Rubiah said briskly. “And do the best they can. What else is there to do?

  They nodded as Osman chose another cake. “At least now I know why Zurainah pushed me. It made no sense if it wasn’t to protect her husband. But, Che Osman, what about the jampi at my house?” Maryam asked. “It wasn’t Arifin. Someone tried to kill me,” she reminded him. “Whoever it is, he’s still out there. It’s dangerous!”

  Osman nodded. “And there’s one more piece to be fitted into this puzzle.”

  Maryam feared her calmness misled him into thinking it wasn’t terribly serious. “This has to be solved. It isn’t funny, and it isn’t a small thing.” She paused, thinking. “Who do you think did it?” she asked Rubiah.

  “One of the dalang,” Rubiah answered evenly, her eyes on the counter. “It makes the most sense. Besides, I’m concerned about what Arifin said about Dollah.”

  “Me, too,” Maryam nodded. “He saw Ghani was dead and went back to sleep? And then pretended the next day he knew nothing about it? What do you think about that?”

  Osman could think of nothing to say. ”You know, Mak Cik,” he began, “I just can’t think clearly about Arifin just now. I’m so worried about Rahman, still unconscious. I mean,” he continued, struggling to describe exactly what he felt, “It just seems to matter less to me. I don’t ca
re what happens to this guy.”

  “I know,” Maryam sympathized. “But we can’t just stop. We’ve got to finish this up.” She put her hand on Osman’s arm, pulling his attention back to the matter at hand. “Could it have been he wanted him dead?” Maryam continued. “We’ve got to bring him in.” She turned to Osman. “Or should we go to his house and see him there? He’s always turning up at my house to hand out misinformation. Maybe we should do the same.”

  “Lie to him?” Rubiah asked.

  “No such thing,” Maryam affected to be offended. “No, just talk to him when he hasn’t had time to prepare some flowery explanations.”

  She wanted to tug on Osman’s sleeve and force him to bring the case to a close. She, too, was deeply worried about Rahman, but there was still Dollah’s role in the murder, which couldn’t be ignored. “Come on,” she ordered Osman. “Let’s go!”

  They pulled up to Dollah’s home, a small plywood house nestled among fruit trees. It was an idyllic setting: the perfect Malay kampong as described in pantun and song. Quiet and green, shaded by short banana trees as well as towering coconut palms, the road winding through rice paddies and rubber groves. Maryam admired it as she stepped from the car. It was lovely, but too far from the market for Maryam’s taste. Her foray into Ulu Kelantan had forever cured her of believing she wanted to live in a small house surrounded by nature. She wanted to live where it was busy – and not too far from work.

  She called from the bottom of the steps, and Dollah’s wife came to the door, dragging three toddlers clinging to her sarong behind her. She was a pretty girl with a long, thin face and a chipped front tooth and she immediately invited them up. “Don’t stay down there with the sun beating on you, Mak Cik; come up here where it’s cooler.” She smiled, inviting them into the house, away, thankfully, from the burning sunlight.

  In one corner of the room was a sofa with matching armchairs, all made of rattan, and a small coffee table. This was clearly for entertaining. The children retreated with their mother to the kitchen below this room. Dollah himself was sitting in the corner, leaning against the wall reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. He rose immediately: “What a surprise! Please come and sit down. We’ll have something right away for you.” He guided them over to the sofa and sat down across from them in a chair.

  “How are you all?” he gave his widest smile.

  Maryam nudged Osman in the ribs, signalling him to speak. “We’re here to talk to you, Pak Cik,” he began, avoiding small talk and getting right to the point. “We’ve found Ghani’s killer.”

  “No! Really?” Dollah put on the appearance of fascination. “Who was it?”

  “Don’t you already know, Abang?” Maryam asked quietly.

  Dollah made a face and shrugged his shoulders, signifying complete ignorance.

  “Are you sure?” she gently prodded. “He said you saw.” Dollah sat very still, but didn’t reply.

  Maryam shook her head slightly. “I hoped you’d make it easy for us all, Pak Cik. Well, never mind. He told us you saw him when he killed Ghani. He also said the two of you went back into the panggung and pretended not to know what happened in the morning.”

  “Who said that?” Dollah tried to laugh. Maryam and Osman sat quietly, watching Dollah, who swallowed hard.

  “He did. He’s in the hospital you know. Badly hurt.” Osman added. Dollah looked surprised.

  “I know, it’s shocking, isn’t it?” Maryam took over. “But we were talking with him at the police station, and he suddenly jumped up and bolted out. You should have seen him take off, Pak Cik! One of the younger guys chased him down, but Arifin was running so hard he ran straight into a car. And so did the policeman chasing him. Right in the middle of Jalan Temenggong, too.” She sighed. “That young policeman is still in the hospital,” she said severely, “neither dead nor alive. “

  Dollah was staring: this was clearly news to him. “I thought you knew,” Maryam informed him. She looked at him keenly, trying to decide whether his surprise was mimed or real. “Arifin’s in the hospital now. Broken bones, bruises, cuts,” she waved her hand as if dismissing his injuries. “He can hardly talk. But he did talk, Abang. He knew it was the end for him and he talked.”

  Dollah’s wife came in with tea and cookies. She was clearly alarmed when she looked at his face, but he didn’t acknowledge her. They sat in silence waiting for Dollah to say something. He opened and closed his mouth as though getting ready to speak, but no sound came out.

  Maryam had never seen Dollah so disconcerted. He was the epitome of self-possession, never at a loss for words, always knowing the right thing to say. He finally cleared his throat.

  “Really?” he managed.

  Maryam nodded, and waited again.

  “Well.” He seemed incapable of continuing, but a look at his audience told him he must. His wife leaned over, but he abruptly waved her away, and she retreated to the kitchen with her children. They all sat on the steps, leaning into the room, listening.

  “He told you want happened?” Dollah’s voice was hoarse.

  “Yes he did, and I believe he told the truth because he’s afraid of dying. He’s pretty badly hurt.”

  “No!” Dollah lit a cigarette to give himself something to do. “My God, what next?”

  “What next indeed, Abang? Perhaps you would tell us your version of what happened that night.”

  “Not much to tell.” Dollah was beginning to recover and attempted to dance around the facts. “Ghani was killed in the middle of the night.”

  “By whom?” Maryam prompted.

  Dollah looked at her, clearly calculating what exactly Arifin had said. He sputtered, “You already know, so why do you…”

  “Pak Cik Dollah,” Osman sputtered. “If you won’t talk here, we can talk at the station. This has already gone too far.” He looked at Maryam and inclined his head.

  Dollah slumped in the chair, putting his head back against the brightly flowered cushion. “I didn’t kill Ghani. Why would I? I’ve known him since he was a child. He was more like my son. But he got himself into a world of trouble with his second marriage. I couldn’t believe he did it, and I told him so.

  “I think he regretted it as soon as he left Kuala Krai: he was hoping once he got home it would all go away and she’d disappear into the ulu. When she showed up here, he was furious. He loved Aisha, you know. He’d flirt with every woman he met, but he loved Aisha, and I believe until this thing, he never considered marrying anyone else.” Dollah shook his head. “He was more talk than action, really. I don’t think he even fooled around. Ghani always wanted everyone to think he was a ladies’ man, and had girls all over Kelantan, but I don’t think he did. He talked big, that’s all. Memakai kulit harimau: he wore a tiger’s pelt but he was no tiger.

  “Anyway, that night, what a mess. Aisha shows up with Ali, and you’ve already heard, haven’t you, about the huge fight? Ghani took the golok and sat with it right next to him. Then that second wife shows up with her new husband. Ghani didn’t care. She didn’t care either: she just wanted to show him she’d married again. So that’s OK, no fights there; I just worried she’d meet Aisha, and I didn’t want Aisha to be more upset than she already was.”

  He sighed again, this time filled with real regret, and told the story about the confrontation. “Aisha was heartbroken. I felt so bad for her.

  “I gave him a good talking to before he came up into the panggung again. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’ I asked him. ‘How can you tell that poor girl you’ll divorce her after what you’ve done?’ I smacked him on the top of his head. ‘For God’s sake, Ghani! I’m ashamed of you.’

  “He looked a little embarrassed, and said he told Aisha they’d talk it over when he got home. He told me he didn’t really want a divorce, he just lost his temper when Ali asked him to see a bomoh to make sure he stayed faithful. I told him he was wrong to get angry; he should be doing everything he could to make it up to his wife. I think he agreed.

>   “We were all going to sleep, and Ghani kept teasing Arifin. They always fought like little boys. You know, Ghani would tease Arifin and tell him how much he liked Zurainah, and Arifin always fell for it. Ghani was really relentless that night; I guess he was blowing off steam from his fight with Aisha. I finally told them both to shut up.”

  Maryam listened in something close to bewilderment. It was hard for her to consider all this was going on so close to her house, and she was completely unaware of it.

  “I heard Ghani go out while it was still dark, and then I heard someone go out after him. I got up to see what was going on, and when I reached the fence, Ghani was already dead. So quick. Arifin was standing over him, holding the bloody golok. It looked black in the darkness,” he remembered dreamily. “It didn’t look real.”

  “I was completely shocked, Kak,” he appealed to Maryam. “I couldn’t believe it. Arifin just stood there, staring at Ghani. He took Ghani’s towel, and wiped off the golok, then stuck it into the ground, up to the hilt. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked him. I mean, it’s a stupid question, but you can’t even think in a situation like that. Your brain is completely frozen. ‘I’ve done it,’ he says to me. ‘I’ve killed him.’ I smacked him right across the face. Idiot! It was unbelievable.”

  “And then?” Maryam prompted.

  “And then I told him to go back to the panggung. I did too, and just lay there thinking about it. What was there for me to do? Sudah terantok, bharu tengada: you look up only after you’ve bumped your head. Ghani, poor thing, was already dead. I didn’t want to lose another musician.”