“What?” Osman asked. He couldn’t credit what he thought he’d just heard.
“I didn’t want to lose another musician,” Dollah repeated. “Well, what could be done for Ghani now?”
“But you knew who killed him. Why couldn’t you have told me, instead of making me run around and taking some real chances?” Maryam demanded.
Dollah shrugged again. “I didn’t think it would make much difference.” He explained. It was dawning on him that Maryam didn’t share his perspective. Neither did the police.
“Not make a difference! What are you talking about? I wouldn’t have nearly died because of the jampi under my stairs, I wouldn’t have been pushed off Hassan’s porch, I wouldn’t have gone to Kuala Krai; twice! Aisha might have been saved, I don’t know for sure,” she added honestly. “But maybe Arifin and Rahman wouldn’t have been hurt. What do you mean, not make a difference? You’ve almost killed me, saying nothing. And you may still have killed that poor policeman: still a boy, really.”
Dollah sat silent. Finally, he eased out a few words. “What’s done is done.”
“Not exactly.” Osman looked uncharacteristically stern. “You’ve misled the police. You’ve tried to cover up a crime. You know that’s a crime in itself.” Osman was magisterial. “We’ll see about this.”
Dollah stared at him, his mouth hanging open.
“And you, Abang Dollah, what have you done?” Maryam regained the lead.
“What?” He appeared confused.
“Why were so you anxious to stop me looking? Was it losing another musician?”
“What do you mean, Kak?” “You tried to kill me.”
“No, I never did anything like that.”
“You put the jampi under my porch.”
“Not me.”
“Who else would do it?” she badgered him. “Why would anyone else do it?”
Dollah narrowed his eyes. “You’re wrong, Kak. You were right about everything else, but you’re wrong about this. I wouldn’t do that. I’ve worked for you! You paid us for the performance! Why would I want to kill you, or maybe your children?” He shook his head deliberately from side to side. “That’s something I would not do.” He glared at Osman, daring him to contradict this statement.
“There’s no one else, Abang,” Maryam said quietly. “It has to be you, and I’m tired of lies.”
Osman stood up to go. “We’ve heard enough, Pak Cik. You’ll be coming with us now.”
Dollah leapt to his feet. “Wait a minute,” he ordered them. They all stood, looking at him. “It was Hassan,” he said desperately, “It was him. I didn’t want to say anything because, well, I didn’t want to get him in trouble. But he did it. I wouldn’t!” He looked from one face to another, begging them to believe him. “I’ll go with you to Hassan. We can have it all out there.”
Maryam was not happy about this plan. She’d promised herself never to set foot in Kampong Laut again. She pulled Osman’s sleeve lightly. “I don’t know, Che Osman,” she began, but Osman interrupted her.
“No.” he said firmly, and then repeated that “No”, this time more softly. Osman nodded and rose from his seat. “Come with us now, Pak Cik. We’ll have to talk at the station.”
Dollah looked around his house. “I don’t think…”
“Come now,” Osman said gently, and he took his arm to guide him down the stairs to the waiting car.
Chapter XXXIII
I don’t care what you think anymore. You’ve ruined my life.” Zurainah picked viciously at her thumb, keeping her gaze well away from Maryam. The visiting room at the Kota Bharu’s Women’s Jail was utterly depressing: its drab and dirty gray walls exuded untold hours of hopelessness, anger and despair.
“I have?” Maryam was amazed. “How did I ruin your life?”
“You found Arifin. Now I’ll be all alone with my children. Everything was going fine till you had to come snooping around.”
“It’s my fault your husband killed Ghani?”
“Why couldn’t you just leave it alone? What would have been so terrible if he wasn’t found? We’d live here quietly; no one would ever have any trouble from us again.”
“It’s nice of you to say,” Maryam offered sarcastically, “but you’ve both done quite of bit of damage already. Arifin’s killed someone, maybe two people, and you’ve tried to. Doesn’t that deserve some punishment?”
Zurainah dismissed it. “Ghani teased him. Ghani knew what he was like. He pushed him. Ghani should have known to leave him alone.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Maryam declared.
“You can’t keep baiting someone like Arifin. He has a temper. It was Ghani’s fault to keep teasing him. You know, I’m not saying Ghani deserved to die, but honestly, he knew he was playing with fire. But that was Ghani all over: he never learned.”
“Are you telling me that murder is justified because of a schoolyard fight?”
“Maybe not to you,” Zurainah retorted. “And that’s why you tried to kill me?”
“I didn’t try to kill you; stop whining, Mak Cik,” Zurainah said nastily, and very rudely. “I just wanted you to leave us alone. Pak Cik Dollah was trying his best, but you just won’t listen.”
“Did you put the jampi under my stairs?”
Zurainah shrugged. “What does it matter who put the jampi there? I’m not in here for that, you know.” She began to gather intensity. “I’m here because I tried to push you into the road …”
“Under a car,” Maryam corrected her.
She shrugged again. “I don’t know what the big deal is. You seem OK to me.”
Maryam was outraged. “I seem OK to you? You could have killed me! Haven’t you any shame at all?”
“I could have killed you. But I didn’t. They can’t keep me here for not killing you, Mak Cik.”
Maryam sighed and rose. “I don’t have anything to do with what’s going to happen to you, Alhamdulillah. I’ve had enough trouble to last me my whole life,” she said fervently. “I’m just asking you: did you put the jampi under my house? Did Dollah help you?”
She shook her head. “Dollah wouldn’t have done it. He’s very straight that way. He wasn’t happy with Arifin, I can tell you.”
“I can imagine.”
Zurainah brushed her comment away. “Can you help me get out of here? I’ve got to get back to take care of my kids.” She looked straight at Maryam as though willing her to reply.
“I have nothing to do with this, I told you. I can’t do anything.”
“The police listen to you, Mak Cik. I’ve seen it,” she wheedled. “I know you can help if you want to.”
Maryam sat very still, not reacting. She didn’t think she could help, even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. Zurainah would always be a menace to anyone she considered in her way. Maryam reviewed all the new scars to her body and her sense of well-being. Her face, her arm, her bruised hip; and this didn’t include her belief in the world as a safe and ordered place, which was completely in shreds. It had been a brutal investigation, and Maryam wondered whether all investigations were like that and all murderers so completely uninterested in the people around them. She waited another moment and then stood to leave.
“I went to a bomoh in Bacok,” Zurainah finally admitted, examining her thumb with great interest. “He gave me the jampi.”
“Did Arifin know you were doing it?”
“Of course; I told him. He came with me to put it under your stairs. He knew where you lived.” She sniffed. “Too bad, right, Mak Cik? I guess you’ll be careful whenever you reach under the house now, won’t you.”
“I will,” Maryam nodded.
“You’d better watch yourself,” Zurainah hinted darkly. She stood up, and smirked at Maryam. “Go ahead, tell the police,” Zurainah mocked her. “See if I care anymore. You’re a nosy old woman and you’d be better off staying out of other people’s lives.” With that, she walked to the door and signalled to the guard. The inter
view was over.
Chapter XXXIV
Osman was awakened from what seemed like his first decent sleep in weeks. He fumbled at the phone, hoping it would not bring him another crime so hard on the heels of the one he had just solved. Or someone, anyway, had just solved. “Hello,” he mumbled sleepily.
“Wake up!” His mother’s voice crisply commanded him over the phone. “Are you asleep?”
“What?” He sat bolt upright in his bed, welcoming the familiar sounds of Perak Malay. He tried to gather his wits about him, feeling he might need them for the upcoming conversation. “What is it, Mak?”
“I’ve found her!” she announced proudly. “You’re getting married!”
“I am?” he mumbled, unable to get his bearings. “Someone from Perak?” he asked hopefully.
“What do you think?” his mother demanded. “Wake up!”
He arrived at Kampong Penambang in the evening, when he calculated supper would have long been over and the dishes put away and Maryam wouldn’t feel obligated to feed him. He suspected she’d feed him anyway, and the thought did not distress him.
“Come in, come in,” Mamat invited him from the porch, where he sat with his birds, feeding mashed bananas to one in his lap. “I can’t get up,” he apologized, but you can go inside. Yam!” he bellowed without moving, “We have a guest!”
“I’m getting married,” Osman blurted, even before he reached the top of the stairs, “My mother called last night.”
“Well, well,” Maryam smiled. “Anak baik, menantu molek: a good child and a pretty daughter-in-law. Your mother now has it all.”
Osman blushed and smiled sheepishly; maybe even fatuously. “It’s about time,” Maryam congratulated him, ushering him into the living room and giving Aliza the sign to prepare a tray. “I think you’ll be much happier married. Have you heard, Mat?” She turned as he came in the door. “Che Osman here is getting married.”
“Well done!” Mamat congratulated him.
“I didn’t really do much of anything,” Osman explained to his widely grinning audience. “I mean, it was all my mother …”
“It always is,” Mamat assured him gravely. “A Perak girl?”
Osman nodded. “My mother knows her parents. I think we might be cousins somehow, I’m not sure. I don’t know her, I mean …”
Maryam beamed. “Well, I’m so proud! Your first big case, and now you’re getting married!”
“Well,” he explained, “I know. I guess.”
“No, really,” Maryam assured him. “You know, you’re getting used to your job, now you’ll be married, it’s all growing up! After all, who doesn’t get married?” she declared firmly.
“You’ll still help me, won’t you?”
“As though you might need it,” she scoffed. “You’re a professional …”
“The Chief of Police,” Mamat interrupted. “An important man.”
“Right,” Maryam agreed. “Besides, I’m not sure I like this kind of thing. It’s very hard on me. Falling down stairs,” she shuddered and the men looked pained, “being run over. Honestly, I’m thankful I wasn’t killed. And Rahman…”
They stood silently for a moment. “It seems wrong to be happy about getting married when he’s still in the hospital,” Osman said mournfully. I don’t know when he’ll wake up.
“But he’s still with us,” Maryam countered. “He’s a young man and strong.” She paused briefly. “We must believe God will help him. Bring him back to his family.”
She shook her head as though to clear it of these thoughts and concentrate on more practical matters. “I’ve never had people trying to kill me before. I don’t like it,” she said firmly. “I’m staying with my songket. You never get attacked in the market.” She turned briskly to Osman as Aliza set down a tray with dinner, “Come, sit and eat. You look hungry.”
Osman demurred, more from politeness than conviction, and Mamat put friendly though forceful hands on his shoulders and put him in his seat. “I’m glad to be out of it,” Maryam continued, “I don’t think it’s for me.”
“You’re very good at it, Mak Cik,” Osman assured her. “You should think about it. You have a gift for finding things out, you know.”
“You mean give up my stall? Never. I like to be where I know just what I’m doing. Besides, I like the market. You don’t meet a very nice group of people investigating a murder. I never suspected our own people could be so vicious. And rude! It’s another world,” she said philosophically. But to think what goes on right here without us even knowing about it! People doing things I just can’t believe. You haven’t been here very long, Che Osman, and maybe you think it’s like that here all the time, like the Wild West. But it isn’t: it’s very calm and peaceful
“And people care about each other. Kelantan is such a good place,” she explained to him, fearing he might not believe her. “We have manners, you know, and people help one another.” She looked over at Mamat, who nodded in agreement. “Of course, I knew there were people like Faouda and Zurainah, I’m not naïve, but I never met them! I never wanted to meet them either, and to deal with them? I don’t think so.”
Osman nodded, his mouth full of rice and curry. He widened his eyes in an attempt to look interested and alert, a man fully engaged in the conversation. Maryam, however, was not even paying much attention to him.
“I would never have believed women would act this way. Not that I’m saying it’s OK for men, you understand. But women are supposed to be more, I don’t know, thoughtful. Sensible. This has been quite an education, and I’m glad you’ve caught the murderer,” she said graciously. “But maybe from now on, your wife can help you.”
“But she won’t speak Kelantanese either,” Osman said quickly, nearly choking on his rice in his hurry to convince Maryam otherwise. “It will be impossible, you see …”
“Oh, don’t worry so,” Maryam waved a dismissing hand at him, “How do you even know anything else will happen? You could spend the next five years here with nothing more serious than someone accusing their neighbor of stealing a chicken, and then finding the chicken wandering around down the street. Murder doesn’t happen here all that often.”
“It might start,” Osman answered somewhat glumly. “I might have just gotten here at the start of a new crime wave.”
“I hope not, for your sake,” Maryam answered quickly. “I can’t imagine what this place would become with so many killers around. We’d all be dead in the road! No,” she moved the cigarette between her lips to free up both hands to pour more coffee. “I don’t see a lot of trouble here anymore, not with these murderers put away. We’ll all be safe in our houses now.”
Osman swallowed hard and ducked his head. “But you’ll help me if there’s trouble, won’t you?”
Maryam didn’t answer him, but gave Mamat a proud and satisfied grin. “We’ll have to see, Che Osman. Now, why don’t you concentrate on what you’re eating?”
Malay Glossary
Abang: Older Brother, a term of respect for someone somewhat older than you are. May also be used as a term of respect to a man roughly your same age
Aduh: An exclamation of pain or surprise
Alamak: An exclamation of surprise
Alhamdulillah: Thank God
Atap: Nipa Palm leaves used for thatching roofs
Ayah: Father
Azimat: Talisman, usually protective and worn on the person
Baju Kurung: The traditional dress of a Malay woman consisting of a round necked, long sleeved blouse ending between the hips and the knees, with a sarong underneath.
Batik: Wax print patterns on a cotton cloth. Also used as a generic for a woman’s sarong
Bomoh: Healer, both with herbs and spells
Che: Short for Enche’, mister
Cik: Miss
Dalang: Puppeteer
Golok: Machete (Kelantanese)
Halal: Food prepared according to Muslim law
Ikan Bilis: Dried anchovies
; Ikan Keli: A species of catfish with a poisonous spine
Imam: Muslim religious official
Jampi: Magic spell
Jawi: The Arabic based script in which Malay was written before the English arrived.
Jodoh: The person you are fated to love
Kain Songket: The queen of Kelantan’s textiles made of silk with gold or silver geometric patterns woven into it.
Kak: Short for Kakak, older sister, a form of address for someone a bit older than you are. May also be used as a term of respect for a woman roughly your same age.
Kampong: Village
Kasehan: A pity
Kecubong: Datura: a poisonous jungle plant
Kedai Runcit: General Store: also a small stall selling necessities in a village
Khadi: Muslim Religious Official
Kurang ajar: Insufficiently taught: rude and badly brought up
Lebai: Religious Official
Maghrib: Prayer at twilight
Mak Cik: Auntie, a polite form of address for an older woman
Masjid: Mosque
Merbok: Zebra Doves, raised for their song and often shown in competitions
Nasi Kerabu: Rice dyed blue, served with mint, basil, lemongrass, kaffir lime, torch ginger flower buds, raw vegetables, egg, grated coconut, chili paste and black pepper. Often sold as hawker food, wrapped in a banana leaf, and a popular lunch at schools.
Nenek: Grandmother
Niat: Intention
Onde-Onde: Small cakes made of rice flour, coated with coconut, with Gula Melaka (palm sugar) in the middle
Pak Cik: Uncle, a polite form of address to an older man
Panggung: Stage: usually a raised hut closed on three sides with a sheet stretched across the front for the shadows to play upon
Pantun: A Malay quatrain
Parang: Machete (Malay)
Pasar: Market
Pasar Besar: Main Market
Petai: Jungle Beans, foul-smelling beans in long pods
Sarong: A tube of cloth reaching from waist to ankle: usually in batik patterns for women and plaids for men. The cloth is tied on the side for women and folded over the center for men, and is worn ubiquitously in Kelantan and other traditional areas of Malaysia.
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