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  ‘Indeed.’

  Kamal grew angry. ‘She’s a very delicate woman. She devotes herself only to her family. To my father and to me. She doesn’t need to run around in the market like some.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’ Rubiah asked, dangerously soft.

  ‘Why, Mak Cik Jamillah! My father says she spent time in the market to gossip and to loaf. To talk to other men. That was perfect for Pak Cik Aziz,’ he said. ‘A lack of modesty. My father says if you act a certain way, then you are inviting certain things to happen to you.’

  Outside on the porch, Mamat and Rahman sat perfectly still, expecting an explosion.

  ‘Is that what you think of everyone in the market?’

  Hayati first realized his mistake. ‘Not everyone …’

  Maryam cut her off. ‘I asked him.’

  He floundered. ‘Well, my father says …’

  ‘That Mak Cik Jamillah deserved what happened to her?’

  ‘Not really.’ He snapped his mouth shut as though he would never open it again. ‘I didn’t mean it that way.’

  ‘Perhaps you felt that you would be the person to deliver what you think Mak Cik Jamillah deserves.’ Maryam’s head had begun throbbing again. These people were literally driving her crazy. ‘Did you think that?’

  ‘Me?’ Now he looked frightened. ‘No, I would never … Why would I? I’m just telling you what we thought. You asked me that! Not that anyone would do anything.’

  ‘How could you think such a thing, Mak Cik?’ Hayati chimed in, looking nervous herself.

  ‘How can you be so disrespectful of Mak Cik Jamillah? She was working, just like you say you do. How have you been raised?’ Rubiah burst out, unable to hold back any longer. ‘Kurang ajar! Badly brought up! And you so proud of yourselves when you should be ashamed. How dare –’

  At this juncture, Rahman charged into the room, anxious to avoid physical violence, which he felt might be mere moments away. ‘I think it’s time I brought these two people home, don’t you?’ he began hopefully.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Rubiah ordered him. ‘We’re not finished yet.’

  ‘You aren’t?’ Hayat squeaked. Maryam surmised it must have been one of the only times in her life where she did not look pleased with herself.

  Maryam turned to Kamal. ‘Your mother told the police she was with you on the night I was attacked. What does that mean?’

  ‘Well, it means we were together …’

  ‘She wasn’t asked who she was with, just where she was.’

  He bristled. ‘My mother never lies.’

  ‘Then tell me, where were you?’

  ‘I … I don’t remember.’

  ‘But you remember being with your mother.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, afraid to commit himself to any one story.

  ‘I ask you now, again, where were you? The night Mak Cik Jamillah was killed, and the night I was attacked. Where were you?’

  ‘Are you accusing me of killing her? Of hurting you?’

  ‘Not right now.’

  ‘I can’t remember. You’re confusing me.’

  ‘I have heard your family keeps a pelesit, and that’s how you’ve gathered your money.’

  Now he was angry. ‘That’s not true! I don’t believe in such things anyway. And besides, it would be evil. How can you say that?’ He turned to Rahman. ‘Is she allowed to say such things?’

  ‘It’s just a question.’

  ‘It’s wrong. I won’t discuss it.’

  ‘I’m done,’ Maryam said to Rahman. ‘They can go home.’ Sandwiched between Rahman and another policeman, who without touching them, still appeared to be leading them, they were escorted to the car without a word.

  Maryam rubbed her forehead, trying to still the throbbing, but it wouldn’t stop. She leaned back in her chair, and Rubiah went to fetch her some tea.

  ‘You know, I never believed the pelesit story, and still don’t. But after listening to him, I may be willing to change my mind. She took a long sip of tea and closed her eyes. ‘And I apologize, Rubiah. You were absolutely right about that girl.’

  Rubiah nodded quietly, her correct assessment was beyond discussion. ‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘She’s as bad as her mother. Worse, maybe, because she’s still young. Can you imagine her at Noriah’s age?’ She walked into the kitchen with her eyes closed, trying to blot out the vision she had just conjured.

  Chapter XX

  Pak Nik Lah was preparing for the ceremony, as he always did: talking to the family, chatting with neighbours, and in this case, even speaking to the police about Maryam’s role. Speaking to Maryam herself, he found the conversation turning more towards Jamillah, as Maryam peppered him with questions with far more determination than he approached her. Afterwards, he was amused to find that she was as skilled an interrogator as he, though admittedly their styles were quite different.

  Pak Nik Lah took a far more avuncular, even passive role, encouraging his informants to speak at will, following the wanderings of their mind with interest. Maryam could appear either sweet and motherly, completely sympathetic, or stern and motherly, tolerating no evasions, demanding a straight answer. The bomoh was unused to being on the informant’s end of the conversation and found he talked as much as anyone.

  Maryam told him about her illness: the aftermath of a concussion, complicated by what appeared to be a rational fear of more attacks to come. She told him of her previous case, and the black magic, together with poison, which had been used against her. At that time, at least, she’d found the charm, and she was grateful it hadn’t touched any of her children. But now, though the enam sembilan assault had been directed entirely at her, Aliza had been hurt in what Maryam considered a related act of violence.

  ‘And I can’t even find out who did it!’

  ‘Do you have any ideas?’ asked Pak Nik Lah gently. ‘I’m sure you have your suspicions.’

  She thought for a moment. Pak Nik Lah offered her a cigarette and she accepted it absently, took a deep drag, and started speaking slowly, as though just now putting into words what had been inchoate thought.

  ‘I like Rahim. I do. He’s a hardworking boy; well, a man really. And even though I can’t condone what he and Zaiton did, at least no one else was hurt. During my last case, everyone I spoke to had second wives, and their first wives were miserable. Now Rahim, he did the right thing as soon as he could. But I wonder …’

  She stared off into the greenery. ‘Is he protecting someone else?’ she mused. ‘Zaiton says she told her mother, who agreed to the marriage, but that doesn’t mean much because I can’t check it. But then,’ she now argued for the other side, ‘what else could Jamillah do? Forbid them to marry when her daughter was pregnant? Of course not!’ she answered her own question. ‘It’s impossible. She’d allow them to marry, no, she’d force them to marry.

  ‘Did Zaiton realize that? Well, she should have! She’d have no reason to fear her mother’s refusal.’

  ‘And Rahim no reason to protect her?’

  ‘I doubt the two of them have ever discussed it,’ she said morosely. ‘He’s in love with her; he’d do anything to keep her safe and happy, don’t you think?’

  ‘Me? I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ Maryam corrected him. ‘You spent time finding out about Jamillah and her family, and even Murad and his. You probably know the killer already; you just don’t know you know.’

  This was an interesting angle. He considered all he’d found out, trying to perceive it differently and see if a suspect jumped out at him. He leaned back against the wall and drank some more coffee in the companionable silence. Finally he said, ‘I don’t want to accuse anyone without evidence.’

  ‘Just give me your impressions of the people. You have no idea how much that would help me.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ he agreed, and then sat silent, gathering his thoughts.

  ‘Jamillah, as I said, was troubled. I think she felt herself becoming less im
portant to her family, with her children grown and Aziz preoccupied. It happens a lot at that age, I think. She worried Aziz would leave her, though I couldn’t see any real reason why she thought so.

  ‘He was worried about money, after that deal he had with Murad. I didn’t ask about money details because it doesn’t concern me.’ He paused. ‘She detested Murad, which is no surprise after what happened, and his wife as well. Jamillah thought she was faking her vagueness to cover up how jealous she was of her.’

  ‘Why jealous?’

  ‘Jamillah worked in the market, had freedom, had friends. She wasn’t bossed around by her husband.’

  ‘I should say not! She made most of the money, I’ll bet.’

  Pak Nik Lah smiled. ‘Maybe. But she lived the way most women live here, I think. Murad would never let his wife work in the market, or socialize with friends. She lived a very lonely life, and Jamillah thought that made her spiteful. She knew about the pelesit they kept, and she said it was really Hamidah’s, that she cared for it, and she sent it out against Jamillah to drain her spirit and make her as unhappy as Hamidah herself.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t tell you if it wasn’t to find her murderer.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Aziz knew Murad and Hamidah well, they’d all grown up together. I wondered if Jamillah thought Aziz still had feelings for her?’

  ‘Still?’

  The bomoh looked slightly pained. ‘Apparently they had crushes on each other as kids, before he met Jamillah, and before her marriage to Murad was arranged. I don’t think that means anything, and it hasn’t since before they were both married. I did wonder if that would have led Murad to take advantage of him, maybe to get back at him for all those years ago.

  ‘Whether Hamidah herself had anything to do with the sale of the boat and which investors were paid, I also don’t know. Murad and Aziz had a fistfight due to the money argument, and I don’t know if any of this was involved as well. Now that I’ve said that, I would add that if it did, it likely would have been from Murad’s end rather than Aziz’s.’

  ‘But that was so long ago!’

  ‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘But Jamillah mentioned it, so it was on her mind. Aziz laughed when I brought it up and said it was ridiculous. On the face of it, of course, it is, but that doesn’t mean it won’t drive people to do things. Crazier things have driven people to even worse acts.’

  ‘I know that well enough!’ She thought back on a killing based on grade school enmity.

  ‘Murad … well, I only spoke to him once. He wouldn’t see me. He lectured me about how main puteri was useless, and I was taking money from people for nothing. He’s an unpleasant man. I think he’d hurt people just to see them unhappy. He must be terrible to live with.’

  Maryam fervently agreed.

  ‘I didn’t see any pelesit, mind you. I heard from several people that he had one and they’d seen it. Rahim said he even saw Murad feeding it blood on the boat … but as I said, that’s just what I heard. I can’t say whether it’s true or not.

  ‘Zaiton and Zainab were concerned about their mother. Zaiton didn’t say anything about the baby, and Jamillah never mentioned it either. Zaiton was more worried about herself than her mother, but given her age and her situation, I guess it’s natural. Zainab is a grown woman with children of her own. She’s a good person, a good daughter. I like her very much.

  ‘I only spoke to Rahim briefly, and only because Zaiton talked about him. I thought they’d get married in the end. As you say, he seemed a hard-working man, one who was in love with her and was afraid he wouldn’t be considered good enough.

  ‘To answer your question about whether or not I can guess at the murderer, the answer is “I don’t know”. I don’t suppose I’m helping you too much.’

  She silently agreed with him; his vocation was reading people, to quietly learn more about them than they ever intended to reveal. Surely now would be the perfect time to exercise that gift; yet she felt he held back. Nevertheless, nothing would be gained by accusing him of that, better to appear to accept his answers at face value.

  ‘That’s not true! Did you speak to Kamal or Noriah … or her daughter?’

  He shook his head, and Maryam refilled his coffee cup. ‘Not really. Just a few minutes with Noriah, and she told me what a great family they were, and how they saved money.’

  Maryam burst into giggles. ‘I heard the same speech!’

  He smiled. ‘I didn’t meet Kamal, or her daughter.’ He finished the cup, and started another one. ‘I doubt I’ve clarified anything. I really don’t have any idea who it might have been.’

  ‘Do you think Murad would have hurt Jamillah just to get at Aziz?’

  He considered it. ‘I don’t think Murad would be bothered by it. If he wanted to get at Aziz, he’d do whatever it took, and consider it the right thing.’

  She smiled serenely. ‘You can’t imagine how much help you are. Come, have some more cakes. Rubiah made them just for you!’

  Chapter XXI

  Osman looked over at his wife in the chair next to him. She was dressed head to toe in Maryam’s sumptuous fabric, the cream and gold shimmering in the lights strung behind them. He wore cream as well, with Maryam’s songket waistcloth. Though his mother was not completely pleased with the fabric (only because she hadn’t personally selected it), his bride seemed thrilled with it.

  While he was no connoisseur of songket himself, despite Maryam’s attempts to educate him, it did appear to be thicker and richer than almost any fabric he’d seen before. He felt he’d acquitted himself well in bringing it back from Kota Bharu, no matter what his mother said. Most importantly, his new wife seemed to agree.

  The legalities had been completed, they were officially married, and now they sat in two decorated chairs on a raised dais in the bride’s home for the bersanding, the sitting-in-state. Dressed in their finery, staring straight ahead with their hands flat on their knees, they were fanned by two of their young cousins, also dressed up and very impressed with it.

  One of the little girls had to be continually nudged to fan, for she was distracted by the songket skirt she wore, in particular how the gold seemed to wink in and out of existence.

  The house was decorated so that hardly any space was bare of either draped tinsel, songket bunting, or twinkling lights strung across the walls. Pictures had been taken which would grace the walls of their house for the rest of their lives together, and now they tried to keep solemn faces, though their friends tried their best to make them laugh. Both Osman and Azrina, his wife, were exhausted, but the wedding night lay ahead of them and they would both admit to a bit of trepidation.

  Azrina would be accompanying Osman back to Kota Bharu, where she hoped to find a place as a maths teacher, which she was here in Perak. If the prospect frightened her, she hadn’t said anything to him about it, but maintained an air of good-natured interest and eagerness to follow him on this adventure.

  They had hardly spent a moment alone, but Osman thought she looked pretty and smart, and although she took care not to show it, she also had the capacity to take charge, and probably would, once she was settled. They’d be fixing up the police chief’s living quarters, he thought, and she would supervise the decorating. He hoped she and Maryam would like each other.

  His mother seemed relieved to have gotten him married to a woman of her choosing; she’d worried he’d be lassoed by a Kelantan girl over whom she would have little influence. This disaster had been averted, and she could rest easier when he returned to the east coast, knowing Azrina would make sure he returned to Perak. She’d done a fine job, if she said so herself. Now that Osman was taken care of, it was time to turn her attentions to her daughters, who would probably be easier or, if not, at least closer.

  Osman adjusted his carefully tied headcloth and turned to his new wife, who looked demurely down at her lap. ‘Are you tired?’ he whispered. ‘I am.’

  As soon as it was
out, he regretted saying anything. What a fatuous comment! She would think him boring and stupid. However, she looked up at him from the corners of her eyes, and he was immediately enchanted. ‘Me too! This is harder than it looks!’ He leaned back in his chair, minimally, now content. This might work out well after all.

  * * *

  A familiar voice called from the bottom of the stairs, a voice nearly drowned out in the cacophony of excited, and aggressive, geese. Mamat looked up from the doves he was carefully feeding and saw Osman and what he surmised was his new wife.

  ‘Welcome, welcome,’ he cried as he pushed the geese out of the way and escorted them up the stairs. Most of the birds gathered around the bottom of the steps, eyeing the newcomers and honking to each other while flapping their wings, unhappy at being deprived of the chance to intimidate the intruders. Azrina watched the geese carefully from the safety of the porch and wondered how they’d get past them when they left.

  Maryam came out of the house already bearing a tray of coffee, followed by Aliza bearing a platter of cookies. Both Maryam and Aliza wore tight, concealing headscarves tied firmly around their heads to ensure there would be no slippage, making them look far more strictly religious than they actually were. Osman was shocked at how thin and pale both Maryam and Aliza looked. Maryam looked fatigued, and Aliza looked like a little girl again, not like the young woman she was rapidly becoming.

  ‘I’m so glad to meet you,’ Maryam said happily, reaching out both hands in a polite greeting. Aliza smiled and bent over her hand, then shyly retreated behind her mother, peeking out to evaluate Azrina. ‘We’ve thought about you, wondering about the wedding,’ Maryam told them.

  ‘The songket was beautiful,’ Azrina said, wanting it to be the first thing said lest it get lost in general conversation. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it; everyone said so.’ She smiled at Maryam. ‘Thank you!’

  Maryam blushed with pleasure. ‘Oh, it was nothing. After all, this is where we make songket, so I thought Cik Osman should come back with some really excellent cloth.’