Spirit Tiger (11 page)

Ah Pak clapped a hand on Mamat's shoulder in encouragement. From the look on his face, Maryam gathered he thought the judges had liked Borek and might actually award him the top prize.

Mamat looked beyond speech, shooting imploring looks at the judge, who noticed no being who didn't have wings. Now, all the coaches were milling around the field, watching the judge and each other; the professional handlers were crowding together to discuss their clients; while the owners, like Mamat, were more emotionally involved in the process. Maryam could not abandon their other birds and go to Mamat, so she retreated into the shade, and watched him talk to Ah Pak, clearly going over every move of the judge, every note sung by Borek.

At last, the judge turned to the expectant crowd, which immediately fell silent. He gestured to two birds – Borek and another who had been shown by a professional handler. Mamat looked stunned, and then deliriously happy. He tried to keep himself in check, to maintain a dignified mien, but could not even tone down his smile. It appeared Borek came in first! Maryam had hoped for it but not dared to believe it, and now it was true. Ah Pak smiled and giggled, shaking Mamat's shoulder and gesticulating wildly. Maryam thought her husband might just levitate. It was amazing: he had won.

Chapter XV

Maryam had been regaled that night at least seven times (by her own count) with the full story of the competition, and was up until all hours reliving the fateful moment when the judge announced his decision. She could not deny Mamat the pleasure of relating it. By midnight, he'd already worn out Rubiah and Abdullah, Malek and Zahara, and even Aliza and Yi. Ashikin and Daud had come over to hear of the triumph and congratulate the victor, and for the first time in her young life, Nuraini was not the centre of her grandfather's universe. She did not take it well. As Maryam sought to comfort her, she acknowledged that Nuraini was indeed her mother's child. The immanent arrival of a younger sibling promised to be a challenge.

Mamat was close to flying from pure happiness: his first big-time competition, and he'd won. He knew Borek could do it; he'd listened to his song long enough to see he was a champion and more than ready to compete all over Kelantan. (This concerned Maryam somewhat, as she wasn't sure how far she cared to travel with birds, but surely now was not the time to debate it. Now was the time to nod vigorously and exclaim ‘I know!' in tones of ringing confidence, which she did).

After everyone left, it was really not that far from the time she'd be rising for work, so she willed her eyes wide open and listened again, trying for the same level of enthusiasm she'd felt eight hours earlier. It was indeed a
tour de force
of wifely solicitude.

At last, lying down in silence, surrounded by the dark in which her facial expression could be neither seen nor interpreted, Maryam allowed her mind to drift back to Ah Pak's surprising confession – if that, indeed, was what it was.

Without doubt, there was more to it than Ah Pak cared to tell, and his genial insistence that Kit Siang had gone to Gua Musang only to assume the mantle of maturity was ridiculous. He could do that right here in Kota Bharu under the watchful eyes of his parents instead of travelling down to what could only be described as the middle of nowhere under the supervision of his aunts. Maryam sniffed; there were plenty of eligible Chinese girls right here in coastal Kelantan if you were looking for a wife.

No, Kit Siang was shipped out to keep him far away from an investigation, Maryam was convinced. She didn't know whether he was a material witness or an actual suspect, but in either event, he'd best return home and face the police – and Maryam, perhaps even more forbidding for him – sooner rather than later. She decided to approach Ah Pak with her conclusions the next day, and hoped he would accept it rationally.

The next morning, Mamat was no less transported and left early for Ah Pak's store so they could review every second together in real time. Maryam went to the market, now exhausted, and revived herself upstairs with Rubiah's coffee and just a few pieces of cake. She told Rubiah everything Ah Pak had said to her, and Rubiah immediately agreed with her conclusions.

‘You should talk to Osman,' she advised, ‘and let him get Kit Siang back to Kota Bharu. After all, you can hardly go all the way down to Gua Musang and bring him back by the ears.'

That was an interesting possibility, and worth contemplating, but Rubiah was right. Besides, a summons to return ahead of schedule to Kota Bharu would no doubt be read as a threat, and the entire extended family would rally around Kit Siang to keep him away from the authorities. It would have to be done more circuitously.

Chapter XVI

Maryam walked quickly through Kampong Penambang, anxious to reach home after a long and frustrating day. The market had been packed, which ought to have been cause to rejoice, but it seemed as though every time-wasting, tight-fisted tourist had been there, all looking to stroke the fabric and ask a million questions without buying. These were the worst kind of would-be customers, devouring all Maryam's reserves of good will and patience while offering nothing in return. And the investigation seemed stalled as well. What she had assumed would be a straightforward case, with a wastrel gambler of unimpeachable guilt clearly identified, had instead assumed large and amorphous proportions, where everyone, and no one, looked guilty. She berated herself for volunteering to solve this crime: it was as clear a case of overreaching pride as she had ever seen, and she had no one to blame but herself.

A long talk with Rubiah had not really made her feel better, though Rubiah was very sympathetic and was, indeed, involved in it herself. But even turning over and re-examining all the evidence had not brought them any closer to finding the killer, or killers, for now they had two bodies, so both the crimes and the suspects were multiplying.

As she hurried along, she thought she heard something off to her right, behind a house which stood dark and silent. Her imagination, already geared up by her discussion with Rubiah, worked overtime, and she refused to feed the fire any longer.

But the soft padding did not fade, nor at first did it appear to come closer, but rather, it remained off to the side, keeping pace with her, stopping when she did to look fearfully over her shoulder. This was, after all, Kampong Penambang, she reminded herself: her home for all her life, where she knew every house and every winding path, and she knew without doubt the direction from which she heard the noise was not an open field but houses with people, though she could see no lights. It was not so late that all the village should lay quiet. People in Kelantan went to sleep late and rose early, and at this time, she should have still heard the voices of her neighbours, or a television, or at least seen a light. But as though under a spell, it was both completely dark and silent. There was not even a moon.

And suddenly, there beside her, she felt – rather than saw – the tiger. Felt the heat from its body and its unmistakable wild animal smell, which raised the hair on the back of her neck. And the sound! A low rumble in the back of its enormous throat. The tiger swung its head – strong, large, rippled with muscle – under Maryam's trembling hand, as though asking her to pet him. He could easily have torn her apart, yet he stood quietly next to her, placing the flat of his head against her, purring. She felt a surge of kinship with the tiger and was no longer frightened. He had come to tell her something; she could feel the tiger's desire to communicate with her, to warn her. They stood together, their hearts beating in unison, for what seemed like several minutes and, suddenly, the spell was over.

The tiger pulled away from her and roared at the top of his voice, answered by shrill screams of terror from the village beasts, from water buffalo to duck, and then he left, disappearing with a swish of his tail into the dark, and not even a single stripe to be seen.

In the morning though, Maryam ran back to where she'd met him, and his huge pug marks were clear in the dirt. But even as she watched, they seemed to smoothen out in the road, like someone straightening a wrinkled sheet, and a sudden, short rain shower wiped everything away.

She sat later on her porch, thoroughly shaken, with the village
bomoh
listening sympathetically and Mamat himself serving cups of tea and cigarettes. Maryam's hand shook as she smoked, and she knew she was repeating herself, but couldn't help it.

‘It was warning me,' she insisted, frightened but firm, while the
bomoh
regarded her steadily. ‘I don't know what it was telling me, but it came to help me.'

‘It's a powerful spirit, the
hala
,' Pak Lah commented. ‘It doesn't want to hurt you, or it would have. Look at that poor man near Pengkalan Kubur. This tiger knows you.'

‘Do you think it's a real tiger?' Mamat asked.

With a slight smile, Pak Lah shook his head.

‘How could it be? There are no tigers here. A real tiger would have killed if it came into a village. Only a were-tiger seeks to talk to us.'

‘Who is it?' Maryam asked. ‘Is it someone who lives here?'

Pak Lah shrugged. ‘I don't know. Maybe it came from up near Tumpat to tell you …'

‘Tell me what?'

‘You're in danger.'

Maryam nodded. ‘I know it came to help me.'

‘Can you give us an
azimat
?' Mamat inquired anxiously. ‘She needs some protection.'

‘Not from
this
tiger.' Maryam surprised them both, and herself, by saying it, but as soon as it was said, she knew it was absolutely true. ‘He means me no harm; he wants to help me.'

‘He?' asked Mamat.

She nodded. ‘It's a man.' She thought for a moment. ‘I hope he comes back,' she said, gaining conviction. ‘I wish I knew what he wanted to tell me. I feel so stupid.'

Pak Lah rose and stretched his legs. ‘You might find out tonight, he might come to you in a dream. But don't go out looking for him,' he admonished her. ‘You don't want to count on a were-tiger as a friend. Remember,
adik
, it's a powerful spirit, and it's uncontrolled.'

Maryam nodded absently. ‘Are you listening?' Mamat demanded, worried.

‘Of course,' she told him. But neither she nor Mamat really believed it

As the day wore on, she longed to sleep, to meet the tiger again, and perhaps understand what he wanted to say. It was an almost physical longing, and she remembered the feel of his head under her hand, and the sound he made. She wondered at herself, dreaming of tigers; no, dreaming of
that
tiger, and only that one.

And he came to her in a dream, where she stood at the same place she'd stood the night before, but this time, instead of merely sensing him, she saw him. His coat was a shimmering orange, of such a saturated colour it seemed to glow, and his stripes were the complete absence of light. And his head … such a noble brow, with a neck of solid muscle. It was his eyes, though, that mesmerized her: deep yellow and almost human in their expression. Once again, he stood next to her, leaning his head under her hand, which did not tremble this time, but remained strong and confident, stroking her tiger and talking to it without using her voice.

He replied to her. Indeed, he had come to warn her, to protect her. He would watch over her, he promised, and told her not to fear him. But there were others she should fear, though he could not mention their names directly.

‘They are weak, yet they are strong. They throw riches away, yet they collect them. They are despised, yet they are feared.' The tiger now fell silent and, with a long look into her eyes, turned and disappeared.

Maryam awoke, sitting straight up in bed, covered in sweat, trying to scream. Mamat slept quietly beside her, and the
kampong
was peaceful, lit by a nearly full moon to a silvery glow. The visit had not happened in this world, but in a dream. She sat in bed with her head in her hands, fearing she had gone mad.

Chapter XVII

Her family crowded around her on the verandah, offering advice, all speaking at the same time, plying her with sweet coffee, cakes and cigarettes. In short, they acted just as a family should when one of its beloved members seems to be leaving reality behind. Her brother Malek practically ordered her to stop thinking about tigers, any tigers, and especially talking tigers.

‘Yam,' he nearly moaned, ‘think about what you're saying! Tigers are talking to you in dreams … Have some more coffee, it will wake you up.' He turned to Mamat as though passing the baton.

‘It's just a dream, Yam,' Mamat said earnestly. ‘It doesn't mean a
hala
was really talking to you, just that.… Well, of course you dreamed about it, after having such a scare! It was on your mind. It didn't come to you. You must believe me.'

She nodded silently. She must believe him, true, but she didn't. They hadn't seen the tiger, they hadn't heard him. How could they know anything about him, when in fact, she alone knew him?

Concern creased the faces of Malek and Rubiah, and her children looked truly frightened. Maryam realized she needed to at least appear to have forgotten the tiger, and continue on with her investigation, for her children if nothing else. They didn't need a madwoman for a mother. Why, soon she would be as bad as Hamidah, with long ratty hair and unwashed clothes. No, the tiger would remain her secret, and she would not speak of him again. But how then could she tell Rubiah of his riddle and how it would help them identify Yusuf's killer?

She looked thoughtfully over at Rubiah. ‘I know you're right. I think maybe I was … upset from yesterday, and so I kept thinking about the tiger.' She sighed. Mamat looked relieved, while Rubiah looked deeply suspicious. ‘I don't think I'll see him again.'

She looked down at her sarong, appearing to be absorbed in it. Rubiah stood up, addressing herself to Malek and Mamat.