Spirit Tiger (3 page)

Opinion differed widely on the best position to get for the birds; did they prefer facing north or south? Most competitions were held in the morning, before the real heat of the day set in. Therefore, did the birds prefer to look toward the east, or were they happier facing away from the sun? And since their rattan cages were opened on all sides, did this really matter, since the birds could turn to face whichever direction they preferred. Or did they generally sit only on their perches, refusing to experiment? Bird behavior often changed from one event to the next, and even the least adventuresome creatures might surprise their owners.

Mamat was thrumming with anxiety about this tournament. Of all his birds, he believed one called Borek, Speckled, to be the most likely to come home with honours. He was his favourite bird – a plump, speckled (of course) dove with an attentive expression and a winning way of cocking his head when regarding Mamat. Maryam was vastly amused by Mamat's clear belief that Borek understood Malay and cocked his head at him because he wondered what he would say next. Maryam was fond of the birds, but was under no illusions that they understood her, or yearned for a more intimate connection.

Mamat had always spent hours with Ah Pak, a Chinese store owner and respected
merbok
expert. It was Ah Pak who suggested the touch of ginger to the birds' food, explaining that it would ‘jolt' the birds into singing more enthusiastically than they had ever done before, and it was he who gave Mamat tips on the best placement of birds at a tournament.

Though he ostensibly sold motorcycle parts, and, in fact, those parts littered the small, dark front room of his shop which opened up onto the sidewalk, his real and abiding passion was songbirds. Cages of his latest acquisitions, some of whom had been bought in Thailand for more money than Mamat had ever in his whole life seen in one place, hung on the walls, up high where the birds might be inspired to sing. Conversation at Ah Pak's covered almost nothing other than birds, and groups of men, with little else in common, could spend hours immersed in discussion, communing on a deep and satisfying level.

Ah Pak's great-grandfather came to Kelantan from Fukien, and settled in the Kota Bharu area, marrying a local Chinese girl. He began trading in farming implements, opening a tiny store next to the Kelantan River among the small group of other Chinese, and there he raised a large family. His daughters married men from Gua Musang, far in the southern jungle, which was a primarily Chinese town; his sons stayed with him in Kota Bharu and helped with the business.

Ah Pak's father branched into motorcycle and car parts immediately after the war, foreseeing a demand for the ability to travel, to join the modern world. Though Ah Pak dutifully followed him, his real passion lay elsewhere, in gambling in general and song birds in particular. He made money from his motorcycle parts business, but his heart wasn't in it, and had never been. He began as a boy playing mah jongg – and winning. He was an excellent player with a phenomenal memory, which also served him in good stead when he experimented with card games and dice.

As he matured, he looked for something to engage his intellect as well as his adrenaline, and he turned to the raising of
merbok
for competition. He began with one dove, which he coddled and raised, expanding gradually into several more, and then, after consulting older, more experienced owners and trainers, he began experimenting with his own theories on what made birds sing well.

Ah Pak was a small man, shorter than Mamat and considerably more round. His hair was thick and bristly, cut in a way which left it standing straight up from his head, and he often ran his hands through it and vigorously scratched his scalp while thinking. He had a wide and friendly face, with a broad nose, high cheekbones and small, wide-set eyes. He smiled often, giggled when amused (which was also often), and rarely if ever lost his temper. Most days, Ah Pak could be found in his usual work uniform, consisting of a sleeveless white undershirt; a muted green plaid cotton sarong, often hiked up between his legs in a modified loincloth; brown rubber flip-flops; and a toothpick sticking out the side of his mouth. He spoke perfect Kelantanese, having grown up on it, some standard Malay, basic English and Hokkien. He was, in short, the perfect, well-rounded Kota Bharu merchant.

Ah Pak's oldest son, Kit Siang, was only sixteen, but already followed his father's path. He, too, was a well-known gambler, first trying his luck locally at Yusuf's place together with his group of friends. As is often the case, young gamblers, inexperienced and naïve, lose big, and these boys were no exception. Yusuf knew well enough that Ah Pak could pay for his son's losses, and extended him generous house credit. Ah Pak took the first request for payment philosophically enough, feeling he was certainly in no position to lecture Kit Siang, who, after all, came by it honestly. However, after politely asking Yusuf not to extend any more credit, and to limit Kit Siang's losses to what was actually in his pocket, Ah Pak did not pay as happily the second time, and even less so the third. Reasoning with Kit Siang did no good, as Ah Pak expected, and finally an open rift developed between the two older men.

Ah Pak believed Yusuf took advantage of his good nature, and mistook his low key geniality for a lack of determination, and indeed, in this respect, Yusuf clearly miscalculated. Not all gamblers were feckless and weak-willed, nor was Yusuf's size a guarantee of successful intimidation, even to those who looked most likely to be cowed by it.

Chapter IV

With Yusuf gone, Noriah wasn't quite sure what to do. She had always served as her husband's lieutenant, ably and independently carrying out his direction, ensuring both home and business ran smoothly so he could devote himself to a higher calling, such as debt collection. But without him, things seemed muddy and uncertain. Gambling had ceased, of course – it would be most unseemly to continue it at a time like this. The tables were silent, the house closed. Relatives had gathered, bringing food with them and preparing it endlessly in her kitchen. Her children lounged on the couch and chairs in the living room, grieving, she hoped; sullen, she suspected.

The funeral had been held the day after the body was found, and while many people came, it seemed to Noriah not many really mourned, as she herself did not. The atmosphere was correct and almost businesslike, with the burial and reception at home going off without a hiccup. Yet she felt it lacked soul, and real feeling. She did not put her own inner calm down to shock, or the surprise of losing Yusuf so precipitously; rather, it was a shrugging off of something which had been fine in its day, and was now over. That realization made her far sadder than Yusuf's passing: shouldn't a wife and family feel more than a shrug and a sigh? Still, there was no use trying to deceive herself into believing she was more affected than she actually was, and anyway, she had plans to make regarding the future.

Noriah was a child of Kampong Penambang and had married Yusuf after divorcing her first husband, who had been chosen for her by her parents. She was a pretty girl with a winning smile, quick-thinking and vivacious. People always liked being around her because she was fun and rarely in other than a good mood.

That first husband was older than she was, and accustomed to giving orders and having them carried out with dispatch: after her first child was born, she decided that she could no longer provide the military precision he seemed to crave. She'd noted with admiration how Yusuf had turned his parents' house into a noteworthy source of income, and she liked a man with a bit of heft to him. He looked solid and dependable.

Yusuf, too, was recently divorced for the second time, and he, too, sought reliability above all else. In that they were perfectly matched:
seperti pinang se belah dua
, like two halves of a betel nut. Their coming together and almost immediate marriage were less a product of passion than of practicality and mutual requirements. Yusuf would provide for her, and act as a father to her infant son. She, in turn, would help him with the gambling hall, give him children, care for them, and pepper him with as few questions as possible. It worked to both their satisfactions for many years.

And yet. She wondered about his relationship with Khatijah, the dark waitress he'd hired to help Noriah with the chores around the tables. It was true she had a heavy work load, what with cooking dinners and serving them, in addition to everything else, but she hadn't complained or asked for any help, and Yusuf wasn't the kind of husband to anticipate her wants, particularly if they would cost him money.

Though she personally saw little attractive in Khatijah (who looked as though she'd had a hard life and bore all the marks of it), she had to admit their customers seemed to be drawn to her. Hadn't Suleiman actually married her? It still astonished her that he did, and that he'd divorced Puteh to do it. And if Khatijah could so ensnare Suleiman (though admittedly, he was no particular prize), could she not have worked some of her wiles on Yusuf himself?

Yusuf was not amused by her marriage to Suleiman, Noriah could see that. Their nuptials were a cause of high hilarity among Suleiman's fellow gamblers, and the night they actually did wed was an occasion for endless toasts and screaming, drunken laughter. Yusuf, she noted, kept apart from the celebration, his face a careful, expressionless mask. At the time, Noriah wondered why he would care, and see it as something bad, rather than what it was: a banner night for their liquor sales and heavier than usual losses on the part of their inebriated clientele. She wondered after that if he was jealous of Khatijah marrying another man, even one as useless as Suleiman.

One could never fathom men, and what they might find attractive. After all, Puteh was much prettier than Khatijah, and almost certainly better natured, too. Khatijah was too small and thin and, yes, too dark for Noriah's taste. Kelantanese women were proud of their reputation for both beauty and fair skin, and Khatijah was a disgrace to Kelantan on both counts:
hitam bagai pantat belanga
, as black as the bottom of a cooking pot.

Though Khatijah ostensibly helped Noriah, and had always done as she had been ordered, Noriah sensed a silent insubordination in her, a metaphorical tossing of the hair when Noriah spoke to her. It was never obvious enough to discipline her, or even really mention it without providing a stage from which Khatijah could proclaim her innocence and claim to be persecuted, and Noriah was too smart to offer her that kind of opportunity.

For such a poor specimen, she already showed off far more often than warranted. Even yesterday, Khatijah preened herself on having identified Yusuf's body, as though it was a rare and precious skill she'd demonstrated, instead of merely having recognized her employer of two years after he died. And while Noriah didn't think anything had actually occurred between Yusuf and Khatijah (and she was not one to turn away from the truth because it was either inconvenient or unwelcome), she felt there was some kind of connection between them she didn't like.

Her first priority would be to get some help with the business. Her son was too young and, besides, she hoped for something better, more respectable, for him than running a gambling hall. She'd need someone capable of keeping order, and perhaps to help her collect debts. She was dismayed by the necessity of finding someone like this, as she would be forced to share the profit with him, and the longer their relationship continued, the larger share he'd probably want. She began to consider who she might approach: someone who could help her without wanting to take over. Someone not too bright.

Chapter V

Maryam knew Yusuf and felt sorry for his family upon losing him, though it in no way implied she approved of turning a
kampong
house into a gambling parlour, or in providing space in which people could exercise the weakest parts of their characters. She was a realist, and no puritan, but she'd seen the pain Mamat's father had caused his young family with drinking and gambling, and how it had forced Mamat to grow up so soon. It was always those who could least afford to lose who seemed to gamble, she reflected, and it preyed on those who were damaged and therefore vulnerable. It had been a quiet place, however, and Maryam had been reluctant to get involved by reporting it to the police, and so she ignored it. (The police may have already known anyway.)

The whole
kampong
knew about the long-suffering Puteh, and her worthless husband, and how he had become even more worthless, if such a thing were possible, in divorcing her. Maryam pitied her: such a young woman thrust into such an impossible situation. She couldn't decide whether Puteh was better off married to Suleiman or divorced from him. Married, at least there was a possibility that someday he might bring home some money; divorced, perhaps she could meet someone else and, at least, what little money she could get her hands on wouldn't be thrown away on cards and liquor. All in all, she was inclined towards the side of divorce: maybe Puteh was luckier than she knew in getting rid of Suleiman, though it no doubt rankled to have lost him to such a specimen as Khatijah.

Maryam sat ruminating on her front porch, leaning against one of the posts, cataloguing her stock of
kain songket
and local batik made by her older brother, Malek. She sorted the
songket
by colour, so that she could easily reach for the right fabric when told the colour scheme for any particular wedding. It was early morning, and the sun had just come up, so it was still relatively cool. Maryam's cousin and best friend, Rubiah, sauntered over from her own home nearby, and comfortably deposited herself on the top step, unwrapping a bundle of newly baked cakes from her stock ready for market. Maryam leaned over to examine the merchandise, deliberately choosing two different cakes and eating them before speaking.

‘What's new?'

Rubiah shook her head absentmindedly. ‘Nothing.'