Spirit Tiger (5 page)

‘Ah, Puteh.
Kasehan.
She might be better off without him,' Noriah said, echoing Maryam's previous musings. ‘I don't think he's ever going to pull himself together, he's weak,' Noriah dismissed him. ‘Still, I feel sorry for her:
kalah jadi abu, menang jadi arang
, lose and you're dust, win and you're charcoal. With Suleiman, she can't win, divorced or married, I'm afraid.'

‘She knows about his marrying Khatijah,' Rubiah stated. ‘She found the
talak
in his pants pocket when she washed them.'

‘
Alamak!
' exclaimed Noriah. ‘He didn't!'

Rubiah nodded to confirm. ‘I don't think she's made up her mind yet what to do.'

‘Do you think he'd divorce Khatijah?' Maryam asked Noriah. ‘I mean, really…'

‘He hasn't got the nerve,' Noriah said sadly. ‘Though he would if he had any sense. Anyway, you know they adopted a child? And him with seven already he doesn't do a thing for. That's Khatijah. She always wanted a family.'

‘She never had any herself?'

Noriah shook her head. ‘I don't think she ever stayed married long enough, if you know what I mean. Wandered around.'Noriah said this with disapproval, as befitted a woman who had paid attention to her future and ensured she was provided for. Not for her to be
seperti apong di permain gelombang
– like driftwood, a sport of the waves, a woman of no importance. That Khatijah had allowed herself to become this was incomprehensible, in fact, it was diametrically opposed to the world view of Kelantanese womanhood and the
Mak Cik
code: hard work, control over finances, running the household and subservience to no one. Maryam and Rubiah could hardly have agreed more emphatically.

Noriah pulled out a plastic bag with home-rolled cigarettes from the waist of her sarong, and offered them around. A young woman padded softly onto the porch and refilled coffee, adding more cakes to the plate. She smiled shyly and withdrew, leaving the three women with some privacy. They lit up and leaned back against whatever was at hand: Noriah against a wall, Maryam and Rubiah each with their own house post.

‘Did Yusuf have any other businesses where someone might have been angry at him?' Rubiah asked after a deep and satisfying drag on her cigarette. How pleasant – well, relatively, to be able to speak to one's own people in one's own
kampong
, she reflected, rather than travelling all over the state looking for suspects. Given her preference, Rubiah would have had all suspects brought to her rather than have to search them out in either the heat and dust of the dry season, or the unremitting damp of the monsoon. She did not care for travel.

‘Not really,' Noriah replied easily. ‘Well, he liked
merbok
and singing competitions,' she smiled at Maryam, the two having met each other at various local contests, ‘but that isn't a business.'

‘A hobby, then,' Maryam smiled back. ‘Did he also go to Ah Pak's to talk birds?'

‘Endlessly!' Noriah laughed.

‘Where did he buy his birds?' Maryam leaned forward, interested not only for the investigation, but for general bird information that perhaps could be of use to Mamat.

Noriah sighed. ‘I don't really know everywhere he went for them. He was in Thailand a lot to buy … supplies. Maybe there? Ah Pak might know: he might have bought from him directly. I didn't really go with him to look for them.'

Maryam nodded. It was a man's thing, that was true.

‘Well,' Rubiah said, preparatory to leaving, ‘Thank you. You've been so much help to us.'

‘I want you to find whoever did this to Yusuf. He wasn't perfect, I know that, but he didn't deserve this.' Her eyes suddenly filled with tears for the first time since his death, surprising her with the welling up of emotion she had not yet had. She swallowed hard, and avoided their eyes. ‘I will help however I can.'

Maryam and Rubiah smiled sympathetically and added extra pats on the shoulder as they took their leave.

Chapter VII

Clouds were gathering ominously over Kelantan. The rains hadn't yet begun, but the dry season was clearly drawing to an imminent close. This was always a time of year Maryam found full of anticipation: the winds picked up, it was cooler and wetter as a prelude to the monsoon She was sick of the heat, but not yet sick of the humidity brought by the rain, the interminably damp laundry and mold growing on everything that didn't actively move. Right now, the rains and possible – probable? – floods looked like a party.

Osman sent Rahman to drive them to their interviews: he did not want to risk their being caught in a sudden rain. At any rate, Maryam was used to having a car and Rahman at her disposal while detecting. Rahman had been badly hurt while heroically chasing down a suspect (who was indeed the murderer) through the Kota Bharu market, and for a while, his recovery was despaired of. A head injury left him forgetful and slow-talking, but this had been improving, and he was bouncing back to normal. His good nature, remarkable under the circumstances, carried him through his injuries and now through his nearly complete recovery. Such was his progress, his mother began looking for a wife for him, deciding he would be capable of surviving without her care.

Ruslan's small house was in the city of Kota Bharu, on Jalan Tengku Cik, down a small alley behind a Chinese coffee shop selling dumpling soup during the day. It was invisible from the street unless you knew where to look for the alley, and Maryam, Rubiah and Rahman spent several minutes walking back and forth until the coffee shop owner noticed them and guided them with amusement back to the house. Here, only yards away from a busy paved street, the
kampong
reasserted itself, and chickens roamed the swept dirt yards.

Munira looked terrified to see them. She looked past Maryam and Rubiah to the genial Rahman, and lost all colour in her face: Maryam feared she would swoon right there in the doorway. Rubiah stepped forward to distract Munira, forcing her to look directly at her and away from the policeman who mesmerized her.

‘
Kakak
,' she began loudly, ‘How are you?
Kakak
Maryam and I are here helping the police investigate
Che
Yusuf's unfortunate …' She was reluctant to say ‘death' to someone so obviously near to fainting already. ‘May we come in?'

The whites of Munira's eyes could be seen below the brown iris, giving her a wildly uncontrolled look, which quite spooked Maryam. She smiled thinly and looked for a place to sit a bit removed from her hostess, who might lose her sanity altogether. Rahman, as always, seemed serenely unaffected, and sat quietly in the corner with his small notebook, a pleasant and neutral expression on his face.

Munira had said nothing: neither words of welcome or offering or hospitality, but stood in front of them, her eyes rolling and hands clutching at each other, panting for breath. ‘Are you alright,
Kakak
?' Rubiah asked kindly, but received no answer.

Maryam stood up and, placing her hands on Munira's shoulders, led her to a seat on the small and ragged sofa and pushed her down onto it. Maryam and Rubiah sat on either side of her, radiating concern. Rubiah reached over and stroked her arm, believing this kind of firm, steady touch often relieved stress, and calmed people almost immediately. It brought down the rate of Munira's breathing, which was at least a start.

‘Are you alright? She repeated.

‘Are you here about my husband?' Munira whispered, making motions with her hands together as though washing them, unable to stop or even slow them down.

‘What about him?' Rubiah asked gently.

‘You've … you've found him?'

‘Where did he go?'

‘I don't know,' she wailed. ‘He hasn't been home for two days. I don't know where he is, or even if he's alive.'

‘I think you'd better start from the beginning,
Kakak
,' Maryam advised her, separating Munira's grasping hands and placing them at her sides. She offered her one of her cigarettes, hoping this activity would stop the other, and it appeared to work. Munira held the cigarette in both hands as though she might drink it, and then looked sharply around her.

‘Who are you?' she asked.

‘I am Rubiah and this is Maryam,' she explained, and waved her hand toward Rahman. ‘He is from the Kota Bharu Police, whom we are helping. We're looking into
Che
Yusuf's passing.'

‘Why?'

‘Well, someone killed him,
Kakak
, and we want to help bring this person to justice.'

Munira's hands began to tremble. ‘He was not a good man.'

‘Tell me,' Maryam urged.

‘I shouldn't really. I mean, it could mean trouble for us, for my husband. He's had some bad luck, you know, it's been very difficult for him.'

Maryam and Rubiah arranged their expressions to show concern and sympathy, erasing any trace of either disapproval or disbelief.

‘Ruslan gambles a bit,' she began, resisting the urge to twist her hands once more. ‘I mean, it isn't anything serious.' She looked at them to see if they believed her. They did not, but made no comment nor did their faces twitch. ‘And he's had a run of bad luck, oh yes! Terrible. I thought perhaps someone had placed a
jampi
on him to deprive him of his luck. I still don't know …' Her voice petered out.

‘Had he been lucky before?'

She seemed puzzled. ‘Well, you know … sometimes you are, sometimes not. But this seemed different because it went on for so long, and …' she paused here for effect. ‘He lost
a lot
of money. A lot.'

‘Where did he get a lot of money to lose?' Maryam asked, fearing she already knew the answer.

‘
Che
Yusuf lent it to him.' Maryam had been correct. ‘I mean, at the house, he lent it to him while he was playing so he could keep going. And then, when he was finished, he'd lost all of that and now owed Yusuf all this money, which we don't have.'

A quick perusal of the room confirmed that. ‘Did
Che
Yusuf come here to talk about it?'

She nodded, and commenced twisting her hands again. Maryam stifled the urge to slap them apart and make her sit on them to keep them still.

‘He came here. Just once, last week, I think. He just spoke to us, very polite, but I knew. Oh yes, I knew what would happen next. I've known Yusuf for a while, and I've heard stories. He gets paid back, one way or another.

‘I knew it as soon as I saw him walk up to the house. “Munira,” I said to myself, “you're in trouble now.”' She nodded, and looked philosophical. ‘Ruslan always tries to see things in a good light, and he thinks everything will work out, but I knew, no matter how friendly Yusuf looked, it was bad.'

‘When did Ruslan leave?' Maryam asked gently.

She thought for a moment. ‘The next day he went out to talk to people. About money, you see.'

‘Who?' Rubiah pressed her.

‘I don't know,' she said sadly. ‘I don't know anyone who could lend us that kind of money. Maybe go to a money lender? But we'd never get out from under something like that. We'd be ruined either way:
ludah mati pak, telan mati mak
– spit it out and your father dies, swallow it and your mother dies. We're doomed, and now he's gone. I don't know what will become of us.' She brightened momentarily. ‘Since
Che
Yusuf is gone now, do you think
Cik
Noriah will forgive the debt? It's possible, right?'

Maryam thought it most unlikely that Noriah would begin her tenure as the sole owner of a gambling den with a general amnesty, but didn't want to dash Munira's hopes immediately. Maybe she would forgive just this one, as the circumstances were so dire. But then, didn't every one of the gamblers have dire circumstances surrounding their debt? Children to be fed, spouses to be cared for, homes they could not afford to lose. Each one had a story, Maryam was sure, and even so, they gambled away the rent money, or the food money, or – in Ruslan's case – absolutely everything. It was depressing to consider. She shrugged and smiled sadly, as if to indicate she had no insight into what Noriah might do.

‘Where did you think he had gone?'

Munira shifted her eyes, minimally yet unmistakably, and Maryam and Rubiah both knew at that moment she was lying about something, or omitting something at least. ‘I didn't know,' she maintained.

‘You are very close to your husband, aren't you? It's a real marriage, where you share everything, isn't it?' Rubiah smiled, indicating her admiration for that kind of relationship.

Munira nodded, now looking nervous again.

‘So you'd know,' Rubiah continued gently, ‘where he was going, wouldn't you? He wasn't the sort of husband to just leave and not tell you where he was going?'

Munira looked from one to the other, licking her lips and tugging at her sarong. ‘I don't know,' she repeated faintly.

With sudden inspiration, Maryam asked, ‘Did he leave the next morning, or did he go out after
Che
Yusuf left?'

Munira burst into tears, sobbing and pulling at her hair. Malay society did not encourage operatic displays of emotion, and her guests were shocked into inaction when confronted by it. Maryam gingerly put her arm around Munira's shoulder while she bent double at the waist and howled. She looked beseechingly toward Rahman, who approached Munira as he would an angry snake and, with extreme caution, picked her up and deposited her back onto the sofa. Rubiah disappeared into the kitchen to make coffee or anything else she could locate. She thought this might go on for awhile.

‘There, there,' Maryam cooed, hoping her distaste didn't show, though Munira was too far gone to notice if it had. ‘Now,' she offered a package of tissues from her purse, ‘tell me all about it. That's the only way you're going to feel better.'