Princess Play (15 page)

‘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.'

‘I don't think we can even buy cloth like that in Perak,' Azrina continued. ‘That kind of quality …'

‘That kind of cloth isn't usually sold elsewhere, just here,' Maryam said proudly, vaguely waving an arm to encompass the village of Kampong Penambang. ‘It's woven right here, in this village.'

‘
Alamak
!' Azrina bubbled. ‘That's so exciting. I'm in the centre …'

‘Of the world of
songket
,' Maryam finished for her. She turned to Aliza and asked her to get Rubiah. With a shy smile, Aliza hopped down the stairs and trotted off. The geese were silent, continuing to monitor the guests rather than bother Aliza, who had been known to kick them.

‘Are you fixing up your quarters?' Maryam asked.

‘Oh yes,'Azrina answered confidently. ‘It was so plain! You know how things look when men live alone! Hardly any furniture, hardly any food. It looks like a prison.'

Maryam nodded, and Mamat put a consoling hand on Osman's shoulder and offered him a cigarette. He refused, as did Azrina, but Maryam took one gladly, and relaxed noticeably. ‘I hope you'll like it here. I'm sure your being here will make
Cik
Osman like it more.'

Azrina giggled for a moment and nodded. Maryam thought she saw a flash of something more than a polite and shy new wife. Some strength, and a great deal of intelligence. Osman was lucky.

‘How are you feeling,
Mak Cik
?' Maryam heard Osman saying and brought herself back to the conversation.

‘Oh, a little better.' She wasn't sure if that was true, but it was the best answer she could give.

‘Has the ceremony already …?'

‘No, in two days.' She sighed. ‘I really hope it works.'

‘Of course, it will,' Mamat insisted stoutly. ‘You're going to feel like yourself again when it's over.'

‘The ceremony?' Azrina interjected.

‘A curing ceremony,' Osman explained. ‘A
main puteri
.'

Azrina nodded but didn't really know what that was. They were rarely, if ever, performed in Perak.

‘Should I be there,
Mak Cik
?'

Maryam wasn't sure how to answer. ‘I guess so,' she said doubtfully.

‘Well, not if it's private.'

‘It isn't,' said Mamat. ‘You should come. You never know what might come out.'

‘What do you mean?' Maryam was suddenly frightened. ‘What would come out?'

‘Nothing should,' he soothed her. ‘It's just a figure of speech.'

Maryam didn't believe him, but wasn't going to argue in front of Osman's new wife. So she smiled instead, and gestured towards the cakes, urging them to eat. ‘Ah, here's
Mak Cik
Rubiah,' she announced, watching her cross the yard with Aliza. ‘She can explain all about the cakes. She made them all!'

Maryam wasn't sure whether she hoped she would fall into trance at the
main puteri
, to get the most out of the experience, or hoped she would not, to avoid making a fool of herself. She feared it would be impossible to do both, and she dreaded an inconclusive and ineffectual ceremony leaving her in the same pain and unhappiness she now felt. But she also feared a rousing success which would have her friends and family talking forever about how hilarious she was, thinking she was a princess at her age. Either way, she would lose.

She prepared her house for the ceremony, sweeping and resweeping the yard until it was a clean and smooth surface on which
Pak
Nik Lah (or maybe both of them) could dance. She shuddered.
Please don't let me embarrass myself
, she prayed.

The evening of the ceremony arrived.
Pak
Nik Lah and his musicians were setting up in the yard, while neighbourhood children crouched just outside the hard ground.
Pak
Nik Lah was dressed in a plain sarong, tied up into the waist so that modesty would not be offended no matter how he moved.

Another sarong was rolled lengthwise and tied around the middle of his chest to provide a handle for his helper should he need to get him under control while he was in trance. The helper, called a
tok mindok
, would question him while in trance, speaking to the spirits through
Pak
Nik Lah, and keep the audience entertained with comedy before serious action got underway.

The
bomoh
was burning incense in a small brazier, sitting quietly before it, murmuring prayers and incantations to ready both himself and the place.

Small bowls of popped rice, flowers, water and coins were arranged around it and were thrown around the yard as offerings for the spirits to come. Coffee, cigarettes and snacks were put out for the troupe. They would be playing most of the night, and neighbours would continuously replenish their supplies in order keep up their strength.