Spirit Tiger (6 page)

Rahman retreated back to the corner, willing Maryam and Rubiah to take care of it. After all, they were the
Mak Ciks
, and their all-around competence should surely extend to this. It took Maryam several long minutes to calm Munira down to the point where she could speak coherently, if not completely truthfully. Rubiah acted as hostess, pouring out coffee for everyone and passing out cigarettes. Maryam shook her head at Munira, not allowing her to smoke until it was clear she wouldn't choke.

‘Now,' Maryam ordered, patting Munira on her damp knee, ‘tell us what happened. What
really
happened.'

Chapter VIII

Munira gave a few exploratory sniffs, as if to test her ability to breathe. She then straightened herself, squared her shoulders, and looked bravely at Maryam.

‘Yusuf came here to ask for his money. You don't know how he does it, but I've heard about it, so I knew what to expect. This was his first visit, so no one was hurt.' Maryam and Rubiah exchanged looks.

‘Oh yes,‘ Munira assured them, ‘I know how this goes. People talk. First he comes to talk to you, nice and friendly. You're going to work out a schedule and pay him back. But, there's a problem. Where are you going to get the money for that? Who will lend it to you? No one. Just Yusuf, and the interest is high and you can never get out. Soon, he'll take any land you own or your house.
Macam pacat melompat
, like a jumping leech. Then you're nothing anymore.'

Maryam and Rubiah exchanged a look, surprised at how much one could miss about what went on below the surface of everyday life.

‘So we knew, this was the start of our disaster.'

‘Wasn't it gambling that was the start of your disaster?' asked Rubiah blandly. ‘I mean, once you'd lost all that money you knew this was coming next.' She pursed her lips, unwilling to allow Munira to paint herself as the innocent victim.

Munira gave her a dirty look and ignored her. ‘When he came, we knew.
Tinggal kelopak salak:
only the
salak
(snakefruit
)
wrapper is left. We'd be destitute. We were doomed. We'd lose everything and it was all over for us.' She sighed, and wiped away more tears.

‘Well, when he left, what could we do? We looked at each other, Ruslan and I, and I tell you,
Kakak
, all I wanted to do was die. What future was there for us? No money, no home, no land, everywhere people would look at us and whisper. I couldn't face it.'

She buried her face once again in her hands and sobbed. Maryam again patted her shoulder absently, growing tired of this endless sobbing. How did gambling always end? Never with the gambler becoming rich, that was certain.

‘Ruslan said he would go to talk to his older brother: maybe he would help him. I didn't care if he did, but I didn't think it would help, either. He left soon after Yusuf did, and he came back about two hours later. Just as I thought, his brother didn't want to do anything to help: he only wanted to lecture him about how it was his own fault.' Munira made a face. ‘It's no help at all.'

‘Where does his brother live?' Rubiah asked.

‘In Kampong Dusun Muda, Jalan Bayam,' she indicated the direction with her head. ‘Not too far.'

‘How did he look when he got back?'

Munira was no longer sniffling and seemed to have become more argumentative. ‘How should he have looked? The same way he left.'

‘I mean, was he muddy or anything?'

She snorted. ‘There's no mud yet,' she reminded them. ‘Not in the middle of Kota Bharu.' She was quiet for a moment. ‘I know, you're asking me if he killed Yusuf.' She nodded. ‘I know it. But I don't think he did … I think whoever killed Yusuf killed Ruslan.' She began crying again. ‘I think he's dead. Why else would he stay away?'

‘Have you spoken to his brother?' Maryam interrupted.

Munira shook her head. ‘I haven't spoken to anyone. I don't want to see anyone.'

‘Has anyone come to see you about the money you owned Yusuf?' Rubiah was curious as to whether Noriah had gotten right to work.

Munira shook her head. ‘Not yet.
Cik
Noriah hasn't really started the business up again.' She sighed. ‘It won't take long, though.'

‘What's the brother's name?' Maryam asked briskly, anxious to be away from Munira's damp self-pity. As often happened when she was presented with characters weaker than her own, she longed to slap them into shape, though she knew it would be socially unacceptable. It was time for her to leave, before she surrendered to the urge.

‘Yunus. Just ask when you get to Dusun Muda, everyone will know who he is.'

Maryam nodded, and forced herself to smile and pat Munira's shoulder. ‘I'm sure Ruslan will be back, who knows where he's gone to? Maybe up to Thailand to win back the money.' If that were the case, then he'd certainly deserve whatever happened to him there, she reflected. It would be even more monumentally stupid than what he had done so far, and that was saying something.'

Munira said nothing, staring glumly at the floor. ‘I don't know,' she said finally, summing up the full account of how she felt about her life at the moment.'

Chapter IX

Yunus' house was a brisk walk through Kota Bharu, past the market (which Maryam gazed at longingly, wishing she was presiding over her own stall as she was meant to do), past the roundabout that led to the hospital, past the soccer stadium, and finally past the Sikh temple on Jalan Bayam to one of the largest urban
kampong
, Dusun Muda. Two steps off the street and it was indistinguishable from any rural village, with packed dirt roads, roaming chickens and unconcerned goats, and a profusion of fruit trees and coconut palms. It was much like Kampong Penambang, and Maryam liked it far more than she had Jalan Tengku Cik, with its constant traffic, noise and the smell of diesel fuel. This village was at least out of the true centre of the city and much quieter.

Munira was correct: the first person they stopped directed them to
Che
Yunus' house, which was one of the larger homes they saw, with a wide-roofed verandah and cement stairs. It looked neat and prosperous, and it was hard to imagine the owner's brother was a penniless gambler with absolutely no prospects, both a murder suspect and possibly a victim, with a sobbing (and, if Maryam could be completely honest, most irritating) wife.

As they approached the house, the woman putting the final touches on a perfectly swept yard looked up curiously. ‘Good afternoon,' she said politely, the question of what they were doing there clearly in her eyes. Rubiah introduced them, but the woman seemed more unsure. ‘I know who you are,' she finally said. ‘I've heard of you. But … why are you here?'

‘Your brother-in-law, Ruslan …'

‘Him? Oh you mean … Yusuf. Oh. I see.' With a resigned shrug, she motioned for them to go up to the verandah, and called inside to have their refreshments delivered. After they arrived, they were followed by her husband, an older man: where Ruslan was thin and bent, he was hale and well set-up and carried himself confidently. He had full, thick silver hair and a round face, which was still imposing and would have been very handsome indeed in his youth. He smiled all around, and then sat down on the porch, squinting into the sunlight, listening idly as his wife fielded all questions.

Rubiah began. ‘How long has Ruslan been gambling?'

Nuraini, Yunus' wife, shot her husband a hooded glance before continuing, while he maintained a Buddha-like serenity. ‘He's always been wild, even as a teenager,' she told them earnestly. ‘It was a big family, and he was one of the younger ones, so more
manja
, spoiled than the older kids. My husband is the eldest. So I would have to say Ruslan's been more or less in trouble all the time since he was fifteen or so. He never grew up.'

She looked disapproving, as did they all. Who had time for that kind of nonsense when you were trying to earn a living and raise a family? ‘I guess it's lucky he and Munira didn't have any children; they'd never be able to take care of them.'

She paused for a moment, thinking. ‘You know, now she's as bad as he is, but that wasn't how it used to be. She was a nice girl, and he ruined her. His parents should never have arranged a marriage for him, and they would have avoided dragging some poor girl into his mess.' She looked at her husband, who nodded blandly but said nothing.

‘He came here last week. I gather Yusuf had paid a call on him and he realized he was actually being asked to pay back what he lost, and quickly too. He was panicked. Right, Nus?'

Finally, Yunus spoke. Maryam leaned forward to hear him. ‘Panicked, yes, that's the right word. He had no way of getting any money: not the kind of money he owed.'

‘How much was that?' Rubiah asked.

Yunus looked uncomfortable. ‘A lot,' he answered slowly. Rubiah looked enquiringly at him, awaiting a more solid answer. ‘Over 5,000 ringgit,' Yunus muttered.

Maryam was aghast. How could anyone come up with that kind of money, and for what? Nothing. Gambling. No wonder Munira said they were ruined. Maryam had wondered whether she was being dramatic, but now she thought she was downplaying it. It was an enormous amount of money.

‘Alamak!' she blurted. Yunus nodded.

‘Amazing, isn't it, that Yusuf would let him run it up that high? I guess he thought he'd take his land, but he can't. You see, I had it signed over to me after the last time I bailed him out, so he had nothing in his name anymore. Yusuf was bound to be unhappy when he realized it.'Yunus, on the other hand, looked quite satisfied at the thought. ‘Rus just couldn't be trusted,' he said sadly.

‘What happened last week?'

Yunus shook his head. ‘I can't do it anymore. I told him that. It's not as if it's an emergency, now it's just what he does all the time. And the sums! This is a lot of money! I told him to go, I couldn't help him.'

‘Was he angry?'

Yunus considered this. ‘Maybe a little. But not so much angry as … desperate. He knew why I said no, I think he understood it. But he wasn't thinking clearly, he just wanted a way out, and I couldn't give it to him. He asked me what he would do now.' Yunus looked sad again. ‘I didn't know. I couldn't tell him anything. And then he left.'

‘And you haven't seen him since?'

Yunus shook his head again. ‘Munira says he's gone?'

Maryam nodded. ‘Since the morning after he spoke to you.'

‘That's a long time.'

‘Yes, it is,' she agreed.

He sighed. ‘I hope he's alright. But I fear he isn't.'

Suleiman and Khatijah had completed their disgrace, living in one of the most ramshackle homes either Maryam or Rubiah had ever seen. The house itself looked slovenly, listing slightly to the side as if too lazy to actually stand up straight. It was on the other side of Kota Bharu, towards Pengkalan Cepa, behind some shop houses. It slouched alone, as an afterthought, not part of a
kampong
. Maryam thought it an apt symbol of Suleiman's current status: outside the web of Malay society, alone, untethered, disreputable. She purposely tried to smooth her face of all expression, so her disapproval would not show and her quarry would not be reluctant to speak with her.

Khatijah came to the door before Maryam and Rubiah could ascend to the house, and greeted them effusively. Maryam surmised they received very few visitors.

‘Come in, come in,' she urged them with a broad smile, ‘get out of the sun. It's too hot, isn't it? Come,
Mak Cik
, have something to drink and be comfortable.'

She held out a hand to help them up the last rung of the ladder to the tiny porch, and into the living room, which was small and airless. They smiled and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall nearest the door, hoping for a breath of air. Khatijah bustled into the kitchen and began making tea.

‘How nice of you to stop by! Of course, I've heard of you. You're the famous
Mak Cik
detectives,' Rubiah winced to hear it. ‘So clever! I admire you, being so brave and smart,' she chattered on.

Maryam and Rubiah looked around the bare room, with only two
tikar
, sleeping mats, rolled up in a corner. Other than that, the room was bare, with little sign of habitation. Maryam looked for traces of Suleiman's presence, or that of the child she heard they'd adopted, but the room remained empty. Khatijah kept up a stream of talk they barely listened to, before reappearing from the kitchen carrying three teacups and four home-rolled cigarettes on a plate.

‘
Jangan susah susah
, don't trouble yourself,' Maryam admonished her as she placed the tray on the floor in front of them. ‘No trouble at all,' Khatijah said happily and Maryam, who had come in already disliking her, felt herself melt somewhat towards her. After all, she was a cheerful and enthusiastic hostess, and that meant something.

‘Where is Suleiman?' Maryam asked with an air of confusion. ‘Isn't he here? I understand you're married now.'

Khatijah made a face, and some of her happiness seemed to evaporate. ‘Well … it was very short-lived,' she admitted, subdued. ‘He registered one
talak
yesterday and went back to his … home.' She smiled again, regaining her spirits. ‘It wasn't very long we were married. Maybe a mistake, you know.'

She put her hand on Maryam's arm. ‘He has seven kids already, you know. Too many to leave, I think. Maybe we both got carried away when we got married, but then we began to think about it, really think about it, and it couldn't really work.'

She didn't seem all that upset by it, and her explanation raised her significantly in Maryam's estimation. She found herself actually liking Khatijah, which surprised her. And even more, the woman no longer looked quite as dark, or as small, as Maryam had formerly considered her.