Free Shadow Play by Barbara Ismail Page B

you hear things. It’s big news around here, you can imagine. Everyone’s talking. I heard he divorced her right away and sent her packing back from Kota Bharu in only a few days. I haven’t seen her, and I don’t think I will. It’s fine with me. I’m done with her.”
    Maimunah paused. “You might see her parents, if you want to. They might know more than me. Don’t know if they’ll want to talk though; it isn’t very flattering for their daughter, and they’re probably hoping for another husband for her.”
    â€œSo she’s back with them now?”
    Maimunah shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t care either, as long as she stays away from me. But you could find her mother if you want to: they live on the other side of Kuala Krai, nearer the Kota Bharu road. Kampong Gelap. Just ask when you get there, Mak Cik Nah.” Maimunah rose, anxious to get back to work. “If you don’t mind …”
    â€œOf course,” Maryam agreed hurriedly, and rose immediately. “You must get back to work. Thank you so much for talking to us.” Maryam and Maimunah clasped both their hands together and Rubiah followed. They walked with her back to the market, where she resumed her spot and dived back into her vegetables.

Chapter VII
    They decided to bring Mamat with them. “You never know,” Maryam said firmly, now hot on the scent. “What if we need him? And if we don’t, they’ll give him some coffee …”
    Mamat rolled his eyes. “Is that what I am? Suruh dia pergi, panggil dia mari? Order him and he goes, call him and he comes?”
    Maryam gave him a suddenly blazing smile. “No, that’s not all you are!”
    He laughed, and walked self-consciously behind them. “No, don’t turn around! I’m just here. Kerbau cucuk hidung.”
    â€œYou know, that’s just what the first wife said about her husband and Faouda,” Rubiah twisted her head to look at him. “But you, at least you’re being led around by your own wife. I mean your real, proper wife: it’s an improvement.”
    They approached Faouda’s parent’s home, set in a more sparsely populated kampong than the one they’d just left. Fewer trees, and more dust; the houses were farther apart and scrub plants grew onto the road. Nothing blocked the view of vertical limestone cliffs, dotted with vegetation. To Maryam’s eye, it had all of the drawbacks of the rainforest and none of the advantages: no shade, no green, but a feeling both ominous and lonely. Maybe she was just too used to the coast to understand living here in the ulu .
    It was a smaller house than Mak Cik Maimunah’s, and its roof was thatched. Maryam judged the inside had two rooms: a front room and maybe a small bedroom. A shed in the back served as a kitchen. Rather than real stairs, it had a ladder leading up to it, and a tiny porch; and on the porch sat two women, their legs hanging over the edge, weaving palm leave mats. The older one looked up inquiringly.
    â€œHello, Kak!” Maryam greeted her effusively. “We are looking for Cik Faouda’s house.”
    The woman narrowed her eyes at Maryam. “Who are you?”
    â€œUs?” she asked brightly. “We’re here from Kampong Penambang, near Kota Bharu. Is this her house? I mean, is this her parent’s house?”
    The woman nodded and stood. “What do you want?” she asked bluntly.
    â€œWell,” Maryam bustled over to the bottom rung of the ladder. “You know the performance where the tragedy occurred? That was at my house. For my son’s sunat.” She smiled and bridled a bit. Mamat was stunned: he’d never seen her perform like this. Rubiah was not stunned at all. “So, we’re helping the police. It’s so much easier for people to speak to us,” she gestured at Rubiah. “Two Mak Cik , you know,” she smiled