Chapter XXX

Marriage negotiations were notoriously delicate discussions, offence could be easily given or taken. Maryam had put them off until she felt herself strong again and up to the challenge of oblique and metaphorical speech which, while indirect, would still be understood by all who heard it.

And she was up to it now; the family delegation was leaving for Kedai Buluh, to at last speak to Rosnah’s parents about marriage. Maryam and Mamat, Ashikin and Daud, Rubiah and Dollah were ready to meet Malek and Zahara and converge upon Rosnah’s family. Maryam worried there were too many of them.

‘Do you think they’ll be overwhelmed when we come in? We’re such a big group.’

‘They’ll have all their relatives there too,’ Mamat assured her, fussing with his songkok, a black velvet brimless hat worn with traditional Malay clothing, pushing it forward and backward on his head, testing it for best effect. ‘Their house will be packed.’

Maryam decided on the extra bangle. She’d been debating it, wanting to look prosperous, but not so prosperous that the family would demand an exorbitant bride price or too lavish an array of gifts. Maryam and Mamat had discussed it, and they wanted to provide clothes and jewellery which were as generous as they could afford to be, keeping in mind they’d be doing it again in a few years with Yi.

However nervous she was, Maryam was also confident that Rosnah’s family were in circumstances much like their own, and inclined to be reasonable. Malek had smoothed the way for negotiations, having had a quiet word with Rosnah’s father, a distant relative of Zahara’s. All was now in place.

Ashikin and Daud arrived first, as friends of the prospective bride, and the two girls withdrew to a bedroom to discuss the negotiations. Traditionally, Rosnah would have peeped at the conclave from behind a door, or maybe entered to serve refreshments. She would be serving today, allowing the in-laws to get a good look at her, so they would not membeli kerbau ditengah padang: buy a buffalo in the middle of a field. The traditional rules would be observed, though nowadays, with girls going to school and knowing each other’s friends, it was hardly the mystery it had been in times gone by.

The full complement of Azmi’s family arrived, as did the home team, and Mamat’s forecast was correct: the house was crammed with people, all wearing their best with their most refined manners on show. Rosnah served the refreshments, and all Maryam’s kinfolk smiled beneficently upon her and thanked her profusely. When she and Ashikin had retired to the kitchen, Mamat cleared his throat and began his prepared remarks.

The whole business was approached indirectly, so as to avoid embarrassment to either side should the negotiations ultimately be unsuccessful. It provided plausible deniability to the participants, who could claim to be discussing some other, wholly innocuous matter, and not marriage.

In this vein, various remarks were exchanged: first, fathers and uncles, then mothers and aunts, taking turns, adding their own literary flourishes. Behind the game, however, serious business was being conducted, and, finally all were satisfied that the deal was, in principle, agreed. The details on money and gifts would be discussed at another time by a representative from each side.

After oceans of coffee and mountains of rice cakes, Maryam and the full entourage left, thrilled at their skill and luck in carrying off such a delicate matter, more convinced than ever that Rosnah was the perfect wife for Azmi and his sister marvellously clever to have thought of it and bringthe union to fruition.

Ashikin called Azmi later to give him the results, and to remind him again that it had been her idea. It would improve his character to realize how much she’d done for him.

The enam sembilan mark, a distinctive braided robe indentation on Maryam’s forehead, was fading, but she believed she would forever see it there. She examined herself in the mirror when she took off her headscarf, and so far had not dared to leave the house without that scarf. Mamat swore it now looked like a faint red mark, completely unnoticeable, and she was ready to go out as she had before. But the image of how it looked at the beginning swam before her eyes, and she thought everyone else’s eyes were immediately drawn to it, so she kept herself swathed.

Aziz’s clear belief in Zaiton’s guilt led Maryam to confront him, now buoyed by the success of marriage negotiations. He was sitting on the porch of his house, looking woebegone, and she greeted him, trying to be cheerful and optimistic about Zaiton’s possible innocence.

He shook his head. ‘Thank you, Kakak, I know what you’re trying to do. But it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re finished here.’

‘Is Zainab …?’

‘No, not yet. But the longer this goes on, the more likely it is. Rahim’s parents want him to divorce Zaiton. I don’t think he wants to, but I also think he will … after a while. And why not?’ he asked hopelessly.

‘Do you think she did it, Abang?’

He nodded quietly. ‘I don’t think she meant to, but it happened.’

‘But what if Kakak Jamillah just went to sleep and someone slipped in afterward and killed her? And Zaiton is completely innocent?’

‘I can’t make myself believe it.’

Maryam watched as he seemed to crumble in front of her. The whole family was now in ruins. She could hardly bear thinking about it.

‘Abang,’ she asked suddenly, ‘Have you suspected it might have been Zaiton for a while?’

‘Why?’

‘Did you?’

‘What are you really asking me?’

She wasn’t quite sure how to say it. ‘I wondered whether … you know, when you thought she might have been guilty, to protect her, did you …?’

‘Hit you over the head?’

She blushed. How crude of her, how wrong to ask a man in his situation.

‘Yes,’ he said tiredly. ‘I did it, Kakak. I wanted you to stop looking into this, so I could keep my daughter and grandchild.

‘It was wrong,’ he continued, ‘and it was wrong to ignore Jamillah that way, but I … maybe I wasn’t thinking. In fact, I’m sure of it. I’m sorry.’ He hung his head.

‘Oh.’ She wondered what the appropriate comment for her would be. Never mind? I forgive you? How could you? All would do, and yet none struck her as really fitting. He might have killed her; he certainly wounded her and made her sick for what seemed like the longest time.

She touched her headscarf briefly, when would she be able to stop wearing it? She hated being bound up in it, but feared people seeing the mark and laughing at her. ‘But you really hurt me,’ she blurted out, ‘I still have the mark …’

‘I know.’ He didn’t pick up his head.

‘And with an enam sembilan,’ she continued, picking up steam, ‘which leaves such a bruise. Why would you do that? You’ve known me for how long? And you still didn’t mind nearly killing me?’ Her anger was rising now.

‘You’re right,’ he agreed.

‘You’re not even listening to me now,’ she accused him. ‘You’re just waiting for me to finish.’

‘What can I say? I said I was sorry, and I am. I can’t do anything else.’

She could feel her breath shortening and her face getting redder. ‘This whole thing, this whole case, is about people acting without thinking. Mostly your family.’ She put her hand up to her mouth, that was wrong of her to say. Rude and unnecessary. She apologized. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Please forgive me.’

He shrugged. ‘You’re right, though. But we’re being punished for it.’ He paused. ‘Will I go to jail now?’

‘I don’t know.’ There was no point discussing this any further. It was time for her to go.

*  *  *

Both families were now destroyed. Jamillah and Murad were dead (one mourned, the other not – except for the latter’s sister, who was inconsolable); Hamidah, Kamal and Zaiton were in jail and Aziz probably on his way; Zainab probably divorced, Rahim fled to Semut Api. Maryam tried to fathom how so many people could doso much wrong, or were that thoughtless.

Osman came over with Azrina, to sit on the porch and congratulate Maryam on bringing all these miscreants to justice. Azrina brought a large ripe durian, which Mamat and Yi were currently carving up in the kitchen, and Aliza served coffee.

‘I love your hair,’ Azrina told her. ‘It looks so up-to-date!’

Aliza flashed her a brilliant smile; Azrina was right, the new style suited her and made her look more sophisticated. Aliza unobtrusively sat down just inside the doorjamb, and slowly and silently moved forward to join the group. It was a masterpiece of manoeuvring on Aliza’s part. ‘I don’t know how we could have solved it without you, Mak Cik. You were the one …’

‘I don’t know that we’ve solved it at all – yet,’ Maryam admonished him. ‘I’m not sure Zaiton killed her mother – it’s hard to kill someone by turning them over in the bed. It takes determination, and Zaiton didn’t have that.’

‘Do you believe Hamidah?’

‘No, but I wish I did,’ Maryam said regretfully. Mamat arrived carrying a large platter of durian, which was greeted with cries of admiration. Only when the fruit had been eaten, hands washed, and cigarettes lit did the conversation return to the topic of crime.

‘It’s too convenient,’ she told Osman. ‘The murderer is dead, and Hamidah hated him. She’s delighted to blacken his name now – if she knew of any other murders available, she’d accuse him of those, too.’

‘Then it must be Hamidah and her son together,’ Azrina said excitedly. ‘Just like they were trying to get into your bedroom, Mak Cik, they climbed into Mak CikJamillah’s before that. She can’t say she never thought of it! And,’ she added practically, ‘she’s crazy enough to do it.’

‘No doubt about that,’ Maryam agreed. ‘You’ve been giving this a lot of thought.’

Azrina blushed and ducked her head. ‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘You know, after I met Hamidah and tried to give her a bath …’ she made a face, ‘I began fitting things together.’ She gave Osman a guilty look. ‘It’s just that … I’m interested in this kind of thing; you know, crime.’

Osman looked surprised.

‘Well, I read mysteries,’ she said, a touch defensively.

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Maryam opined.

‘And so when I knew you had this case, I just … thought about it.’

‘Well then,’ Maryam said heartily, ‘tell us what you’ve been thinking about.’

She smoothed her hair back, and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. With a careful glance at Osman, she began.

‘Well, I don’t know everything about it, like you do, but …’

‘The but. I’ve gotten used to it,’ Osman grumbled. Maryam silenced him with a slap on the knee.

‘You see, Hamidah said she was jealous of Jamillah.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Didn’t she say so?’ she asked innocently.

‘And you overheard it.’

Azrina became impatient with his questions. ‘I live there!’ she declared. ‘I hear things when you talk about them.

‘So,’ she continued, ‘if she felt jealous, perhaps she wanted to get rid of Jamillah and take over her life. You know: the husband, the job, the friends. All the things she felt she didn’t have. And so she waited until Jamillah’s house and neighborhood would be crowded with people and no one would notice one more, and then she had Kamal go to the window and smother her.’

‘Why didn’t anyone hear him? There were so many people sleeping in the house!’

‘Because,’ she said triumphantly, ‘he never went in. He hung at the window, over the sill, but never went into the house. He didn’t step over anyone, or walk around the house. I think he was half in the window and his mother held his feet so he wouldn’t slip over. And he smothered her with a cloth, but she didn’t wake because she was so tired and asleep. Maybe he even did it before Pak Cik Aziz went to sleep, so no one else was in the room.

‘It took a lot of nerve,’ she acknowledged. ‘But she had more nerve than most people who aren’t crazy. And maybe Kamal doesn’t do a lot of thinking for himself, but just listens to what his parents tell him to do.’

‘And now his wife,’ Maryam added.

Azrina shrugged. ‘And his wife.’

Maryam nodded. ‘It all makes sense,’ she said approvingly. ‘The only thing to do now is talk to Kamal.

‘Are you going to want to come to that too?’ Osman asked her.

‘No, it wouldn’t be right,’ she told him primly. ‘I shouldn’t be there. You do it.’

‘Well, it’s nice of you to leave it to me.’

‘Don’t do that,’ Maryam admonished him. ‘It makes you look mean.’