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.
‘Did I hear correctly, you adopted a child?’
Khatijah smiled, a smile of pure delight. ‘A daughter, yes. She’s at my mother’s now.’ She reached into the folds of her sarong, unrolling it slightly, and removed a small photograph of a Chinese girl of about a year-and-a-half. A pretty girl, with a big smile and thick, straight hair. ‘Siti Hawa,’ she announced grandly. She sat back and radiated pride.
‘So nice,’ both Maryam and Rubiah cooed, admiring the photo, pointing out her fine features. ‘So cute!’
‘She’s wonderful,’ the proud mother said shyly, blushing a little, clearly in love with the child. ‘People say she’s very smart. I’m moving back to my mother’s house at the end of this month,’ she confided. ‘I need her help taking care of the baby, and what’s the point of just us living out here in the middle of nowhere? My mother’s in Kampong Tikat,’ she named a village a bit farther out of the city than Kampong Penambang. ‘I’m happy to move back there. Siti Hawa will have friends – you know, her family. Much better than here. This place is terrible,’ she opined, looking around the bare room ‘Don’t you think so?’
They returned her honesty. ‘I was surprised when I saw it,’ Maryam admitted. ‘So isolated.’
Khatijah nodded. ‘I thought so too when I saw it. Suleiman found it. He’s not much of a character, if you know what I mean. Kerbau cucuk hidung, a buffalo with a ring through his nose. He just wants to be led around.
‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘I guess I just wanted to get married, you know, have a father for my daughter. He was the wrong one, and besides, he’s got plenty of children already to be a father to, if he wants to. I don’t think he’s very interested, and I’ll tell you,’ she leaned forward, ‘I can’t say I have much respect for him when he doesn’t take care of them.’
She thought for a moment. ‘That sounds strange coming from me, doesn’t it, Mak Cik? Since I married him. I mean, knowing he was such a terrible father to his own kids. But it was a mistake, and now it’s corrected.’ She looked at them seriously, and then her expression changed to a happier, more light-hearted one. ‘More tea?’
Maryam smiled and accepted. She cleared her throat, as introduction to topics she was now reluctant to broach, but was compelled to, nevertheless.
‘What was it? That is, was anything, you know …’ she paused, knowing she was getting nowhere with this. It was time to get on with it. She took a deep breath. ‘Was anything going on with Cik Yusuf?’ she asked Khatijah. ‘I understand that when you married, at the celebration, he was watching you very closely. Why?’
Khatijah did not seem offended. She considered her answer. ‘Nothing between us, not like it sounds when you say it, Mak Cik. Never!’ she said vehemently. ‘You know, Cik Noriah doesn’t like me. That’s OK, I don’t like her either, but I’m not angry at her, do you know what I mean?
‘Cik Yusuf, though,’ she paused. ‘He was not a good man. I know he’s died and we should be careful what we say about him, but do you know what he wanted? He wanted me to work as a prostitute! Yes, in the parlour. He said people wanted to do that when they gambled; it was part of the thrill, he said.
‘I don’t know if Cik Noriah knew about it,’ she said, anticipating Maryam’s next question. ‘I didn’t ask her about it. But I told him no. Maybe that’s another reason why I married Suleiman,’ she mused, ‘to make sure he wouldn’t ask me again, though knowing him, he probably would have anyway.’
Her anger flashed suddenly, and just as suddenly disappeared. ‘That’s probably why he was watching me like that at the celebration. He was angry I said no, and even angrier that I got married so quickly. That sealed my ‘no’.
‘You know what he told me then? If I didn’t want to do it, he could find another girl. “Never mind,” he said. “You’re not the only girl around.” Like this was a chance for something great. Can you imagine?’ She shook her head angrily.
‘As though Siti Hawa’s mother would be a prostitute. How would that be for her? As if I would do that to her. I’m her mother now,’ she said, her cheeks getting redder, ‘I can’t do things like that. Not,’ she amended, ‘that I ever would.’
‘Did Suleiman know?’
She nodded, avoiding Maryam’s eyes. ‘I told him. He didn’t say anything, really. He said he was surprised, but he didn’t seem angry. That surprised me. If it were my wife, I’d be furious.’
‘Did he say anything to Yusuf?’
‘I doubt it,’ she said with asperity. ‘I don’t think he had the nerve! He’d just look sheepish in front of Yusuf. Probably owed him money.’
‘What do you know about Zainuddin?’
‘The gambler, Zainuddin?’ She seemed mystified.
Maryam nodded. ‘I hear he owed Yusuf a lot of money.’
‘He did,’ Khatijah confirmed. ‘He always lost. Well, in the end, they all do, don’t they?’
‘What’s he like?’
‘He has a temper. Kind of the opposite of Suleiman, in a way. Though they both gambled, which is a lot. But Suleiman wanted to be led around, like I said. Zainuddin wanted to lead, even though he was … stupid.’
‘Really?’
She raised her eyebrows and made a face which said, ‘Of course!’
‘He never thought at all. Just went from happy to angry in a few seconds. But he’s big and strong, so angry and not smart is a dangerous combination for him.’
‘Had he ever fought with Yusuf?’
‘Of course! Whenever Yusuf tried to collect some of the money he owed. Yusuf was also big and strong, so neither of them was likely to give in. Yusuf, for all I really didn’t like him, was smart. He’d never let Zainuddin get away without paying.’
‘Had it happened before?’
‘A few years ago. And believe me, Din paid up. He wouldn’t dare cross Yusuf like that.’
‘Do you think he could have … hurt him?’
‘You mean, killed him? I don’t know. He might try. Like I said, Din was stupid, and if he got mad, he’d just do whatever came into his head.’
‘Does he owe money right now?’
She nodded. ‘Yusuf was just talking to him about it a little while ago. I don’t think it went very well, though usually, after the first time Yusuf’s collected, they pay up much faster the second time. Yusuf can – could be, I mean – tough.’
Maryam rose to thank her hostess with newfound warmth. ‘Stop by sometime in Kampong Tikat,’ Khatijah urged them both. ‘Come and meet my daughter! I’m thinking of opening a little coffee stand on the main road. We’ll see …’ She laughed happily, and Maryam liked her even more.