Princess Play by Barbara Ismail Read Free Book Online Page B

someone described as this forbidding. His house was quiet, and Murad himself was ensconced in a chair on the porch.
    He was not a large man. He was dark, with pure white hair and beard; his large, beaked nose dominated his narrow face, and his dark eyes were large and hooded. Maryam thought he looked like a hawk – cold and alert, and well capable of violence. He was dressed simply in a cotton sarong and white shirt, with a knitted white cap. He glared down at them from the porch as they approached.
    â€˜Hello, Abang ,’ Maryam greeted him, smiling. She refused to show any of the intimidation she felt upon seeing him. He looked at her silently, without moving.
    â€˜I am Maryam, and this is Rubiah,’ she swept her arm toward her cousin. ‘We’re here helping the police about this, this … tragedy. I worked with Jamillah, you know, in the market. We all mourn her.’
    He made no indication he had heard her, or even noticed her standing at the foot of the stairs. ‘You are Abang Murad, aren’t you?’ she continued, growing exasperated.
    He stood up abruptly. ‘What are you doing here, Kak ? Why have you come to my house?’
    She stood her ground. ‘I’m here to help the police investigate Kak Jamillah’s death.’
    â€˜And why are you asking?’
    â€˜We’re helping the police. It’s a complicated problem, you see, and we have …’
    â€˜Why are you helping the police?’ he continued stubbornly. ‘You aren’t policemen. I don’t see what you have to do with it.’ He looked down at them from the porch.
    â€˜There is too much of this,’ he continued, ‘too much of people doing what they want instead of what they should. It’s led us here.’
    â€˜ Abang ,’ Maryam replied, forcing herself to stay reasonable, ‘you may be right. Yet, we are here already, and these injustices must be made right.’
    She liked the sound of that: important, even altruistic. ‘I ask you help us, to find who killed her.’
    Murad was silent for a moment, then motioned for them to ascend to the porch. He sat stiffly, offering nothing to eat or drink. His wife peeped out of the door, but he waved her away before she could offer them anything, or even greet them.
    â€˜Now,’ Maryam began, but Murad held up a warning finger.
    â€˜Wait!’ he commanded. ‘I’ll tell you what happened.’ He looked down his hawk’s nose at them, and narrowed his eyes.
    â€˜It’s people wanting to get things for nothing that began this. You think it’s alright,’ he accused Maryam, though she’d said nothing, and indeed, had not changed expression.
    â€˜Well, life doesn’t work that way. You have to work for what you get, and work hard. People don’t appreciate that, they don’t think about it, but they should. They want money handed to them, so they’re ready to steal, and, yes, even kill to get what they want. One person like that can poison and corrupt all the other people around. I know it seems harsh. But it’s true.’
    Maryam, at first confused, decided it was Aziz he was attacking here.
    â€˜I think,’ he continued, leaning closer to the women, ‘someone like that killed Jamillah. That’s the kind of person you should look for. Not here.’
    â€˜Yes, exactly!’ Maryam enthusiastically agreed. ‘And that’s why we’re here, to ask you about Abang Aziz. You know him, and perhaps you can tell us –’
    Murad looked witheringly at her, then stood up. ‘He’s just what I was talking about. Money for nothing. Lazy, complaining. I heard him after I sold my boat; he accused me of cheating him.’ He looked contemptuous. ‘I don’t cheat people. I’m fair.’
    Maryam thought that if you were fair, it was hardly necessary to proclaim it. After all, if you had to point it out to people, how fair were