Shadow Play by Barbara Ismail Read Free Book Online Page A

your own wife. You know what we say about a second wife: cuka diminum pagi hari. It’s a bitter drink to swallow.” She stared at the trees outside the house
    â€œOur proverbs tell us a lot about life, if we listen to them,” Maryam agreed. “That’s why we say biar anak mati, jangan adat mati: let your children die, but not tradition.” Maryam pulled herself up short. She was horrified at her lack of tact: to talk about dead children, even as a proverb. She blushed scarlet, and put her hands together under her chin. “Oh Kak Hasnah, I didn’t think. I didn’t mean …”
    â€œI know,” Hasnah answered tiredly. “It’s just a proverb.”
    â€œNo, I’m so sorry. What must you think of me?”
    She shook her head. “You mustn’t worry. I know what you meant, and you’re right. We can learn a lot from the old ways.”
    Maryam cleared her throat to begin again, admonishing herself to watch her tongue. “It’s so difficult, Kak Hasnah,” Maryam sympathized, but continued. “She thought for a moment. “Ghani left the day after that to play, didn’t he? At my house?”
    Hasnah nodded. “He did. That girl wasn’t around. I think she may have gone home to Kuala Krai right away. That’s what Ghani told me, that he divorced her with one talak , and she went home. Aisha came over with him, so it looked to me as though it was all right.
    â€˜You’re sure she’s gone?’ I asked him when I could get him alone for a minute, ‘You’re sure this is over?’ He said it was. He said he wasgoing to register his talak in Kota Bharu, but I don’t know if he did or not. I don’t know if he ever had the time to do it.” She sighed, and sat silently.
    â€œDid Aisha ever go to visit him when he played?”
    She nodded. “Sometimes. Sometimes I’d keep the kids when she did. You know, they were close. It was a good marriage. Maybe she went to check up on him too, I don’t know. She didn’t stay all night or anything; there wasn’t any place for her to be. She’d come home late and sleep here with the kids, then take them home in the morning.”
    â€œHow about last week?” Maryam asked.
    â€œYou think she went to your place to kill Ghani? She didn’t.”
    â€œWas she there?” Maryam pressed.
    â€œAre you going to ask the rest of the troupe whether she turned up there? Is that what this is about?”
    â€œNo, no,” soothed Maryam, trying to slide away from an argument. “Just asking.”
    â€œI’m tired,” Hasnah announced. “I’ve got to look after my grandkids now.” She stood up and tried to fix a polite smile on her face, but failed. Maryam and Rubiah thanked her profusely, and backed away down the alley.
    â€œShe was there,” Maryam told Rubiah as they walked away.
    Rubiah nodded. “Of course. The other musicians will confirm it, I guess. Do you want to see the auntie? Maybe she knows where what’s-her-name, Faouda, went.”
    Ghani’s auntie and her elderly mother were busily working in the kitchen when Maryam and Rubiah appeared. Their house was a traditional one, built on stilts in the front, with a ground level kitchen in the back. There was no running water in the area, and two pottery jarsof water sat on the floor next to a charcoal brazier and a large plastic bucket of rice. The younger woman was slicing onions, and the older one shelling petai , ‘jungle beans’ in large pods.
    They looked up to see their well-dressed visitors and quickly stood, flustered to be visited in their working clothes: faded sarong , the younger woman in a T-shirt and the older in a well-worn cotton blouse.
    â€œWe’re sorry to walk in on you like this,” began Maryam, wishing, for the first time in her life that she was wearing less jewellery. The younger woman stood up, vigorously