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Chapter 4

It was a regrettable phenomenon that

when people when to pay their lastrespects to the dead, there wereinvariably those who found it fitting togossip among themselves as if it were

joyous occasion.Siti sat solemnly in the living room,

trying to restrain her little brother fromscampering about. At one corner of house,Puan Normala, the village gossip, wasgathering a group of women to her side.Sure enough, a few minutes later, gaspsand murmurs escaped from the mass.Siti's ears picked up only a couple of

words but she was sure they were talkingabout Madhuri.

The house still smelled of burnt gaharueven though the body had already beentaken away. She had seen only glimpsesof the shrouded body and the coffin ontheir way out. She had to look away.

She had never really got to knowMadhuri. Madhuri had given her Quranlessons when she was six or seven butthey were never close. Siti wondered why.

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Madhuri had always been sweet andlikeable but there was this inaccessibilityabout the woman. Or maybe it was she

who inaccessible, Siti though. Sheshrugged to herself as she tugged at herbaby brother's arm to keep him fromputting his slipper into his mouth.

For a moment, the hiss and whisperingfrom Puan Normala's corner stoppedabruptly. Siti nudged away her brother'shead from her view to see what hadcaused a sudden hush. Out in the front,flanked by a robust woman and an edgy-looking man, a girl of about twenty cameup the steps. She looked aroundhesitantly. Her eyes behind her glasses

glared out rather angrily at the group ofwoman near Puan Normala. Then withouta word, the girl pushed forward her heavybag and stormed past the living room.

Siti raised a brow. She recognised thegirl. It was Azreen Saleh.

Madhuri's younger sister."I told you," said Puan Normala as

Azreen Saleh disappeared into the back ofthe house, "that girl's nothing but trouble.Look what she just did - walking in without

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greeting us. How disrespectful. No wonderher parents send her away."

"Very rude," replied one of her

confidantes. "Never had much manners tobegin with. Remember the last time whenshe beat up Minah's daugther..."

But she interrupted by the otherwoman."I think she's just angry with her parents."

"Of course she is," Puan Normala said.Her bony fingers crumpled her scarf in fitsof excitement."They didn't even wait for her to returntaking he body over to the mosque."

"Poor girl. She didn't even get to seeher sister for the last time."

"Bah," said Puan Normala. "It's not asif she and Madhuri were on speakingterms anyway."

"What do you mean?""Don't you know? Azreen hates her

sister so much that she refused to evenwrite to her. Can you imagine being sovengeful to your own familt? I tell you,she's hateful and ungrateful child. And nota drop of remorse about what happenedto her mother. I knew she would grow up

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to be like that. She was such an ugly littlebaby."

A few minutes later, Puan Normala

excused herself from the group of huddledwomen. She had some house chores toattend to.

"Do you suppose it's true what shesaw?" one of the ladies asked the others."I mean, Normala couldn't possibly haveseen the body, could she? Madhuri's bloodcouldn't have been white, could it?" Hervoice was shaking and she lookednervously around.

"I don't know. Do you think it could bea sign or something?"

"I think the less we talk about it the

better." The others nodded in agreement.But everyone knew that it would be theonly thing they would be talking about forthe next few days - or until something

juicier came along.

********************************

Datin Sharifah sighed loudly and shookher head. Her lips were thin lines and herbrow furrowed deeply as she entered

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Azreen's bedroom. It was empty saved fora mattress, a chair and a few boxes ofclothes. Azreen looked up from her bag

and smiled weakly.How brave she was, thought Datin

Sharifah to herself. Really, this was noroom for a girl. But of course, Azreen hadbeen away for so long that her fatherprobably thought it best to just leave theroom bare. They would have to fill it withmore furniture and spruce it up a bit knowthat Azreen was back - though only for anew weeks. Datin Sharifah nodded toherself as she thought about the thingsshe could get for the poor child.

"Now," she said,"do you want to go

over to the burial grounds? We can stillmake it before . . ." her voice trailed off.

Azreen did not reply. Instead, shestared directly into the older woman'seyes and said, "Mak Cik, please tell thetruth. How did . . . how did she die?"

Datin Sharifah's hand moved in a flurryas she dusted the chair. "I don't think it'sup to me to tell you that, my dear."

"You must tell me," the girl said, hervoice pleading. "Nobody else would.

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Datin Sharifah shrugged and sat downon the chair. Her fingers tapped in afrenzied manner on her lap. "But my dear,

nobody bothered telling me in detaileither. Everything was so hush-hush. Wellat least from your family's side, my dear.It's all so bad. Your poor sister . . ."

"I'm sure you know something,"Azreen insisted.

"Yes, on the grapevine. But you knowyou cannot believe everything you hear onthe grapevine. Especially that rottendurian neighbour of yours - that terriblewoman Normala. When Pak Cik and Iarrived this morning, she literally jumpedin front us and growled like some rabid

dog. Can you believe that?""Oh yes I can," replied Azreen. "What

did she say?"Datin Sharifah scratched her neck in

discomfort. She sighed. "Well, we shouldgo home and save ourselves."

"Save yourselves?""Yes, apparently we're all cursed.

Everyone on the island. Stupidsuperstitious woman. She said . . . sheclaimed that Madhuri had been murdered

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and that she had put a curse on us befforeshe died."

Azreen strode to the window and

looked out so that Datin Sharifah could notsee her face. She could see the front yard.A group of women stood chaterring nearthe woodpile. Their distinct voices driftedto her. How she detested them.

"They found her at the rubber estate,"Datin Sharifah continued, her voice lowwnd cautious. She did not want to upsetthe girl too much. "She had been missingfor a few hours and her husband wasgetting worried. He went to look for herwith a few of his friends and that waswhen they found her."

"How did she die?" Azreen's voicedsounded far away. When Datin Sharifahdid not answer, she turned around andapproached the chair.

Datin Sharifah sighed. "I don't know.""But you must know!""My dear, please understand. They did

not tell us anything. But I don't blamethem. To them, we're outsiders."

"By 'them', you mean my father," saidAzreen sharply.

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Datin Sharifah grabbed the girl's handto try to soothe her. Azreen instinctivelypulled it back.

"He did this on purpose," she said."He's pushing you aside like you don'tmean anything to me. And Madhuri'sbody...he knew I would be back today andhe refused to let me have anything to dowith it. Why do you think he took her bodyaway so early? Why? I'll tell you why. Hedid it to spite me. He wouldn't let me seeher off. He..."

"My dear!" Datin Sharifah cut in. "Youfather wouldn't do that."

"You don't know him." Azreen wentback to the window and her hand gripped

the window pane tightly. "You don't knowhim at all."

**********************************

Siti gave her baby brother somesweets to keep him quiet. Her mother wasnowhere to be seen. She had beeninvolved in the preparation in the morningand had been busy helping out theirneighbour while Siti was left to take care

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of her siblings.Azreen Saleh's sudden appearance

and equally sudden departure had made

her pause and think how different the twoSaleh sisters were. Even Siti's parents hadforbade her from befriending Azreen Salehwhen they were in school, never mind thefact that Azreen was four years her seniorand they moved in quite different socialcircles. Azreen, according to them, was atroublemaker. But whenever Siti met thegirl, she saw nothing of the devil thatadults claimed her to be. Yes, she could attimes be spiteful and bad-tempered whendealing with people she could not stand,but Siti's opinion, those at the receiving

end usually deserved it. Like PuanNormala and the gossiping horde. Underthe circumstances a few minutes ago,Azreen's reaction had been quiterestrained.

And that robust woman, ran Siti'strain of thought, must be Azreen's aunt.What was the name now? Some Datin orPuan Sri. Her clothes were very modernand looked expensive. The husbandseemed very out of place and had been

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fidgeting out in the front yard, trying toscrape cow dung from his leather shoes.

They weren't actually her real relatives.

Azreen had been sent to stay with them intheir house in Penang a few years ago.

There was an exchange programme inschool and Azreen, being a top student,was chosen to go. Azreen got along wellwith her foster parents, so well that theirrelationship continued even after the two-month programme ended. Datin Sharifahand her husband would visit Azreen andher family in Langkawi often. Then twoyears ao, they even sponsored her studiesoverseas. In fact, they treated the girl verymuch like their own daughter.

Siti sighed. She wondered if she couldbe as lucky to futher her studies. Herfather had treathened to marry her off tothat annoying pimply-faced son of PakHuzaimi who sold vegetables at themarket. She would have to ask niceteacher at her school to convince herfather to let her at least take her SPM nextyear.

She sighed again as her youngerbrothers started brawling with each other

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over a rattan ball. It was a hopeless case.She was stuck in this backward villagewhere nothing interesting ever happened.

Unless you took into account PuanNormala's version of what happened topoor Madhuri, of course. Silently, Sitiwondered if there was any truth in it at all.

***********************************

The woman on the rocking chair movedever so slightly as the door to herbedroom inched open.

"Madhuri, is that you?"Azreen stepped into the darkened

room and shut door behind her.

The woman turned her head anblinked."Madhuri?"

"No, Mak, it's me."The woman's forehead creased as as

she stared at Azreen in confusion."You're..."

Azreen bit her lip. She moved slowlytowards her mother. "I'm Azreen, Mak."

Her mother nodded. Then she held outa hand that Azreen took and kissed.

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Azreen scrutinised her mother's face inthe dim light. Wrinkles had crept uparound her eyes and mouth. The ones on

her high forehead had deepened since thelast time Azreen saw her. The crack oflight from the window reflected the vacanteyes and the skelatal figure. A protrudingscar ran down her left cheek.

"Have you come to sell us some fruit?"said the woman suddenly. "I told Huzaimiwe don't need any papayas."

Azreen felt her legs go limp. "No, Mak.I'm Azreen, your daughter. I'm home fromLondon."

A frail hand reached for her. "Azreen?""Yes, Mak. It's me," she said. She

swallowed. What was the disease done toyou, Mak?

The woman did not catch thetrembling voice of the girl standing in frontof her. She smiled broadly. "Oh, you'rehome you're home!" She patted Azreen'shand. "I missed you. We must celebrate.

Tell...tell your sister Madhuri to prepare abig lunch. We must celebrate."

Azreen closed her eyes. "Madhuri..."she started quietly. "Did Abah tell you

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what happened to Madhuri?"The woman blinked hard to remember.

"Madhuri? Oh, yes, I remember. It's her

wedding today.""No, Mak. That was two years ago,"

Azreen snapped. She caught herself andtook a deep breath. "Why didn't Abah takeyou along to burial ground?"

"Burial ground? What was he doingthere?"

Azreen clenched her hand. "Come,Mak. Let's go."

Her mother flustered and fumbled asAzreen helped her up and put her into herwheelchair. "Where are we going,Madhuri?" she asked Azreen when they

made their way past the crowd in theliving room. "Are we going to see thedoctor again? I don't want to go, Madhuri.Please don't make me go."

Azreen did not reply.

***********************************It was as if the trees were crying that dayat the funeral. The brown leaves floateddown and curled up lifelessly on theground. The sky was overcast, threatening

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rain. A soft smell of jasmine lingered in theair.

The metal wheels of the chair

crumpled the dry leaves as they movedtowards the site. A couple of heads turnedas their arrival.

Saleh Abdullah straightened up. Hisbroad back was to them but they knewthat he had heard them.

"Abah," came Azreen's voice, strongand loud, almost defiant. Her father halh-turned his head but said nothing. His hardprofile was outlined by the dim sunlightthat filtered in through the trees.

Her mother twisted in her chair."Azreen? Why are we here? Where's your

father? You said we'll meet him here."Saleh Abdullah then spoke. "Take her

home." His voice was low, like a farawaythunder.

"Saleh, oh, you're there. I didn't seeyou. Why are we here?"

Azreen's hand rested gently on hermother's shoulder. "We're here to seeMadhuri, Mak."

"What? But Madhuri's back home withGhani. She's not here."

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Saleh turned around fully and glared atboth mother and daughter. "I said, takeher home. Now." His face was as black as

they heavy clouds above.Someone moved behind Azreen. It was

Datin Sharifah. "I'll take her home," shewhispered.

"No, Mak Cik. She will stay." Her auntblinked in confusion.

A man came forward and rested hishand on Saleh's arm. "Come, let's not fighthere."

"Stay out of this, Ghani." Saleh took acouple of angry strides towards hisdaughter. But before he could reachAzreen, Haji Ghani moved in to block his

way.Datin Sharifah took the chance to

quickly manoeuvre the wheelchair out ofthe incoming battle. "I'll take your motherhome, Azreen. And I think it's also a goodidea if we all leave as well."

Azreen let go of her mother. But shestood stubbornly still.

Her father eyed her stonily as theothers left the grounds. Then he returnedto his position and paid no futher attention

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to her daughter.Haji Ghani sighed inwardly. Another

disaster averted. He nodded at his sister-

in-law who remained rooted to her spot afew feet away. She did not even bother tonod back. He sighed again, his wrinklesdeepening in melancholy. She was sounlike her sister. Ah, Madhuri, how I'd missyou, his heart crushed at theremembrance. He whispered to himself alittle prayer and returned to his own spotto pay his last respects to his belovedwife. There was a sudden waft of jasmine.How it reminded him of Madhuri; how sheloved to put the flowers on her silky blackhair; and how she would laugh when they

fell gently on her lashes.

************************************

It was not until late evening that theyleft the burial ground. A lone shadowtreaded lightly up to the stone and satdown. Azreen stared blindly at the placewhere her sister was buried. Her handswere cold - as cold as her heart. Whycouldn't she feel anything? She had shed

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no tear, felt no sorrow for the loss. Onlynumbness. And she hated herself for it.

Footsteps feel behind her. She looked

up. A young man stood half-hidden by atree. Even in the darkness, she couldrecognise his silhouette. After two yearsaway from home, she could still rememberhis face so clearly.

He gave her a weak smile. He did notmake any sound or movement. Azreenturned back to the mound and said aprayer. When she turned back, he wasgone.

She stood up, dusted away the soilfrom her clothes and left the cemetery.Across the road she could make out his

figure on the low fence.It was he who spoke first."How are

your studies?""I'm doing well." She took seat next to

him on the wooden fence. "And you?""I'm all right, I suppose. Why aren't

you at the village hall for the kenduriarwah?"

Azreen shrugged but said nothing.They spoke for a few minutes onmeaningless things. The real subject that

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was on both their minds was leftuntouched.

"It's late. We'd better leave now." He

left her by the junction where the brokenroad sign read 'Jalan Putri'. Azreenwatched quietly as he walked away.Always, no matter how long it had been,always she felt a sense of loss whenevershe saw him. And there was only oneperson who could cause such emotionaldamage to her.

Madhuri!

***********************************

Azreen had been thirteen when she met

Mohd Asraf. He was two years older andwas prefect in their school. He was smartand handsome and would always give herbig friendly smile each time they met intheir editorial club meetings. But that wasall he did. She doubted he evenremembered her name. Until one day. Shewas sitting on the stone steps of theempty school hall with a thick storybookon her lap all alone because her girlfriendshad gone to field to watch the boys play

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football. She did not feel like joining them.It was not because she hated football; itwas because she rather be in the playing

field than on the spectator's bench. Andbesides, she just couldn't put thestorybook down. Suddenly, a shadow fellupon her book and when she glanced up,she saw Mohd Asraf grinning at her fromthe top of the stairs. "Hi," he said. Sheslapped her book sshut and murmured,"Hello."

"You're Azreen right? Why aren't youat the field?" he asked as he sat downbeside her.

"Um, I need to finish this book." Thenwhen he did not speak, she added as an

afterthought, "Why aren't you thereeither? I thought you were in the team."No sooner hadd she said it than shewished she had bitten her tongue.

"How did you know I was in the team?"he said, his eyes boring into her.

Azreen felt her cheeks burn under hisgaze. "A friend told me." How could shenotknow? All the other girls in class wereinfatuated with him and he was all theytalked about during recess.

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"I see." He lifted his left food. "I havemyself to blame," he explained. "I twistedmy leg yesterday when I got down from

the school bus. I must have been tooexcited about the game and literally leaptfrom the top of the steps. And tripped." Hedid an instant replay of the scene,pretended to wince in agony and hoppedaround the hall on one leg.

Azreen laughed. He grinned and satdown again. Suddenly he said, "I saw youplaying hockey with Leela and her friendsthat day. You were really good."

"Thanks.""Look, the guys and I are planning to

have a little hockey match next Friday and

my friend, Hock Seng, can't make it.Would you like to play?"

"You mean..." Azreen was too shockedto go on.

" Would you like to replace Hock Seng?He won't mind. Neither will the guys.

They'll be really impressed when they seeyou play." He gazed at her earnestly.

"And you'll be playing too?" askedAzreen."I mean, with your injury..."

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"It'll heal by next week. So is it a yes?"She let out a laugh. "Yes. I would love

to."

"Okay then!" He jumped up. Hisinjuried foot did not seem hurt any more."See you next Friday, right after school.We're going to bulldoze the opponent!"

They did indeed bulldoze theopponent. The other boys were at firstsceptical about the bookish bestpectacledgirl with the fiery personality. But she putan great show, even scored a few pointsfor their team. They tipped their sweatyhats to her and the boys by the end of thesemester. Girls in her class began to castsuspicious eyes in her direction. What was

wrong with that girl who behave sounladylike, laughing like a bunch ofhyenas with the boys' hockey team, andwas always hanging out with Asraf afterclass? The girls could not decide whetherto be disgusted or jealous of her.

"You know," said Asraf to her one dayas they were walking home from school, "Idon't think I've met anyone like youbefore. You're so different."

Azreen made a face at him. "What do

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you mean? And you'd better come up witha good answer or this hockey stick will endup somewhere between your ears!"

He grinned as he moved instinctivelyaway from her. "Cool down, will you? Ionlymeant that I've never met anyone who isso nerdy and ganas at the same time."

"Ganas?" cried Azreen, raising herstick."I'm not aggressive!"

Her friend burst out in uncontrollablelaughter. "Right, you proved your point."

Azreen stuck out her tongue at him.When he was done laughing, he said,

"But seriously, you're good in your studiesand you're brilliant in the field as well. It's

hard to be good at both. I know I'm barelykeeping it together."

"But you're well-liked. People swarmaround you like flies to a garbage can.Like maggots to rotten meat."

"Thank you for those flattering words."Azreen's smile faded a little. She

tapped her hockey stick on a rock absent-mindedly. "It's not easy to be like that.Socially accepted, I mean. Look at me.Everyone hates me."

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"Not everyone," Asraf said. "Thehockey guys like you."

"They probably think I'm weird."

"Well, I like you," said Asraf with ashrug. "But then again, I have afascination for weird stuff."

Once again the hockey stick rosethreateningly. He scuttled away with achuckle. "Goodbye, weird friend. See youin school tomorrow."

The broken road sign creaked asAzreen walked up the stone steps wereovergrown with lalang and a few metresaway, the jungle loomed. Soon, passed abend on the pathway and the growthcleared, and the land stretched modestly

towards the half-wooden, half-concretehouse that stood slightly away from therest of the village.

*********************************

The house was darjk but a dim light from alantern flickered from a window. Thevillagers had all left. The front yard wasempty. Mak Cik Sharifah must have left.She had mentioned that they would be

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staying at a hotel in Kuah on the mainisland. Azreen almost wished she couldleave with them. But she could not-must

not-run away again. Not this time. Shemust gather her strenght and face this.

She pulled off her headscarf as sheclimbed up the steps to the house. Herfather was not around. He was probablystill at the kenduri arwah. She peekedthrough the bedroom door and saw hermother fast asleep, curled up like a kittenwith a curious smile on her face. Azreenshut the door quietly. She busied herselfunpacking her bag in the near-emptyroom. She arranged the mattress on thefloor and smiled gratefully when she found

two tiny throw pillows that Mak CikSharifah had left her. They had to be theones she saw on the backseat of their car.

The thoughtful duo also left her twobottles of water, bananas and oranges in abasket and a bag of disposable toiletries.

She opened the window to let in thenight air. Crickets cried loudly from theback of the house. There was a slight whiffof smoke from shrubbery. She was aboutto turn away from the window when a

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sudden movement outside caught hereye. A dark shape fleeted across the gateand disappeared down the pathway. For a

moment, she thought it looked like awoman with streaming black hair.Madhuri? No, that was impossible. So whoor what could it have been? She strainedher eyes to see. But it was gone. From adistance, she heard the soft cry of ahungry cat.

Her hands grabbed the shutters andslammed the window shut. She jumpedonto the mattress, grabbed a pillow andburied her head underneath. For now, shewanted to forget that she was home. Lether deal with it tomorrow morning.

*************************************

"Siti, aren't you coming in to sleepyet?"

"Yes, Mak, but I need to finish up thelast few chapter first," called Siti from theveranda where sha sat with her textbookopen on her lap, but her eyes werewandering past the street in front. Shehad been sitting there studying ever since

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she could escape the house chores. It wasdifficult to study under suchcircumstances. Her baby brother was still

wailing his lungs out from the bedroom.The veranda was her refuge.

But out here was yet another kind ofdistraction. She had seen Mohd Asraf walkby earlier with someone, possibly Azreen,but it was too dark to tell for sure. Funny,she never knew they were close. He had

just started as a trainee teacher at herschool the year before and she had heardthat some of her classmates had writtensecret love letters to him. She was notsurprised, of course. He was tall man withthick curly hair, very dashing and

charming but he hardly impressed Siti. Hewas too attractive for his own good. Girlsfell for him left and right, only to havetheir hearts broken because he only hadeyes for one. Siti chuckled to herself.Since when did she becomes so jaded andcynical? Oh, forget about them. Sheshould be studying, not making character

judgements.Siti bit the end of her pencil in thought.

Poor Azreen. She must feel terrible losing

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her sister. How different from Madhuri shewas. Ah, Madhuri, the enigma. What was itwith Madhuri that made people like her?

Her husband doted on her. He would buyher jewels and beautiful expensive clothesand take her on long vacations. Ah, tocapture the heart of a rich villageheadman! He was a bit old for Madhuriand already had a wife of many years buthe was a respectable man. Siti wonderedif she herself would ever accept being aman's second wife. No, she decided thatshe would be too possessive to share!

Siti laughed at herself again. Enough ofday dreaming! Back to work!

***********************************

Haji Ghani's first wife got out of bed andmarched purposefully to the adjoiningroom. Her husband was still flippingthroug the photo album of his weddingtwo years ago. SHe could see himfingering the enlarged photo of Madhuri'ssmiling face.

"Abang," said Puan Fatihah "don't youwant to come to bed?"

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Her husband shrugged slowly andgave her no reply.

Puan Fatihah bit back her rage and

managed another query, "You'll be allright? Don't you need a rest already?"

Haji Ghani shook his head. "I'll come inlater."

Puan Fatihah stepped back and closedthe door. Her legs brought her to the livingroom where a few framed photos ofMadhuri graced the wall. She almostgrabbed one and threw it out of thewindow . Instead, she took down the olive-coloured curtains that Madhuri had boughtherself and put at their home. Yes, theirhome! She rued the day that girl grew up

and came into their lives. Madhuri haddominated their home and ruined PuanFatihah's peaceful existence with herhusband. Puan Fatihah detested that girl,and hated her husband for his weakness.And she despised herself for giving in tohim when he asked for her permission totake Maadhuri as his ssecond wife.

Pua Fatihah dragged the curtains tothe room where her husband kept all hisprecious possessions. The room was filled

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with carvings and carpets imported fromthe Middle East, drapes with images of theKaabah, wooden statues from Indonesia

and traditional instruments from the Malaysultanate eras. Puan Fatihah walked overto a glass cabinet and carefully removedvaluable keris that was on display. With asmile, she ran the wavy-bladed daggerviciously through the thin cloth. Perhapsscissors would do the job better but atleast Puan Fatihah could feel thesatisfaction of the keris tearing jaggedlythrough the fabric.

She threw the torn pieces into thedustbin before going back to bed, feelingmuch better than she did half an hour ago.