Shadow Play Read Online Free PDF

sitting around here. Go get dressed,” she ordered, “meet me back here. Remember, the people we’re going to see will have to respect us!”
    They chose carefully for their first foray into detecting. They fairly shimmered with gold chains, bangles and earrings, calculating the sheer quantity of precious metal would intimidate their witnesses into speaking the truth. Kelantan women wore much of their wealth in gold jewellery, and its profusion on its owner offered an excellent barometer of the family fortune. Maryam painstakingly fixed her hair into a proper bun on the back of her head, covering it with a chiffon head cloth. She wore a sarong of the best quality Kelantan batik which her older brother Malek had made and a heavily embroidered kebaya. Rubiah broke out all her jewellery, one of her best sarong and a matching over-blouse. They looked like prosperous, solid citizens: pillars of Kelantanese society and arbiters of Kelantanese morals. Just the kind of Mak Cik , Maryam thought, that people would instinctively open up to, as they would to their own mothers.
    Tawang was a small kampong on the way to Bacok, a large seasidetown. It lay untidily along a paved road, surrounded by rice fields and palm trees of various types, heavily shaded but forlorn at the end of the dry season, the fields baked hard and dusty. Ghani’s house was well in from the road, smaller than most: unpainted wood with an atap thatched roof. The tiny pounded earth yard was vigorously swept to keep any vegetation well away from the house, banishing the snakes who hid there to a safe distance. The house was in a state of disarray: clothing bundled in the middle of the one large room, tikar-- woven palm sleeping mats-- rolled and stacked in the corner, and the mistress “of the house busily wrapping a few pots and plates in newspaper.
    Maryam called from the bottom of the ladder leading to the house. “ Selamat Pagi! Is anyone home?”
    Aisha poked her head out the door, her eyes widening at the spectacle below. “ Mak Cik!” she stammered. “What are you doing here?” Then, remembering her manners, she scrambled to her feet.
    â€œCome in, come in, don’t stand out there in the sun. Please.” She ushered them into her small house and cast frantically around for a chair; the small couch was wrapped in newspaper and lay on its side, ready to be taken away.
    â€œNo, please, don’t trouble yourself, Cik,” Rubiah soothed, “We will sit here,” and they lowered themselves to the floor, tucking their feet under their sarong , offering the fruit they’d brought with them. “We don’t want to interrupt you…”
    â€œNo, no, not at all,” Aisha bent over her tiny stove in the corner, already making coffee for them. “All I have out is coffee,” she apologized. “The tea’s already packed.”
    â€œCoffee’s even better,” Maryam assured her. “Going somewhere?” she then asked, craning her neck to take in all of the room.
    â€œHome to my parents,” she explained, her face hidden by her hair as she bent over the cups on a tray. She was slightly built, with an expressive face and large eyes. “I can’t manage here on my own with two kids. My parents live close by, and they have room for me. I’m lucky.” She came back to them with cups of coffee on a worn wooden tray and their fruit set nicely into a large dish. “My kids are with Ghani’s parents right now; my mother-in-law’s got them so I can pack. My brothers are coming to get my stuff later.” She waved her hands over their cups. “Please, drink.”
    They sipped their coffee slowly. “You know, Cik Aisha,” Maryam began slowly; “we’re helping the police, asking questions. Helping to find out what … happened. After all,” Maryam picked up steam, “It happened at my house, at my performance, so to