lock.
Throwing open the door, she ran to the man lying on the floor in the small bedroom.
“Please help him. He can’t walk!” She urged the driver as he gripped the man from under his armpits to pull him up into a standing position. Resting his arms on their shoulders, they dragged him out of the house with a burst of energy and hobbled down the steps.
Abdul Hamat looked on, horrified.
They laid the man on the dry grass, away from the house. Aziza cradled his head in her arms, tears streaming down her line creased cheeks.
“Aziza!” Abdul Hamat shouted from the porch.
“Come and take a last look at your precious show house, Abdul Hamat!” she jeered in return.
“What are you saying, you mad woman?”
Body shaking with hysteria, Aziza pointed to the house.
Abdul Hamat scrambled down, two steps at a time.
“You mad woman!” He cried peering at the flames at the sides of the house. His worst fear realised. She had once threatened. Today she had done it!
“Quick! Water! It will all go up. Aziza!”
She looked on. He rushed to the water pump at the back of the house and soon appeared dragging a bucket of water.
“Too late!” She watched him throw the water on the burning wall. “The kitchen is on fire, too! I made sure of that.”
Bob and Margery remained rooted to the spot. Unable to speak or move. Should they run and help their host? The woman had indeed gone mad.
Abdul Hamat was back with another bucket. Then stared helplessly at the flames greedily licking away at the front porch, coiling around the plant pots. The driver took the bucket of water and threw it on the flames.
“Bob, that man was inside the house!” Margery at last managed to exclaim.
Her husband nodded – bemused, looking around and then staring down at the woman squatting on the ground and muttering into the man’s ears.
“Ibrahim! Are you all right?” Aziza tenderly brushed strands of his grey wet hair from his face.
“Why was he locked up?” The driver whispered in Malay, standing beside Aziza.
“He locked him up!” Aziza accused pointing her finger at Abdul Hamat.
“Your husband? Why?”
“No! The one locked up is my husband– The other is my brother. He locks Ibrahim up every time visitors come – ashamed of his disability – done it for the last thirty years.” Aziza’s dark eyes darted fire.
“For thirty years!” the driver ejaculated.” He is a man - Why does he let himself be locked up?”
“Because he is mentally retarded. He…” The words jammed in her mouth, as she pointed once again at the host. “He… He married me off to Ibrahim so that he could have this house after our parents died in an accident.” Dazed Abdul Hamat was watching his house go up in flames. The fire now gripped the upper level of the house.
Enraged Aziza got up and dashed to Abdul Hamat, poking him hard on the chest. “You have robbed me of my home, my youth, my freedom - my life in fact - made us prisoners of your greed and tyranny. Well look…” the voice shook with tears and hysteria “Well now you can have it all! The ashes!”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Abdul Hamat winced when he saw her pull out a thick wad of banknotes from her tunic pocket and swished them in front of his eyes. “The money - from the basket- that you made from our misery!” Her eyes large in her weather-beaten face, she was now giggling like a child. “I’m taking it all with us. Finally escaping from you. You stay and watch - the ashes – the home you turned into a museum and a fortress for me and my husband. See!” She held up the palm of her right hand to show a raw blister “I burnt it with this”.
“This is government property! And you have destroyed it - you stupid, mad woman! You will be jailed for this!”
“I don’t care!” Standing on her toes to be level with him, she snarled into his face.
Then sauntered back to the driver. “Please take my Ibrahim to hospital. Please help me!”
“You have gone mad!”
Throwing open the door, she ran to the man lying on the floor in the small bedroom.
“Please help him. He can’t walk!” She urged the driver as he gripped the man from under his armpits to pull him up into a standing position. Resting his arms on their shoulders, they dragged him out of the house with a burst of energy and hobbled down the steps.
Abdul Hamat looked on, horrified.
They laid the man on the dry grass, away from the house. Aziza cradled his head in her arms, tears streaming down her line creased cheeks.
“Aziza!” Abdul Hamat shouted from the porch.
“Come and take a last look at your precious show house, Abdul Hamat!” she jeered in return.
“What are you saying, you mad woman?”
Body shaking with hysteria, Aziza pointed to the house.
Abdul Hamat scrambled down, two steps at a time.
“You mad woman!” He cried peering at the flames at the sides of the house. His worst fear realised. She had once threatened. Today she had done it!
“Quick! Water! It will all go up. Aziza!”
She looked on. He rushed to the water pump at the back of the house and soon appeared dragging a bucket of water.
“Too late!” She watched him throw the water on the burning wall. “The kitchen is on fire, too! I made sure of that.”
Bob and Margery remained rooted to the spot. Unable to speak or move. Should they run and help their host? The woman had indeed gone mad.
Abdul Hamat was back with another bucket. Then stared helplessly at the flames greedily licking away at the front porch, coiling around the plant pots. The driver took the bucket of water and threw it on the flames.
“Bob, that man was inside the house!” Margery at last managed to exclaim.
Her husband nodded – bemused, looking around and then staring down at the woman squatting on the ground and muttering into the man’s ears.
“Ibrahim! Are you all right?” Aziza tenderly brushed strands of his grey wet hair from his face.
“Why was he locked up?” The driver whispered in Malay, standing beside Aziza.
“He locked him up!” Aziza accused pointing her finger at Abdul Hamat.
“Your husband? Why?”
“No! The one locked up is my husband– The other is my brother. He locks Ibrahim up every time visitors come – ashamed of his disability – done it for the last thirty years.” Aziza’s dark eyes darted fire.
“For thirty years!” the driver ejaculated.” He is a man - Why does he let himself be locked up?”
“Because he is mentally retarded. He…” The words jammed in her mouth, as she pointed once again at the host. “He… He married me off to Ibrahim so that he could have this house after our parents died in an accident.” Dazed Abdul Hamat was watching his house go up in flames. The fire now gripped the upper level of the house.
Enraged Aziza got up and dashed to Abdul Hamat, poking him hard on the chest. “You have robbed me of my home, my youth, my freedom - my life in fact - made us prisoners of your greed and tyranny. Well look…” the voice shook with tears and hysteria “Well now you can have it all! The ashes!”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Abdul Hamat winced when he saw her pull out a thick wad of banknotes from her tunic pocket and swished them in front of his eyes. “The money - from the basket- that you made from our misery!” Her eyes large in her weather-beaten face, she was now giggling like a child. “I’m taking it all with us. Finally escaping from you. You stay and watch - the ashes – the home you turned into a museum and a fortress for me and my husband. See!” She held up the palm of her right hand to show a raw blister “I burnt it with this”.
“This is government property! And you have destroyed it - you stupid, mad woman! You will be jailed for this!”
“I don’t care!” Standing on her toes to be level with him, she snarled into his face.
Then sauntered back to the driver. “Please take my Ibrahim to hospital. Please help me!”
“You have gone mad!”
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