Princess Play by Barbara Ismail Page B

boy, a hard worker, a nice family. And Zaiton likes him. A lot of parents don’t want to take that into account, but I want her to be happy.’ He looked hard at Maryam.
    â€˜You’re absolutely right!’ she said warmly. ‘I’m so glad to hear you say that!’ She beamed at him. He’d just risen infinitely in her estimation. She would never have imagined him saying something so thoughtful, and at that moment she decided she really didn’t want it to be Aziz who killed Jamillah. There would have to be someone else.
    â€˜So,’ she began, leaning forward towards him, ‘who do you think wanted Murad’s son to marry her? Not you or Jamillah, right?’
    He shrugged. ‘Me, definitely not. Jamillah, bless her, I don’t think so. To be frank, she wanted someone with some money for Zaiton, or at least more money than this boy Rahim has, but saying that doesn’t necessarily mean she wanted Kamal. Murad? Never. So, that would leave Hamidah, his wife. I never hear her talk anymore, so I don’t know.’
    â€˜Anymore?’
    â€˜We grew up together, you know; all of us, in Semut Api. She was very spirited; laughed a lot, flirted. I mean, this was a long time ago!’ Seperti gading dilarek: like polished ivory she was, a pretty girl.
    â€˜Murad was quite a catch in the kampong . They had money and he would captain his own boat. Mind you, the family was never a friendly one. Murad is just like his father: never happy, never talking. No fun at all. Well, harimau menunjokkan belangnya: the tiger shows his stripes, you know. You can’t avoid blood.’
    He took a sip of coffee and, with that, the flow of homilies paused. It was a good thing, too, or Maryam’s new-found respect for Aziz might well have dissolved.
    â€˜I was surprised when she married him. I mean, I know most parents want their daughters to be comfortable; I want it for my own girls. But they knew the family and how miserable they were! And let me tell you …’
    Maryam braced herself for another nugget of wisdom. ‘After a few months of being married to him, you never saw her anymore. She was a like a ghost. If she was out, she was silent, her head down, never talking to anyone. Like the life had been sucked out of her. Now,’ he turned to Mamat, ‘why would I ever let my girl marry into a family like that?’
    Mamat nodded. ‘Never!’ he averred.
    â€˜But you invested in his boat,’ Maryam mused.
    He snorted. ‘Business is business, Kakak ! That’s not marrying him!’
    She had to agree.
    *  *  *
    Osman made his familiar way down the aisles of the main market towards Maryam’s stall. Why was he always finding her to ask what happened, and never Maryam volunteering information to him? He pondered that unhappily.
    But it was only another few days before he left for Perak to be married, a thought which cheered him up immeasurably. Now he would pass from the not particularly gentle ministrations of Maryam and Rubiah to the more familiar orders of his own mother. He wouldn’t need to make a single decision about anything while he was home!
    He was unsure of what his married life would be. He vaguely remembered this cousin who would be his bride, but he never knew her. However, his mother’s side of the family definitely ran to strong women, so it was entirely possible that, young and sweet-looking as she was, she had a core of steel on which he could lean. He couldn’t accurately say whether this pleased him or terrified him.
    â€˜Ah, it’s you!’ Maryam greeted him from her perch atop her counter. Her immediate neighbour, Rashidah, peered around the divider and smiled. ‘Come to get your kain songket for the wedding now?’
    Osman tried to staunch the current carrying him away from his chosen conversation. ‘Well, I don’t …’
    â€˜Of course, he is!’ Rashidah hopped off her own