Spirit Tiger by Barbara Ismail

more monumentally stupid than what he had done so far, and that was saying something.’
    Munira said nothing, staring glumly at the floor. ‘I don’t know,’ she said finally, summing up the full account of how she felt about her life at the moment.’

Chapter IX
    Yunus’ house was a brisk walk through Kota Bharu, past the market (which Maryam gazed at longingly, wishing she was presiding over her own stall as she was meant to do), past the roundabout that led to the hospital, past the soccer stadium, and finally past the Sikh temple on Jalan Bayam to one of the largest urban kampong , Dusun Muda. Two steps off the street and it was indistinguishable from any rural village, with packed dirt roads, roaming chickens and unconcerned goats, and a profusion of fruit trees and coconut palms. It was much like Kampong Penambang, and Maryam liked it far more than she had Jalan Tengku Cik, with its constant traffic, noise and the smell of diesel fuel. This village was at least out of the true centre of the city and much quieter.
    Munira was correct: the first person they stopped directed them to Che Yunus’ house, which was one of the larger homes they saw, with a wide-roofed verandah and cement stairs. It looked neat and prosperous, and it was hard to imagine the owner’s brother was a penniless gambler with absolutely no prospects, both a murder suspect and possibly a victim, with a sobbing (and, if Maryam could be completely honest, most irritating) wife.
    As they approached the house, the woman putting the final touches on a perfectly swept yard looked up curiously. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said politely, the question of what they were doing there clearly in her eyes. Rubiah introduced them, but the woman seemed more unsure. ‘I know who you are,’ she finally said. ‘I’ve heard of you. But … why are you here?’
    â€˜Your brother-in-law, Ruslan …’
    â€˜Him? Oh you mean … Yusuf. Oh. I see.’ With a resigned shrug, she motioned for them to go up to the verandah, and called inside to have their refreshments delivered. After they arrived, they were followed by her husband, an older man: where Ruslan was thin and bent, he was hale and well set-up and carried himself confidently. He had full, thick silver hair and a round face, which was still imposing and would have been very handsome indeed in his youth. He smiled all around, and then sat down on the porch, squinting into the sunlight, listening idly as his wife fielded all questions.
    Rubiah began. ‘How long has Ruslan been gambling?’
    Nuraini, Yunus’ wife, shot her husband a hooded glance before continuing, while he maintained a Buddha-like serenity. ‘He’s always been wild, even as a teenager,’ she told them earnestly. ‘It was a big family, and he was one of the younger ones, so more manja , spoiled than the older kids. My husband is the eldest. So I would have to say Ruslan’s been more or less in trouble all the time since he was fifteen or so. He never grew up.’
    She looked disapproving, as did they all. Who had time for that kind of nonsense when you were trying to earn a living and raise a family? ‘I guess it’s lucky he and Munira didn’t have any children; they’d never be able to take care of them.’
    She paused for a moment, thinking. ‘You know, now she’s as bad as he is, but that wasn’t how it used to be. She was a nice girl, and he ruined her. His parents should never have arranged a marriage for him, and they would have avoided dragging some poor girl into his mess.’ She looked at her husband, who nodded blandly but said nothing.
    â€˜He came here last week. I gather Yusuf had paid a call on him and he realized he was actually being asked to pay back what he lost, and quickly too. He was panicked. Right, Nus?’
    Finally, Yunus spoke. Maryam leaned forward to hear him. ‘Panicked, yes,