Shadow Play by Barbara Ismail

a conspiratorial smile at the other woman: they belonged to the same sisterhood.
    â€œWe’re trying to find out more about this, and of course, Cik Faouda.” This was far more polite than she needed to be, since Faouda was a good deal younger than she was, but better to be overly polite than chance an offense. “She married Ghani and we thought it would be best to talk to her. She might know something, or have heard something, isn’t that possible, Kak ?”
    The woman stared at her. “You want to talk to Faouda?”
    â€œYes, I do,” Maryam nodded and smiled.
    â€œThat’s me.” The younger woman stood up, her face expressionless. “It’s alright, Mak,” she said to her mother. “I have nothing to hide.” She turned again to Maryam, “You might as well come up,” she said resignedly.
    Mamat made his excuses, and disappeared down the road. Maryam felt it most likely they’d find him at the first coffee shop they passed. She and Rubiah sat down on the porch, which was now full with four women sitting on it. Faouda’s mother sat in the corner, slowly weaving her palm mat but listening intently.
    â€œI am so sorry,” Maryam began, “It must be terribly hard for you.”
    Faouda nodded. “Yes.”
    â€œWhat a shock.”
    â€œIt was.”
    â€œHow long were you married to Ghani?”
    â€œNot too long.”
    â€œWhere did you meet him?”
    â€œIn Kuala Krai. They were performing, and I met him there.”
    â€œWhen was that? About three weeks ago?”
    Faouda shrugged. “Maybe.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œHappened?”
    â€œWell, you aren’t married to him anymore. What happened?”
    â€œHe divorced me.”
    â€œIn Tawang?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy what?”
    â€œFaouda,” Maryam was quickly becoming exasperated, “you aren’t answering anything. Would you rather not talk to me?”
    â€œNo, it’s OK.”
    â€œThen please help me understand what happened.”
    Faouda shifted uneasily, squinting into the sun. Her cheeks were wide, with a few shallow pockmarks sprinkled along her cheekbones. Her lips were thin and straight, her chin pointed and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. In the morning light, with no makeup, she looked plain, but Maryam could see how makeup would improve her: smoothening her skin, widening her lips and defining her eyes. She’d still have a slightly vulpine look with her small eyes and long nose, but some men liked that. “He divorced me because his first wife wanted him to, and he was too scared not to listen to her.”
    Faouda leaned back against the wall of the house and began a litany of complaints about her treatment at Ghani’s hands. She hadn’t been welcomed, she’d been divorced as soon as she turned up to see him, and (Maryam guessed this was her primary grievance), everyone blamed her for the situation when she felt Ghani was as much, if not more, responsible.
    â€œYou know,” Faouda said, warming to her theme, “he took me over to his Nenek’s house, where they treated me like dirt. That isn’t fair, is it?” Faouda tossed her head and narrowed her already narrow eyes. “How could I have been so stupid?” she asked Maryam.
    â€œWell, haven’t we all been stupid about men?” Maryam replied, and the two other women nodded. “That’s just the way it is. You don’t have to feel that you’ve been any worse than any of us. It’s just bad luck, that’s all. Not stupid.”
    â€œI’ll get married again,” she vowed, glaring at the trees aroundthe house.
    â€œAnyone in mind?” Maryam tried to keep it light.
    â€œNot yet,” she answered shortly.
    Maryam took a deep breath and asked, “What happened with your other marriages?”
    â€œIs that any of your business?” Faouda