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her.’ With this remark, Maryam looked inquiringly at Noriah.
    â€˜Well, Aziz could be difficult! We grew up together, my brother, Aziz and I, in Semut Api. Aziz got an idea into his head, somehow, that Murad cheated him when he sold the boat.’ She laughed artificially.
    â€˜Nothing could be further from the truth! The very idea is absurd. But you know, Aziz just wouldn’t let it go.’ She shook her head slowly, and tried to look mournful about human nature, but Maryam thought she detected a gleam of satisfaction in recounting human foibles. ‘Selfish he was, begrudging Kamal the boat. Murad was right to be angry with him.’
    â€˜Of course he was!’ Maryam heartily agreed, while Rubiah regarded her with disapproving eyes. Maryam slid her own eyes away from her cousin, and kept smiling, hoping to encourge Noriah’s confidences

Chapter VII
    Maryam soon found herself back in Semut Api with Rubiah, wandering down the main road, now blown over with sand, looking for Rahim. ‘Who do you think it is?’ she asked Rubiah for the tenth time. ‘She sure doesn’t like him.’
    Rubiah was not taken with Noriah. ‘She doesn’t like anybody. All that talk about fair and thrifty. What she means is mean and stingy. Air digenggam tak tiris ! Even water held in his hand doesn’t leak! And talking about it as though it were something great.’
    Rubiah sniffed. ‘We aren’t people like that. We’re generous and friendly. She doesn’t know what it is to be Malay!’ she announced triumphantly, writing off Noriah and all her pronouncements.
    â€˜It sounds miserable, all this fairness and carefulness and not spoiling kids.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I hope I like some of the other people we find a little more.’
    â€˜It’s a murder investigation, after all,’ Maryam reminded her. ‘It might be better if we don’t like the people we talk to. That way, you don’t feel bad if one of them turns out to be the killer.’
    She located a kedai runcit by the side of the road: an open hut nearly falling in on itself, with some forlorn bottles of kerosene, chili sauce and budu on spavined shelves. An older man sat behind his cracked counter, out of the sun, dozing.
    â€˜ Pak Cik !’ Maryam startled him out of his daze. He didn’t get up, but raised his eyebrows to signify he was ready to do business. ‘ Pak Cik , sorry to bother you,’ Maryam smiled graciously. ‘We’re looking for Rahim.’
    The man grunted, which Maryam took to mean ‘of course’.
    â€˜Rahim, yes. He’s working down at the beach. You can find him there.’ As soon as he’d finished speaking, he shut his eyes; the store was now closed again.
    â€˜Thank you,’ Maryam said. He nodded without opening his eyes.
    The beach was only a few steps away. It was a wide swath of immaculate white sand dotted with gracefully bending coconut palms, leading down to clear blue water. Only the foam flying a few yards out gave hints of the strong undercurrents and riptides for which this beach was famous. The fishing perahu , the swift, single-outrigger sailboats, were still out, and the sun was fierce, reflecting off the sand in almost blinding light. One colourful boat was pulled up on the beach, and a few men were repairing it, keeping carefully in its shadow.
    Maryam shielded her eyes and walked over to them. ‘Rahim?’ she asked tentatively. One of the young men turned around and stood.
    â€˜Yes, Mak Cik . Are you looking for me?’ He was tall and thin, burned dark by the sun, and squinting. He looked friendly.
    â€˜Would you mind if I spoke to you?’
    â€˜No; but what’s it about?’
    Maryam looked around helplessly. ‘Can we sit over there, under the trees? I can’t even see in this sun.’
    He laughed and led the way back to the trees, where they could sit in the shade.