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know anything about this wife,” she nearly spit the word, “from Kuala Krai! Everything was fine! Now I know he betrayed me and he’s dead and I’m a widow with two children living at my parents’ house. I can’t believe it. My wholelife is ruined because of her. She married him and then she killed him, and I’m the one suffering for it.”
    She buried her head in her hands and jerked her shoulders away from their comforting hands. “No, just leave. I’m sorry to be rude,” she said, wiping her eyes as Maryam and Rubiah tried to talk to her, to tell her it would be all right. “I just can’t talk anymore. I’m sorry, very sorry. Another time.”
    She tried to smile as they left and squatted in her doorway, knuckling her eyes. “Please forgive me,” she called after them.

Chapter IV
    â€œ Alamak ! I feel so sorry for her,” Maryam said softly, leaning towards Rubiah’s ear.
    â€œOh, I know,” Rubiah agreed passionately. “That poor girl. What she’s going through, I don’t even want to imagine. Kasehan.”
    â€œI don’t know how I’d deal with it myself. She’s being so brave,” Maryam marveled. “You’ve got to admire it. Respect it. Unless of course …” She paused, and stopped walking. “Unless, of course, she killed him herself. Which I wouldn’t blame her for, I can tell you that.” She resumed walking towards the main road, stepping around a variety of fruit trees planted at cautious distances from the houses: banana, papaya, and mango. “I’d feel sorry for her if she did it. I would.”
    â€œWould you keep it from the police?” Rubiah pressed her. “Just tell him you couldn’t find anything?”
    â€œAre you suggesting it?” Maryam asked her, avoiding her eyes.
    â€œI don’t know.” Rubiah was honest. “I don’t know what I’d think after all is said and done. “ Chuka diminum pagi hari , vinegar drunk early in the morning: being made a second wife is a bitter drink to swallow. Who knows what it could drive you to do?”
    They walked in silence for some moments, each contemplating the private hell of a husband suddenly appearing with a second wife. “We should see both sets of parents, as long as we’re here,” Maryampulled herself together. “It can’t be too difficult to find them.”
    The stopped at a kedai runcit on the side of the main road, where a small group of men sat on the tiny bench at the counter. Maryam and Rubiah smiled at the owner, washing the used coffee cups. “Excuse me, we aren’t from here, and we’re looking for Che Ghani’s parents. Do you know where they live?”
    The owner looked up from his cups and saucers and gave them a long look. “The late Ghani?” They nodded. “Why?”
    â€œWell,” began Maryam, “we’re helping the police, you might say, looking into this unfortunate occurrence.”
    â€œHelping the police?”
    â€œYes, Abang ,” Rubiah moved in. “You know how it is. It’s so difficult for people to talk to the police, and at a time like this, of course, you don’t want to make things even more difficult for them, isn’t that true? It’s so much easier to talk to us, you see, two Kelantanese people, not official, just trying to help.”
    He put his hands on the counter. “So tell me, Kak , why the police let you do this?” His grammar and his accent were noticeably coarser than their own.
    Rubiah was insulted. She’d offered such a smooth and polite speech, and she was interrogated as though she weren’t a well-dressed and well-spoken Mak Cik . She unconsciously rearranged her headscarf to make sure her earrings and necklaces showed to advantage, and in the bright sunlight they were blinding, to show this man who he was dealing with.
    â€œSometimes, Abang ,