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even the smartest people need help, and if they’re really smart, they try to find the right person to the job.” She shook her wrist slightly so her bangles tinkled softly. “We are the rightpeople and, of course, we are perfectly ready to help.”
    The man looked back and forth at the two of them, registering their dress, their jewellery and their natural imperiousness. He was slow to acknowledge his defeat. “I’ve never heard of that,” he grumbled. “I’m just trying to make sure no one bothers the family: it’s a painful time for them. People coming from outside; I don’t want to tell you where they live and then you’ll disturb them.”
    â€œDisturb them?” Maryam asked, speaking more softly as she became more irritated. “Do we really look as though we came out here “to enjoy ourselves disturbing them? God forbid!
    â€œAnd so, Abang , I ask your help, where can I find them?”
    â€œAlright,” he ended ungraciously. “The house toward to end of the alley, on the left,” he pointed with his chin. “Over there.”
    Thanking him sweetly, they walked down the narrow opening between two houses, shaking their heads in contempt. The nerve of him, treating them like teenaged girls out to make mischief.
    Ghani’s parents’ house was easily identified by a very pretty older woman sitting on the porch with two small children. The children were playing in the shade as their grandmother sat silently watching them.
    â€œHello,” Maryam called from the bottom of the steps. The grandmother looked at her dully, not even rousing herself to a smile. She had a finely sculpted face, with high cheekbones and large, almond-shaped eyes, and her hair was pepper and salt: what people called rambut dua macam , or two kinds of hair, black and grey. Ghani must have gotten his looks from his mother, Maryam decided, remembering the wedding picture she’d just seen. Ghani’s mother nodded at Maryam, not answering. Maryam pursued her introduction.
    â€œ Kak ! I am Kak Maryam, and this is Kak Rubiah.” They bothsmiled. “It was at my house that this so unfortunate … thing … well, tragedy happened, during the performance. We are helping the police, Kak , and asking some questions. I’m so sorry to bother you.”
    They waited for her reply. It was hot and unshaded where they stood, and they were beginning to perspire. She continued to look at them, and after what seemed to be several minutes, but was probably much less, she said “Yes? At your house?”
    â€œYes Kak ,” Maryam answered vigorously, anxious to be out of the sun, “at my house. And we’re looking into it. Can we talk to you?” It was as close as Maryam could come to asking for an invitation without being terribly rude.
    â€œCome up,” the woman answered dully, remembering her manners. “Please, get out of the sun.” She stood up to greet them and disappeared into the house to make some coffee, gesturing for her guests to make themselves comfortable on the porch. It was so cool and dark out of the blazing sun: it took a few moments for their eyes to adjust. Ghani’s two children sat solemnly watching them, their eyes large, their hair pushed back from their foreheads and some cooling white powder rubbed on their cheeks and foreheads. Rubiah tried to coax them closer, but they wriggled farther away and she let them be.
    Ghani’s mother came out with a plate of cakes, no doubt brought by the neighbours, and coffee. She served them from the tray and urged them to eat and drink. She ran her hand over her face and watched them.
    â€œAren’t you drinking, Kak ?” Maryam asked.
    She smiled silently and shook her head. Maryam introduced herself and Rubiah, offering the most pertinent details, like what they sold in the market and which kampong they hailed from.
    Their hostess nodded slightly, and Maryam