"We meet again, Dr. Mustaqim Lim," Inspector Harun said casually as he sauntered towards me. He smirked as soon as I lifted my head to greet him. He added on, "You look well. How long has it been? Two years?"
"Too early for Hari Raya Haji, isn't it?" Sub-Inspector Javin appeared after him and eyed me suspiciously as I cut up the meat from the goat that I had just slaughtered at the back of my house.
True, Hari Raya Haji or Eid ul-Adha was seven months away. I would be just as suspicious as well.
"Aqiqah for my newborn," I replied. "Today's the seventh day."
Being bestowed with a newborn was a blessing from God and it was sunnah, a tradition for parents to perform aqiqah, which is the Islamic tradition of sacrificing an animal on the occasion of the child's birth. It is a form of sadaqah which is an act of charity for the meat would be shared with other people, especially the poor and needy. The parents could also cook a feast and serve the meat at a Waleemah, a banquet if they chose not to distribute it raw. Aqiqah was best performed on the seventh or fourteenth or twenty-first day, if possible. However, if the parents have yet to possess the financial means, aqiqah was permissible to be done before the child reached puberty.
As if on cue, Safiyyah's cries were heard from inside the house. Both Inspector Harun and I turned our heads to the nearest window in time to see a figure walk past. I grew worried as I looked over at his reaction.
With eyes wide open from obvious shock, Inspector Harun's face slightly paled, "Is that your wife?"
"Yes."
"You remarried?" Sub-Inspector Javin asked in surprise. I smiled but avoided eye contact and continued cutting up the meat into parts. For all he knew, he probably thought that I was engrossed with the task in front of me. "Congratulations."
"Thanks." I flicked my eyes towards Inspector Harun whose eyes were still on the same window. He craned his neck and attempted to peek in from afar. "I appreciate it if you would give my wife some privacy. She should be nursing the baby by now."
I lied. Safiyyah was on formula milk.
The inspector cleared his throat and rubbed the base of his chin with the back of his right hand uneasily, "She looks an awful lot like your late wife."
"I have a soft spot for similar features."
"A type, yes. We all have a type," Inspector Harun nodded. "Nice cosy spot that you've got here." He looked around as if admiring the view from the house.
He walked over and stopped by the grass where Mak Bidan's old bloodstains once were. He moved closer towards the house and scrutinised the spot where the blood splatter on the exterior wall used to be. It was almost gone and invisible to the naked eye, but I could not help but feel anxious the longer he stared at the same spot. It was only a few seconds before he looked at another unrelated section on the wall and then turned his attention to me.
"May I help you, inspectors?" I said curtly as I placed the butcher's knife on the old stump and stood up, slightly annoyed. "Something tells me that you're not here to exchange pleasantries."
"The reason we're here is to ask some questions about Rabeah Binti Sabit." He added on, "Also known as Mak Bidan."
Sub-Inspector Javin caught my involuntary blinks as I tried to steady my eyes. His eyes were on me like a hawk. He had now crossed his arms across his chest and began to study me more closely.
"When was the last time you saw her?" Inspector Harun asked.
"She was here last week. On the 6th. We haven't spoken since. Why?"
"We ask the questions here," Sub-Inspector Javin hardened his stare.
"Could you tell us the time that you last saw her?" Inspector Harun continued grilling me.
"It was at night. I didn't look at the time. It was a little after I left the hospital. She helped to deliver the baby."
"I see." Inspector Harun nodded to himself as if making a mental note in his head. "She's been reported missing. Based on what we gathered so far, you're the last person to see her. Do you know where she is?"
"Why would I? What she does afterwards is none of my business."
"You don't seem concerned that she's missing," Sub-Inspector Javin observed, "Nor surprised."
"Are you implying that I had something to do with her disappearance?"
"Did you?" Sub-Inspector Javin raised an eyebrow.
I snorted, "I can't believe this."
Inspector Harun revealed, "There was evidence in her place of residence that suggested some form of struggle. Traces of her blood were found on the wooden flooring along with a broken glass jar. The amount of blood loss was much more than a superficial cut."
Glass jar.
Was that an extra jar of blood that I had siphoned from the hospital? Why did she not consume everything? But why was her blood on the floor?
My ears drowned out the sound of Inspector Harun's voice as my anxiety level quickly rose. I attempted to focus on his words and remained calm, but I had difficulty doing so. I tried not to fear the worst.
Maybe the glass jar was empty.
Inspector Harun cleared his throat and looked at me. "Are you still with us?"
Huh?
"Yes. I'm listening."
"Does Mak Bidan have any enemies?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
He paused and looked at me, "Sources said that you're not fond of Mak Bidan."
"Who said that?"
Inspector Harun ignored my question. "Is it true?"
"We had some disagreements in the past but we managed to work it out."
"Did you argue with Mak Bidan on the night that you last saw her?"
"No," I said without hesitation.
"Did you go anywhere else on the night of your child's birth after Mak Bidan left?"
"I stayed home."
That was part of the truth.
Inspector Harun looked surprised as he searched my eyes. Eyes had their way of telling the truth. However, the inspector was not satisfied with my answer.
"You tend to be violent based on what your previous neighbours told us."
"I'm not a violent person. My late wife's not here to refute the statement. It's their words against mine, isn't it?" I snapped.
"I wasn't talking about your wife," Inspector Harun's eyebrows perked up with interest.
I took a deep breath and kept my cool. "If you're suggesting that I could possibly hurt Mak Bidan, you're wrong."
Sub-Inspector signalled a gesture to the inspector who nodded in response. Inspector Harun stopped questioning me. After looking down at this feet, his eyes shone. He squatted and examined the grass patch. "Quite a mess you made back here. Is this old?"
I looked over at the grass patch in surprise. Unfortunately, there was a section of grass that I had overlooked when I cleaned up the crime scene. Traces of old blood stains were left on a few tufts of grass. "I've recently learnt how to slaughter animals for consumption. Blood must have splattered everywhere," I replied right after I gulped down my nervousness.
I stole a glance at Sub-Inspector Javin. He had not budged from the same spot that he was in earlier. He was secretly studying my body language and facial expressions.
"I see." Inspector Harun measured the distance between the blood-stained grass and where I was standing. He tilted his head sideways as though he was taking note of the angle of the blood splatter. Inspector Harun made eye contact with Sub-Inspector Javin and flicked his eyes briefly to the grass. Sub-Inspector Javin's expression remained unreadable. But I caught it - a less than subtle nod.
I focused my eyes back on the old tree stump that I used as a chopping board and kept an impassive expression so as not to raise suspicion. But my passive-aggressive nature showed from the harsh way I chopped the meat. I heard the distinct sound of a shutter click and spotted Sub-Inspector Javin taking a quick shot of the dried bloodstains on the grass.
Inspector Harun took out a pair of gloves from his inner coat pocket. He wore the gloves with a snap before taking out a small evidence bag from the same coat pocket. "You don't mind if we take a sample of this, do you?"
However, he did not wait for my answer and proceeded to pluck out a few tufts of grass, placed it in the bag carefully and sealed it.
They had invaded my space, and I did not like their unconventional actions one bit. I knew by the look in their eyes that they had marked me as a potential suspect, but something told me that they had yet to discover real or immediate evidence that could possibly link me to Mak Bidan's disappearance. But why did go to such lengths for a missing person?
Unless...
Inspector Harun patted his coat pocket from the outside, "Time will tell if you're speaking the truth." Inspector Harun nudged Sub-Inspector Javin, "Let's go." As they walked away, the inspector turned around and gave me a final look, "We'll be in touch."
After packing the raw meat to distribute to people in the village, I entered my house to wash up. I jumped as Melati walked past by me and towards our bedroom, cradling Safiyyah in her arms. Even though she had changed into her human form, I was still alarmed by her presence. Fear crawled underneath my skin me as she turned around to look at me. My body grew rigid with dread as she smiled at me, "Sayang (Dear), can you help me get my glass of water? I forgot to drink it. It's on the coffee table."
I nodded shakily and went to get the glass cup. As I faced the entrance to our bedroom again, Melati had already disappeared inside. Just as I reached the doorway, my breath got caught in my throat. Both my hands went clammy. Melati had her back towards me, still cradling Safiyyah however Melati was in her pontianak form, swaying from left to right as she glided over the floor without her feet touching the ground. The glass cup shattered as it fell to the ground and Melati turned her attention towards me. She was back in her human form. The random changes in transformation had taken place a few times over the past week, but it always took me off guard.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I didn't hold it tight enough. It fell from my hand," I stammered.
"You look so pale. Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
If only she knew.
* * * ◊ ˚ ◊ ˚ ◊ ˚ ◊ ˚ ◊ * * *
It was late in the afternoon when I made a quick stop at the hospital to make Safiyyah's birth certificate. It was more difficult than I had anticipated. It was not an issue to make it. The hardest part came when I had to sneak in unseen during the opportune time when the attending clerk went for a bathroom break.
Even though the birth certificate was new, it felt like a forged document. Listing myself as the biological father was wrong on so many levels. But a birth certificate was needed to enrol her in school in future, among other things and the process would be smoother if a present parent was listed and that would be me. I hesitated as I stared at the mother's column. I could not put Melati's name for she was already deceased. It would raise far too many questions. Nor could I put Ning's name for I had to keep my promise to her. What if she knew more than she let on? What if I ended up jeopardising Safiyyah's safety if I listed Ning's name solely or listed her name and Geming's instead of mine? I stared hard at the document again. Considering that I planned to raise her as a Muslim, she would encounter problems should she be wed in the future, especially with me listed as the biological father. The marriage would be considered nullified as the information provided was not fully accurate.
I decided to leave the mother's column blank.
I would tell Safiyyah the truth when she turns older. I owe her that.
I left the place hurriedly and made my way home.
* * * ◊ ˚ ◊ ˚ ◊ ˚ ◊ ˚ ◊ * * *
I slowed down my car further away from the house when I noticed a man in his late fifties with his clothes drenched, hiding behind a tree trunk and peeking at my residence. I got out of the car quietly and approached the man from behind.
"Can I help you?"
Startled, the man jumped and his face turned a shade of embarrassment. "Wak kecebur!"
"Huh?"
He rattled on in a language that I thought I did not understand, initially. But from what I heard, it sounded like Javanese. I only understood bits and pieces of the language and not fluent enough to string a complete sentence. I knew that "wak" was a term to address an uncle or an aunt. That was the first clue.
"Kecebur! Kecebur!" He repeated the same word over and over again and started gesticulating, but I scratched my head in confusion. He sighed in frustration and grabbed a fallen stick and began tracing an image of a lake on the ground. He drew a stickman in the lake and then pointed to himself.
Did he fall in the lake?
"Jatuh dalam tasik? (Fell in the lake?)" I scratched my head again.
"Iya, iya! (Yes, yes!)" He laughed and spoke in Indonesian, "Kamu bisa ngomong Melayu! (You're able to speak Malay!)" He gestured to my face and chuckled. He continued in a mixture of Indonesian and Malay, "Wajah terlihat seperti orang Cina. Wak ngak bisa ngomong bahasa Cina. Jadi Wak bicara dalam Jawo. 'Kecebur' itu ertinya jatuh dalam air. (Your face looks Chinese. I don't know how to speak the Chinese language. So I speak in Javanese. 'Kecebur' means falling in water.)"
I let my guard down and started to sympathise the man. The lake was not far off. He could just be a harmless man looking for help from the nearest house.
"Wak mahu masuk ke dalam? (Would you like to come in?)" I gestured towards the house. The man stepped back nervously and shook his head. I started walking and gestured him over, "Janganlah segan. Saya ikhlas jemput Wak masuk rumah saya. (Don't be shy. I'm sincere in inviting you to my house.)"
"Ini rumah kamu? (This is your house?)"
I stopped in my tracks and looked at him suspiciously. It was not what he said but rather the way he said it that made me question him.
"Ya. Ini rumah saya. Ada apa-apa masalah? (Yes. This is my house. Is there a problem?)"
He shook his head and smiled, but I was unable to reciprocate his toothless grin. His smile was much wider than expected.
"Listen to your heart, Mus..." a feminine voice drifted softly into my ears. I shifted my eyes around uneasily. It almost sounded like Kamsaton.
"Ayuh (Come on)," he called out to me as he walked ahead. The man seemed far too eager to enter my house.
As soon as he entered, he sat down crossed-legged on the floor and scanned the room, particularly the ceilings. A look of disappointment dotted his face. He uttered the strangest thing to himself next, "Kosong...(Empty...)"
Melati strolled in from the bedroom carrying Safiyyah who was only clad in a cloth diaper. She stopped when she realised I was not alone. The way the man grinned at her made me feel uneasy.
"Siji," he chuckled to himself in Javanese and widened his grin as he deepened his stare at Melati as though he had struck gold. It made me furious that I did not understand what he meant.
"We have a guest. Could you help boil the water? I'll help you make tea later."
Melati nodded softly, passed Safiyyah to me and disappeared into the kitchen. I headed towards the corner of the living room and carried a small baby mattress over to the middle of the room with my free hand. I placed the spongy material down and nestled Safiyyah in the middle of the mattress carefully. I sat down beside her and pulled the mattress nearer to me.
"Siapa nama Wak? (What's your name, Uncle?)"
"Tak usah tahu nama. Panggil saja Wak. (There's no need to know my name. Just call me Wak.)" He scooted nearer to the mattress and chuckled as he playfully tickled Safiyyah at her stomach and spoke in a few words of Javanese that I understood. "Kelambi nangdi? (Where's your clothes?)" Safiyyah looked up at him curiously and formed an O with her tiny mouth. "Kelambi nangdi? (Where are your clothes?)" he teased her again.
I pretended to laugh along and quipped in Indonesian, "Dia belum bisa ngomong, Wak. (She can't speak yet, Wak.)"
He chuckled, "Wak tahu. Wak lihat wajahnya pintar. Dia mengerti. (I know. I see that she has a clever face. She understands.)" He looked at Safiyyah and playfully poked her stomach as he said the next word in Javanese. I straightened my back when I heard the first word. "Siji." He continued to poke Safiyyah's stomach playfully at each word. "Loro. Telu. Papat. Limo. Nenem. Pitu. Wolu. Songoh. Sepuluh."
Sepuluh (Ten). When it comes to the number ten, it was spelt and spoken the same way in Malay, Indonesian and Javanese.
Was he teaching Safiyyah how to count in Javanese?
He repeated himself. This time, he held out his fingers as he counted, "Siji. Loro. Telu. Papat. Limo. Nenem. Pitu. Wolu. Songoh. Sepuluh. (One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.)"
I felt the creases between my eyebrows deepened as I thought long and hard. What did he mean when he referred to Melati as siji (one)?
"Wak dengar khabar bahwa dulunya rumah ini dimiliki seorang dukun. Dewi Bayu. Ye benar? (I heard that this house was once owned by a shaman. Dewi Bayu. Is it true?)"
I was taken by surprise with his question.
I replied, "Dahulu kala. (A long time ago.)"
"Kapan dukun itu pindah? (When did the shaman move out?)"
"Dukun itu sudah meninggal, Wak. Udah lama rumah ini kosong. (The shaman had passed away, Wak. This house has been empty for a long time.)"
"Oh, iya? (Oh, yes?)" He looked at me with increasing interest. I nodded. "Kamu yang pertama? (Are you the first?)" I nodded again. I noticed that he was scanning the interior of the house with much added interest compared to the first time that he came in.
I grew uncomfortable with his questions, so I attempted to change the topic. I was curious to know where he planned to spend the night. "Wak bermalam di mana? (Where are you planning to spend the night?)"
"Usah khuatir. Wak ada tempat. (Don't worry. I have a place.)" I let out a relieved sigh at his reply. "Cuma... (Only...)" He hesitated before looking down at his clothes and adding on shyly, "Wak ingin meminjam kamar sebentar. Wak ingin ganti pakaian kering. (I wish to borrow a room for a moment. I want to change into dry clothes.)"
I had forgotten about his wet clothes.
"Wak ada baju kering? (Do you have dry clothes?)"
He nodded as he pointed to a bag made out of waterproof material, "Ada. Di sini. Dalam tas. (There is. Here. In the bag.)"
I picked up Safiyyah from the mattress and stood up. I ushered the man to the vacant room that was meant for Safiyyah when she grew older. Wak thanked me and spread out the door curtain to shield himself from our view.
"You need to leave..." It was that voice again. It was much further away this time and the strained voice crackled like it was fighting against static.
I brushed it off and headed towards the kitchen to help Melati prepare the pot of tea. After I placed Safiyyah gently into her arms, I explained to Melati what happened and filled her in with the details of how I met Wak. Midway in our conversation, she poked her head out at the kitchen's entrance, "Where's our guest?"
"He's in Safiyyah's room. Why?"
"He's not in there. The room's empty."
I poked my head out. Sure enough, there was no one in Safiyyah's room.
"Do you hear that?" Melati asked.
I pricked my ears and heard a soft but distinct sound of a nail being pounded into the wood. I walked towards the sound and was displeased when I spotted Wak in the master bedroom, hammering a nail in the corner while singing in an ancient Javanese language. But the song sounded more like a mystical chant.
"Wak," I called out in a tone that was far from friendly and bordered on disrespect.
My voice startled him and the hammer fell to the floor. He picked up the hammer in haste and looked at me apologetically.
"Maaf. Wak terlintas kamar kamu. Wak terlihat ada paku yang lepas. Ngak apa-apa. Masalah kecil. (Sorry. I passed by your room. I saw a nail coming off. It's okay. Small matter.)"
I went towards him and examined the nail. I ran my thumb over the hole enclosed by the nail. The nail fitted snugly in the hole. It did not look like it was forced in nor were there signs of splinters in the surrounding wood. Nothing seemed out of place. Maybe he was telling the truth. But why did I feel uneasy?
He voiced out suddenly, "Oh iya. Arah kiblatnya di mana? (Oh, yes. Where's the qibla, direction towards the Kaabah?)
I fumbled for a response. It was my turn to be embarrassed. I had no idea where the direction was for I had never prayed in the house. No prayer mats nor the Quran was in sight either.
"Kamu ngak tahu? (You don't know?)" The tone was surprisingly jovial and not reprimanding in the slightest. He sounded as if he was relieved that I did not pray. He tapped me on the shoulder and chuckled, "Ngak apa-apa. Wak solat aja di masjid. Lebih baik. (It's okay. I'll just pray at the mosque. It's better.)" He squeezed past me, "Permisi. (Excuse me.)"
I followed close behind and faced him before gesturing to a cup of tea and a small plate of desserts, "Minumlah dulu, Wak. Saya sudah bikin teh dan siapkan camilan. (Have a drink first, Wak. I already made tea and prepared some snacks.)"
He gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and went to the middle of the living room. However, he stopped short and just stared at the cup of tea then gave Melati a smile that made me uncomfortable. "Kamu yang bikin ini semua, bukan? (You're the one that made all this, didn't you?)" Melati gave a slow nod. Wak smiled at me, but the look that he gave me spoke of something more, "Wak mahu berangkat sekarang. Makasih ya. (I want to take my leave now. Thanks.)"
"Wak tak mahu minum dulu? (Don't you want to drink first?)"
"Ngak apa-apa. Wak masih kenyang. Biarlah kamu minum. (It's alright. I'm still full. You drink it.)"
"Saya berharap kita bertemu lagi (I hope that we meet again)," I said out of politeness.
He nodded and smiled his toothless grin once more. "Kita akan ketemu lagi. Itu sudah pasti. (We will meet again. That's for sure.)"
I smiled nervously and ushered him out of the house, then pointed him to the right direction of the mosque, "Masjidnya di sebelah kanan. Jalan lurus saja. (The mosque is on the right. Just walk straight down.)"
He nodded again and made his way out. He stopped and kicked at the ground a few times as though dispersing something away. I was not sure what he was doing. He looked back and grinned, "Semut api. (Fire ants.)"
He continued to walk away and made a right turn to the mosque. I went to the same spot that he was kicking at but did not see any fire ants near. I walked back into the house. As I passed by the window, I caught a glimpse of Wak moving in the opposite direction - away from the mosque.
Since Wak's visit, I came to learn that sometimes, being too hospitable was a dangerous thing. It turned out that there would be more visitors to come. The only difference was, the visitors were not among the living.
__________________________________
CREDITS:
Background Music: Vivek Abhishek - [No Copyright Music] Hannibal | Thriller | Horror | Royalty Free Music
Youtube Link: https://youtu.be/fJ-KbeqELZc
Channel Link: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCaeW48X42EwKHsp1n0U-WQQ