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Authors: Barbara Ismail
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shadows on either side of the road. The air seemed even more humid, heavier, and the land somehow sinister. There were fewer cars down here: Kuala Krai was the last real town in Kelantan before you entered the nature preserve in central Malaysia, and it was unfamiliar terrain to anyone brought up on the flat and crowded coast. It looked deserted to their eyes ⦠and vaguely malevolent.
It was several hours before they arrived at the last railroad stop in Kelantan: the end of the line. The town of Kuala Krai itself was heavily Chinese, an anomaly in Kelantan. Most Malays lived in kampong surrounding the small, dilapidated town centre. The townpushed up against a high limestone cliff which was visible everywhere; a menacing presence, it loomed over the horizon, closing in the view, trapping the light, rendering it all the more claustrophobic.
Maryam and Rubiah got out to make inquiries about Kampong Kedai Lalat and to freshen up before stalking their prey. They entered a small coffee shop half filled with Chinese merchants drinking coffee and eating savoury pastries. The two visitors drank cold soda out of the bottle, afraid to eat any of the food, lest it be made of pork. They felt uncomfortable. In Kota Bharu, they never went into Chinese ârestaurants. (Actually, women rarely went into coffee shops at all; this was Mamatâs turf.) But Kota Bharu was overwhelmingly Malay, and there were plenty of food shops to suit them. Maryam became aware that although she was still in Kelantan, it was not the Kelantan she knew. She was glad for the company of Mamat and Rahman, which somehow (she couldnât explain the particulars, even to herself) made her feel safer.
They left Rahman with the car, and walked towards Kampong Kedai Lalat: an unkempt village on the outskirts of town. The paved road gave out quickly after downtown, becoming cratered dirt. It would be hellish driving; even walking required a good deal of attention. They passed an anemic market selling small heaps of vegetables and fruit past their first blush of youth. A meat stall displayed a few joints of goat covered in flies, and some ikan bilis , dried anchovies, in a disorderly pile on a slab of wood. Maryam and Rubiah exchanged horrified glances.
Kedai Lalat was surrounded by vegetable plots, oil palm and rubber plantations. When they saw the mosque they peeked in to see a few older men relaxing in the forecourt. It was a small wooden buildingpainted white with green trim, with a hand painted sign in Jawi script announcing âSurau (prayer room) Kedai Lalat.
âThis must be it,â Rubiah said doubtfully.
Mamat walked in and began talking to the men, all of whom began explaining something with great enthusiasm. Maryam and Rubiah couldnât hear the discussion, but it was just as well. âItâs weird here,â Maryam whispered to her cousin.
âI told you I didnât want to come,â Rubiah whispered back.
âYou never want to go anywhere,â Maryam countered, and began examining the houses nearby. Most were small and unpainted, maintained as well as could be expected. There were pots of bright flowers set at the bottom of the stairs, and most had lace net curtains in the glassless windows. People tried to make things tidy and even pretty. Unlike Kampong Penambang, the houses were huddled together around a common yard, rather than each with its own. Perhaps there were snakes, and the houses crowded together for safety. Or perhaps they stood together to ward off the encroaching jungle. These were not pleasant thoughts.
Mamat emerged from the surau and pointed further down the dirt path. âDown this road.â The sun came between the leaves overhanging the alley, providing a bit of shade and flickering shadows when the breeze blew. They fetched up at a large house made of wood with a roof made of tile rather than thatch, which displayed some level of prosperity. They could hear a radio playing Malay pop songs
It was several hours before they arrived at the last railroad stop in Kelantan: the end of the line. The town of Kuala Krai itself was heavily Chinese, an anomaly in Kelantan. Most Malays lived in kampong surrounding the small, dilapidated town centre. The townpushed up against a high limestone cliff which was visible everywhere; a menacing presence, it loomed over the horizon, closing in the view, trapping the light, rendering it all the more claustrophobic.
Maryam and Rubiah got out to make inquiries about Kampong Kedai Lalat and to freshen up before stalking their prey. They entered a small coffee shop half filled with Chinese merchants drinking coffee and eating savoury pastries. The two visitors drank cold soda out of the bottle, afraid to eat any of the food, lest it be made of pork. They felt uncomfortable. In Kota Bharu, they never went into Chinese ârestaurants. (Actually, women rarely went into coffee shops at all; this was Mamatâs turf.) But Kota Bharu was overwhelmingly Malay, and there were plenty of food shops to suit them. Maryam became aware that although she was still in Kelantan, it was not the Kelantan she knew. She was glad for the company of Mamat and Rahman, which somehow (she couldnât explain the particulars, even to herself) made her feel safer.
They left Rahman with the car, and walked towards Kampong Kedai Lalat: an unkempt village on the outskirts of town. The paved road gave out quickly after downtown, becoming cratered dirt. It would be hellish driving; even walking required a good deal of attention. They passed an anemic market selling small heaps of vegetables and fruit past their first blush of youth. A meat stall displayed a few joints of goat covered in flies, and some ikan bilis , dried anchovies, in a disorderly pile on a slab of wood. Maryam and Rubiah exchanged horrified glances.
Kedai Lalat was surrounded by vegetable plots, oil palm and rubber plantations. When they saw the mosque they peeked in to see a few older men relaxing in the forecourt. It was a small wooden buildingpainted white with green trim, with a hand painted sign in Jawi script announcing âSurau (prayer room) Kedai Lalat.
âThis must be it,â Rubiah said doubtfully.
Mamat walked in and began talking to the men, all of whom began explaining something with great enthusiasm. Maryam and Rubiah couldnât hear the discussion, but it was just as well. âItâs weird here,â Maryam whispered to her cousin.
âI told you I didnât want to come,â Rubiah whispered back.
âYou never want to go anywhere,â Maryam countered, and began examining the houses nearby. Most were small and unpainted, maintained as well as could be expected. There were pots of bright flowers set at the bottom of the stairs, and most had lace net curtains in the glassless windows. People tried to make things tidy and even pretty. Unlike Kampong Penambang, the houses were huddled together around a common yard, rather than each with its own. Perhaps there were snakes, and the houses crowded together for safety. Or perhaps they stood together to ward off the encroaching jungle. These were not pleasant thoughts.
Mamat emerged from the surau and pointed further down the dirt path. âDown this road.â The sun came between the leaves overhanging the alley, providing a bit of shade and flickering shadows when the breeze blew. They fetched up at a large house made of wood with a roof made of tile rather than thatch, which displayed some level of prosperity. They could hear a radio playing Malay pop songs
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