Shadow Play by Barbara Ismail Page B

modern. Some people want to look back to the way things were, but in entertainment, you have to give people what they want. Ya , it can be a hard life,” he said philosophically, shaking his head slowly, “but I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
    â€œThey say women always chase a dalang,” commented Mamat.
    Dollah laughed, a huge laugh from a small body. “It’s true!” he chortled, “It really is. Well, now of course, I’m older. I’m on my fourthwife. Not all at once, though. I’ve met all my wives at performances. They all saw me and wanted me. Even the one I have now. She was just a girl and her father came to talk to me about marrying her. I never thought about it, just been divorced, you see. I thought to myself, here’s a nice little girl. She wants me: what am I waiting for? I think I may be done with getting married all the time. Ya , getting older and settling down.” He seemed vastly amused by this.
    â€œSome of the spells we use to bring an audience also bring women. It can get mixed up. I always carry some amulets, Seri Muka , to make me attractive. To audiences, I mean.” He patted his pocket. “I sell them, too, to people who need them.” He cast a significant look at Mamat, who blandly looked back. “And women follow an entertainer. I don’t know what it is exactly.”
    He leaned back and stared off into the middle distance. “They like excitement. Someone new who’s been around. A voice they like, someone to make them laugh. Romantic, that’s it. They like a bit of romance. You see the women peeking in the back of the stage. Not only divorcees – young girls, too.” He lowered his voice, “Like for Ghani.” He looked disapproving.
    â€œOf course,” he added virtuously, “we don’t use black magic or anything like that: just spells to draw the audience. We get trouble from the Ministry of Religion when they say we’re not Islamic. I say we are! We’re Muslims, good Muslims.” Dollah was deeply engrossed now. “Our spells and magic have been with us for a long time, since our ancestor’s time. We call upon Muslim spirits: jinn , everyone knows that. We don’t fool around with spirits we don’t understand, you know. You must be careful.”
    Mamat nodded. He was sure they did have trouble with thereligious authorities, but it didn’t seem fair. Wayang Siam was a Malay tradition. He couldn’t see anything wrong with it.
    Maryam and Rubiah entered, bearing coffee, Malay cakes and fruits. “ Pak Cik!” Maryam greeted him effusively. She was surprised that he was so anxious to volunteer to speak to her since all her other witnesses avoided her to the best of their ability. She and Rubiah distributed refreshments and then sat down themselves.
    â€œI’m here to help you,” Dollah told her with a wide smile. She returned one with slightly less wattage.
    â€œThank you, Abang Dollah. It’s so good of you.”
    He nodded. “I have an idea.”
    She waited.
    â€œI’m thinking,” he said, leaning back. “I don’t really know how to say this…”
    â€œ Abang Dollah, you know you can speak frankly to us.”
    He smiled. “Perhaps poor Ghani’s passing didn’t necessarily have to do with his marriages. Maybe it had to do with Wayang Siam .”
    â€œ Wayang Siam ?” Maryam said blankly. “How would that be?”
    â€œYou know, some dalang are very competitive. They can’t stand another dalang being more popular than they are. They’re very proud. I don’t know if it could lead to something terrible.”
    Maryam stayed quiet, waiting to hear. So far, it didn’t make too much sense.
    â€œI was first chosen to go on a tour of America and England. Yes, because I was the most popular dalang in Kelantan, and they wanted me to bring the art to these other countries.