Tall Story Page 6

  17

  Bernardo

  ‘How is our Bernardo?’ Tibo always asked when I came in for a haircut.

  He meant Bernardo Carpio, of course.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I mumbled as he produced a footstool. I had to sit on the low stool so that he could cut my hair without the help of a ladder. I was never going to be small enough to sit on the barbering chairs that could lean back, move up and move down.

  ‘Now, look. Up in the sky. What do you see?’ Tibo would say.

  ‘Nothing, sir. I see nothing,’ I murmured resignedly.

  ‘Precisely.’ Old Tibo pulled his clippers out. ‘So many millions of sins pushing the Heavens further and further away. Tragic.’

  And then, as he cut my hair, he recited the story.

  When Time began, people had no use for churches, nor did they pray. There was no need. Heaven sat low over the Earth, leaning gently against the tops of the coconut trees. Thus gods lived and walked amongst men – indeed many fell in love with mortals and married them.

  The offspring of these mixed marriages were the giants, who looked human but were of a magical size. They may not have been gods but they were immortal – unlike the human side of their families.

  As time passed, humankind grew older and wilier and innocence was lost and life became a matter of what one could get away with. The accumulated sins of man began to push up against the Heavens, pushing it higher and higher and further and further away until one day the gods were amazed to see that the Earth was just a distant green patch under the clouds beneath them.

  The giants were confronted with a difficult choice: to live with their heavenly parents in the sky, or step down to Earth to live with their mortal families.

  Many stayed in Heaven. But who could bear to be parted from his or her mother? The ones with human mothers returned to Earth.

  So Heaven rose beyond the atmosphere and the giants who had chosen to stay leaped down to Earth to make their lives amongst ordinary men.

  And they were happy.

  But only while their mothers were alive.

  Their mothers eventually passed away, as mortals do.

  Their neighbours, who previously had shown no sign of ill will, suddenly turned against them. They massed in small paramilitaries and attacked the giants, burning their homes, destroying their crops, and driving them out of their villages.

  Hurt and disappointed, the giants filtered out across the world, some stepping over oceans in search of other lands, others simply lying down in their grief, covering themselves with forest and rock and becoming part of the landscape.

  ‘Do you really think that’s a bamboo thicket sighing in the wind?’ Old Tibo would put the clippers in his left hand to wag his right finger. ‘Do you really think that’s the monsoon howling? Do you really think that geology had a hand in carving that hill into the shape of a man’s body?’

  ‘No, sir,’ I’d say, bowing my head.

  ‘Giants! That’s what they are. Just giants. As for earthquakes – an earthquake is nothing but a giant’s shudder.’

  This was my cue to ask the question I asked every time. ‘Why would a giant shudder?’

  ‘Regret, of course.’ Old Tibo would shake his head sadly. ‘All giants regret that they had to leave Heaven to be with their mortal mothers.’

  The cellphone shuddered on the bed again. My eyes flew open. What time was it? I snatched the phone up.

  But its little window remained dark.

  Then it shook again.

  It was not the phone.

  It was the bed.

  The wall.

  The room.

  Mama’s picture on the wall tilted slowly to the right.

  Earthquake.

  Part Two

  Mind the Gap

  1

  Andi

  He had to crouch to get through the double doors.

  And suddenly it was as if the crowd in Terminal 3 had turned into a sea of eyeballs, all swiftly rotated in our direction.

  He was massive.

  No, not massive, because he actually looked slight, if you could call a giant slight.

  Slight like it would take a tiny gust to blow him over.

  Slight like a long straw, all air and no structure.

  Slight like an empty suit dangling from a hanger. A very long suit.

  His shoulders were round and he was stooped.

  Everything about him was lanky, his arms, his legs, his hair. Who cut his hair? It was horrible, chopped around his ears like a jigsaw. And don’t get me started on the suit, made of some kind of shiny nylon, and the tie that hung like it had been pasted on with Velcro. On his feet he wore some deeply ugly sandals with black socks.

  The other passengers emerging from the doors flowed past him like a fast-moving stream as he made his way towards us, walking like his legs were tree trunks that he had to uproot with every step.

  His face was all angles, like the bones had grown all wrong, his cheekbones jutting, too sharp for a boy’s face.

  Then when he spoke … oh, that voice!

  He sounded like he was underwater. He sounded like he had the treble turned off. He sounded like Dad’s prehistoric CD Walkman with a flat battery.

  And yep. He was tall.

  I mean, did Mum actually think she was preparing me to meet this … this GIRAFFE … by bleating ‘he’s tall’ every few minutes?

  Lame. Lame. LAME.

  2

  Bernardo

  Ma leaped higher than a grasshopper in a paddy field to hug me. She just missed my shoulders and embraced me around the waist instead.

  The Arrivals area shimmered behind the tears in my eyes and I squeezed her hard.

  ‘Mama! Mama,’ I murmured, my throat tight. Suddenly the worries that had plagued me since I got off the plane vanished. Losing my way, taking the wrong exit, picking the trolley with a sticky wheel – nothing mattered.

  I was in London at last.

  Uncle William was waving a long white streamer high in the air. I recognized him from the photos: pineapple hair cropped close to his head, freckles like orange dust all over his face. More tears welled in my eyes as I read the message written across the banner with a marker pen.

  Welcome Home, Bernardo.

  Remembering my manners, I bent low to touch Ma’s hand to my forehead.

  She grabbed my hand and cradled it against her cheek, whispering in Tagalog, ‘Oh, my son. My baby. At last. At last.’

  Uncle William came forward, rolling the streamer into a scroll. He gave me a quick hug.

  ‘Welcome to London, Bernardo,’ he said.

  Instead of touching his hand to my forehead, I shook it firmly, hoping that my palms weren’t sweaty. ‘Once you’re in England,’ Auntie had admonished, ‘do as the English do.’

  But when I opened my mouth to speak, the English weighed my tongue down like a stone.

  ‘I am glad you meet me.’

  Uncle William smiled. ‘Glad to meet you too,’ he replied and I almost sagged with relief.

  ‘I am fine, you are how?’ I said.

  Uncle William paused like he was adding up a complicated sum, but he just clapped me on the shoulder and answered my question as if everything was OK. ‘I’m fine, Bernardo. Thank you for asking!’

  Ma beamed up at me and continued to cling to my hand.

  Where was Amandolina? There was no sign of my sister in the airport crowd. Did she not come to meet me? Disappointment began to gnaw at my chest.

  Ma turned to a freckled little boy in a Chicago Bulls jacket. ‘Andi, aren’t you going to say hello?’

  The boy stared up at me open-mouthed. He was no higher than my hip bone.

  Then he snapped his jaws together with a click.

  ‘Hey, Bernardo,’ he mumbled in a gruff voice, raising a hand in a half-salute while tracing a crack in the linoleum with the toe of his shoe.

  I hesitated and then raised my hand too. ‘Pleased you meet me?’ I said, unsure.

  The boy
turned to Ma, his bottom lip thrust out, dark brows drawn together in a scowl. Uncle William frowned at the boy and Ma’s grip on my hand tightened.

  ‘Mum, why couldn’t you just tell me?’ he said in a soft voice.

  ‘Andi!’ Mum said. ‘Say hello properly.’

  It was only then that I realized. It was Amandolina.

  The photos Mama sent had not prepared me for the hunched shoulders, hands stuffed into skinny jeans ripped at the knees, high-top canvas shoes smudged with dirt, and spiky short hair.

  Amandolina slowly turned back to me and shielded her eyes from the glare of the fluorescent lights as she stared up into my face. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said.

  But she didn’t look at all pleased.

  3

  Andi

  What was everybody at school going to say when I turned up escorting the Big Friendly Giant?

  I felt sick just thinking about it.

  After Mum had talked to the school about Bernardo, Mrs Green had suddenly come over all friendly.

  ‘I hear your brother from the Philippines will be joining us soon, Andi?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ I had wondered at the chummy way she touched my shoulder, the way she looked at me, as if there was a terrible illness in the family.

  ‘Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.’

  Help? I’d wondered. Why would we need help?

  Now I knew.

  4

  Bernardo

  Amandolina’s eyes seemed to be fixed on my necktie and I tugged at it self-consciously.

  ‘Very smart,’ Ma said. ‘Did Timbuktu make your suit?’

  I nodded.

  It had been a rush job. Timbuktu had refused at first. But Uncle told him it was an emergency. A cousin from out of town suddenly needed to get married. Tim understood, of course. As a tailor he often dealt with urgent weddings with fire-breathing families intent on rescuing the honour of an expectant bride. Uncle told Tim I was best man.

  ‘Everyone on the plane will be wearing suits,’ Uncle told me. ‘And you must make a good first impression when you get to Heathrow.’

  Tim charged extra for the rush and he charged extra for the Velcro on the tie. Tim liked Velcro. All the trousers that he’d ever made me were fastened with Velcro. The only thing about Velcro was the whole household could hear you undressing.

  Zzzzt. Nardo’s emptying his pockets. Zzzzt. Nardo’s unzipped his fly.

  Of course, there weren’t any smart shoes to go with the suit. Nobody had ever even heard of size twenty-two in San Andres and shoes were way beyond Timbuktu’s considerable abilities. So he made me a pair of leather sandals instead. Uncle said he had once seen a fashion magazine where the male models wore sandals with suits.

  ‘Nardo, you look so smart,’ Uncle had said. But I felt more like a tightly rolled piece of dim sum.

  The morning of my flight to London was boiling hot long before the sun had even risen beyond the coconut trees.

  Auntie made me put the jacket on, then turned me around and around as if she was inspecting a marrow for bruises.

  ‘It’s too hot, Auntie!’

  ‘Just let me have a good look!’

  I rotated, trying to ignore the rivulets of sweat that trickled down my back.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Sister Sofia!’ a voice called urgently from the other side.

  Auntie and I looked at each other.

  Whoever it was knocked again.

  Auntie’s shoulders sagged. She crossed the room and opened the door, leaving the chain on.

  Old Tibo’s face thrust through the crack, his eyes frantically searching the room behind Auntie before settling on me with relief.

  ‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘I was afraid we were too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’ Auntie’s voice was cold.

  ‘Let us in, Sister,’ someone called from behind Old Tibo. ‘We must speak to you.’

  Auntie sighed and unlatched the chain.

  A small crowd hurried into the living room.

  It was so early in the morning, the streets outside should have remained empty for another hour. And yet here were all our immediate neighbours. Old Tibo, of course, with Flash Gordon at his heels. Timbuktu. Salim. Sister Len-Len with her baby curled in the crook of her elbow like a kitten.

  And Jabby. He followed the others slowly into the room, frowning as he spotted the luggage piled up on the floor.

  ‘It’s true, then,’ Old Tibo said.

  Auntie glared at me.

  ‘I swear I didn’t tell anyone, Auntie!’ I stared guiltily at the crowd.

  ‘Then how did they find out?’ She clenched her fists in frustration.

  ‘I put two and two together,’ Timbuktu said, his arms akimbo, a smug expression on his face. ‘Your uncle wanted your jacket lined. In this climate? People only ever order suits when they’re about to go on an international flight.’

  ‘And, Nardo, there was an earthquake last night, after midnight,’ Old Tibo said. ‘Did you feel it?’

  All their eyes turned to me, accusing.

  ‘The first one in three years; it woke the baby,’ Sister Len-Len added. Her baby made a meowing noise as if to concur. ‘It’s an omen.’

  ‘Please don’t send Nardo away, Sister Sofia,’ Salim said. ‘San Andres needs him.’

  ‘The boy should be with his mother.’ Auntie’s voice was defiant, but her eyes were downcast.

  ‘And what about us?’ Old Tibo’s voice quavered with anger. ‘Did you think about what would happen to our barrio, our homes?’

  ‘Superstition!’ The screen door to the back banged open as Uncle burst in. He had been getting the jeepney ready out the back. ‘He’s just an ordinary boy.’

  ‘There’s nothing ordinary about Bernardo,’ Salim said quietly.

  Everyone looked up at me.

  Old Tibo shook his head. ‘Brother Victor, you know the curse as well as I do. If Bernardo leaves the barrio, San Andres will be destroyed.’

  I kneaded my forehead as the first pinpricks of a headache began. They were right. I was letting everyone down. San Andres needed me. ‘Look, Auntie … Uncle,’ I said softly. ‘Maybe I should …’

  ‘No.’

  I thought at first it was Uncle who spoke because the voice was deep and dark, a man’s voice. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t any of the grown men in the room. It was Jabby.

  ‘Nardo, don’t listen to them.’ His eyes were bright.

  All the mixed-up feelings of the past days welled up in me and I wanted to look away, but he held me in his laser gaze. ‘You know you want to be with your mother. You must go. It’s wrong for them to stop you.’

  ‘Henry!’ Sister Len-Len glared at him.

  ‘I’m …’ Sorry, I wanted to say. I’m so sorry.

  Everyone began talking at the same time, Auntie and Uncle angry and indignant. Old Tibo and the others in furious counterpoint. Jabby saying, No, no, no, Nardo, you must go, go, go. The throbbing in my head turned into a deep drum-roll. I raised a hand to massage my forehead, my eyes watering. A bolt of pain slashed, lightning-sharp, into my eyes, and the faces around me whirled into a spinning blur.

  And then I was conscious of a great weight.

  ‘Nardo!’ Auntie’s voice was a hundred miles away.

  It was in my arms again. The Earth, so wet, so heavy – and slippery despite the rough gristle of forests and mountains.

  It weighed a ton. No, a million billion zillion tons. Too heavy, too heavy. I couldn’t … It slipped and I struggled not to let go.

  Then someone flicked a switch and turned off the sun.

  5

  Andi

  Everywhere we went, eyeballs tracked Bernardo like he was an alien from outer space. But the way he behaved, you would think that he was the one who’d stumbled upon an alien landscape.

  He hesitated at the top of the escalators for so long that a queue formed behind us. I glanced over at Mum. Didn’t they have escalators
in the Philippines?

  But apparently he was just savouring the moment. Bernardo grinned over his shoulder. ‘I cannot believe. Yesterday only, I have be in Manila.’

  Mum laughed, startling a bunch of people who were coming up the escalator on the other side. ‘Believe, believe!’ she cried, like a mad person.

  Ay kennat bileeb. His vowels were hard as stones. His English is very good, Ma had said the other day. Not.

  I stepped past Bernardo and got on the escalator. Obviously someone had to get things moving.

  Dad had taken the lift with Bernardo’s trolley. He met us at the bottom of the escalator.

  ‘All right?’ he said, slapping Bernardo on the shoulder – except he missed and caught him on the elbow.

  ‘All right.’ Bernardo took a deep breath, like he was about to dive deep into the ocean. ‘It have very nice smell here. Everything have air-conditioned!’

  Mum thought that was funny too, braying so loudly that I’m sure I saw the airport sniffer dog check her out.

  I led the way without looking over my shoulder, trying to ignore the double-takes and whispers as people caught sight of Bernardo.

  ‘ANDI! Slow down!’ Mum yelled. She handed Bernardo a ticket to feed the entry barrier but the guard opened a gate and waved him through. ‘Health and safety!’ he called. ‘We don’t want him getting stuck in them gates.’

  Trolleys were not allowed on the Underground platforms so we each took one of Bernardo’s suitcases to roll along. Bernardo had to bend low to reach the handle of his bag, which was just as well because he had to keep his head ducked to get through the low tunnel to the platform.

  ‘This is first time I have train,’ Bernardo said when we got to our platform. And I believed him – especially after he leaped backwards like a terrified rabbit when the train came thundering out of the tunnel’s mouth. His eyes bulged with awe as it screeched to a halt and the carriage doors rattled open.

  I paused. How was he going to fit into the carriage?

  But Mum was already urging him in. If the tunnels were low, the carriage was a matchbox on wheels. Bernardo practically had to unhinge his shoulders to get through the low opening. He tucked his chin deep into his chest and approached the door with his body bent into a right angle.