“How are we going to get through the fence?”
“By crawling under it.”
Jojo crouched alongside the wire mesh. He pulled and bent it upward. “This fence was meant to keep out animals and birds, not people,” he said with a smirk, and waved his hand at the hole he made. “Ladies first!”
The edge of the fence raked across my back as I crawled through. I had never been to this part of the cemetery before. It was like walking into a different place, a different time. Here, the resident dead were housed in monuments of marble and glass, guarded by gold-and-red lacquered dragons.
“They look more like mansions than grave houses,” I whispered. It was so quiet that our voices seemed to echo between the mausoleums.
Some of the buildings were two stories high, complete with windows, steps, and doors painted with red-and-gold trim. Some of the entryways were made of glass. You could see into tiled rooms with gleaming marble tombs and oiled brass grave markers. I even glimpsed a glass table with matching chairs topped with a vase of fresh lilies. If this was how they housed their dead, I couldn’t even imagine what the living had for homes. Jojo and I were the only people here. No squatters.
“I know what you’re thinking. The grave houses here look too fancy just to bury someone inside them. My grandmother used to wash clothes for a Chinese family when I was little. She learned that they bury their dead this way because they believed that death was a continuation of life, and that their afterlife should mirror how they lived on earth. She told me there was a Chinese philosopher who said, ‘treat death as life.’” Jojo sniffed, then shrugged.
I nodded as if I understood. But really I didn’t. It seemed like such a waste. Papa’s mausoleum was a simple one and had been in his family for years.
“Come on, let’s find that taxi.”
“This way.” Jojo grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me up the street. His fingers felt hot in mine. I held on tight, glad that he was with me. Our slippers made a gentle slapping sound as we ran. The drumming of my heart grew and filled my ears. I also heard the low thrumming of an idling car. It came from a street ahead of us.
The taxi was parked behind another car in front of a large grave house with two floors. The walls were white. They glittered in the sun. Jojo said the builders probably mixed crushed glass in the cement to give that effect. This one had columns supporting a covered porch. On either side of the door stood stone lion statues, mouths open, as if to frighten away anyone who would disturb the dead inside. Curtains fluttered in the windows on the second floor like waving flags. Was Mama inside the building or still in the taxi?
I tugged on Jojo’s hand. “We have to get closer.”
We ran down the street, then ducked behind a low wall when the gate of the grave house opened and two men came outside. One them was Tiger, smoking a cigarette. The other one was large, with dark, pockmarked skin and a wide, bulbous nose. He was dressed in black pants, a pressed shirt, and leather shoes. He carried a leather bag with papers sticking out of it.
“Trust me, sir, she’s not going to forget to pay her debt next time,” said Tiger.
The man nodded. He chuckled and glanced at his watch. “Make sure the other grave rats who owe me money know that they either pay or work in the factory. Well, if my calculations are correct, she worked more than enough hours to pay her debt. I’m not completely heartless, so I will pay her for the additional work she did. Here is your allowance, plus a little extra.” The man handed Tiger an envelope. “I want you to give the first floor a fresh coat of paint. And tell your hooligans to stop sleeping on top of the tombs. My wife will kick you all out if she finds out you’re disrespecting her family.”
The man walked over to the taxi and also handed an envelope to Mama, who was still sitting in the backseat. She sat up, ran her hand through her hair, and nodded at whatever the man was saying. Without another word, the big man got into his car and left. Tiger flicked his cigarette into the street and leaned into the open door of the taxi.
“Ma—” I started to scream. Tiger’s head whipped in our direction. Jojo covered my mouth and pulled me down. His eyes pleaded for me to be quiet.
The soft thud of footsteps came toward us. My chest thundered with fear. I wanted to move, to run, but my body stayed frozen in place. The footsteps stopped, then moved away again. Jojo loosened his grip on me and I inhaled a deep, shuddering breath of relief.
He leaned over, cupped his mouth to my ear, and said, “We’ll have to stay hidden. If he catches us, we’re dead.”
We listened to Tiger’s fading footsteps. A car door slammed. The taxi’s engine revved and hummed. Then it rolled away down the street.
“Come on,” said Jojo. We ran after it as fast as our slippers allowed. We were almost to my alley when I noticed someone struggling to stand by the side of the road.
Mama. I ran to her. My throat ached at how she trembled, fighting to steady herself.
“Mama!” I wrapped my arms around her waist, tears stinging my eyes. She could barely keep her head up. Her lips moved but no sound came from them.
“Let’s go home, Mama.”
Jojo and I held her between us so she could walk, but she was too weak.
“Come on, let’s get her on my back,” said Jojo.
With my hands under Mama’s armpits, I pushed her over Jojo’s shoulders. She moaned softly but didn’t protest. He crouched in front of her, catching her weight on his back. I held on to her while Jojo stood up. He pulled up her knees with each hand and leaned forward to keep steady. Mama’s thin body was so light that it startled me. When was the last time she ate?
I stared at her pale face, rocking against Jojo’s shoulder as we walked home.
What happened to you, Mama?
Chapter Sixteen
Mama lay on the woven mat in our grave house, still as death. The only sign of life was the gentle rise and fall of her chest. A single candle burned in the corner. It gave the grave house and everything in it a comforting, warm, orange glow.
Jojo had sat by the door all day, answering questions for the curious and concerned in my cemetery neighborhood. He had his head down on his arms now, probably as exhausted as I was. My eyes ached but I couldn’t sleep.
“Jo.” His head shot up, startled, when I placed my hand on his arm. He grabbed hold of it; his bloodshot eyes darted between me and where Mama lay.
“Is everything okay? What happened?”
“She’s sleeping.” My hand twisted in his and held it. I remembered how at first I hadn’t even wanted to be his friend. Now, it was like having an older brother. More than I deserved, considering how mean I had been to him when I first came to live in the cemetery.
Jojo rubbed his eyes and fought to stay awake. I squeezed his hand again. “Hey, why don’t you go home? Mama and I will be fine for now. Your grandmother must be worried sick about you.”
“No, she’s not worried. I sent little Ernie with a message for her. She knows I’m here. I’ll go home if you want me to.”
“Oh, no. It’s just—well, I’ll have to help my mother with—uh, you know.” My hand waved toward a bucket in the corner.
“Say no more!” He stood up and smoothed his shirt down, his eyes darting away from the bucket. I didn’t mean to embarrass him, but I would need a little privacy later on. For Mama and for myself.
“Do you think you could come back tomorrow? With your grandmother?” I glanced at Mama’s hollow face, her sunken eyes and cheeks. I was going to need his grandmother’s help in case Mama got worse.
“We’ll be here.” He gave me an encouraging smile, patted me on the shoulder, and then left. I hoped they would come back, though a little voice inside of me told me not to depend on it, that I had to try and figure out what to do on my own.
It was nearly dawn. My eyes and my body ached, but I was too afraid to go to sleep. With my chin resting against my knees, I listened to Mama breathe.
I couldn’t take my eyes from her, too afraid to look away
and find that I had imagined her. She is home. She didn’t leave me.
It had been a long time since I had felt Mama’s embrace. I had the sudden urge to touch her, to feel close to her again. Under the kulambo, I curled into a ball and snuggled against her back. Mama’s warmth filled me with longing for what we both had lost, and what we both needed to have once again.
My eyes drifted to the shadowy outline of my sweet potato plant and its drooping stems. My thoughts grew vague, distant.
I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me far, far away.
* * *
I woke up with sweat beaded on my forehead and nose.
It felt like I was leaning on a bundle of clothes left out in the sun too long. I thought it was the heat that woke me, but it wasn’t. It was Mama’s moans. She turned her head, her face tight with pain as she clutched her belly. Her hair looked wild and matted against the makeshift pillow under her head. She moaned again when I brushed the hair from her face. The papery softness of her skin was dry and hot.
“Mama?”
No answer. She was radiating heat like a stove. I’d thought only children had fevers. I tried to remember what Mama did whenever I had one. I got up to find some cloth and a basin of water.
With a thin, wet towel, I wiped down Mama’s arms and legs, then covered her forehead with it. I fanned her with a piece of cardboard. It was the only other thing I could think of doing to cool her fever.
I was getting ready to sponge her down again when I noticed a spot of blood on her dress. I touched the smudge and it blossomed into a bigger stain. What? Where was the blood coming from? I bit my fist to keep from crying. I was too afraid to look but I knew I had to. My hands trembled when I lifted the edge of her dress and took a peek.
Mama had scratches and insect bites all over her arms and legs. Right above her hip was a raised lump about the size of a baseball. Pus and blood dripped from a torn scab on top of the swollen wound. Pink streaks radiated from it like a sunburst. Mama had had boils before, but never anything this bad.
The man in the nice clothes had said that Mama had been working in a factory. She smelled like she hadn’t bathed or changed for days.
What am I going to do? I squeezed my eyes shut. I had to calm down and think.
The first thing to do was to clean her up. When I was little and I had a fever, Mama would give me a sponge bath. I rummaged through our baskets and pulled out a fresh duster and underwear. At the bottom of one was a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. It was only half full. With a fresh basin of water, I poured what was left of the alcohol and mixed it in with my finger.
My mother had done the same for our old neighbor Aling Lily when she came home from the hospital after an operation. She used to take me with her since Papa was at work. I remember watching Mama change the old woman’s clothes and clean her wound. Now it was my turn to do the same for my mother.
Mama stirred and moaned as I undressed her and wiped her down. When I tried to clean the pus out of her wound, she cried out.
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
Tears rolled down her dry, hot cheeks. She whispered, “That’s okay, anak. I’ve had that boil for a while now. It just won’t heal. I don’t understand what can be making me feel so sick.”
I covered the swollen lump on her hip with a clean, thin towel. There was nothing more to be done about it for now but to wait for Lola Mercy. She would know what to do.
After I dressed her, Mama peered at me through half-open eyes. She licked her dry lips, lifted her hand to my cheek, and said, “Nora.”
Her hand was so hot. I pressed it to my face, wetting it with my tears. Her eyes pooled with moisture. She blinked, sending rivulets down her cheeks. She tried to turn herself, to lie on her side, but her face tightened in pain.
“What happened to you, Mama? I’ve been worried for days.”
She licked her lips and whispered, “Water.”
Mama slowly lifted herself onto her elbow and drank from the cup I held to her lips. She lowered herself down, lines of pain etched across her face again. “Can we talk later? I feel so tired.”
Her eyes closed and her breathing steadied. I looked at the empty bottle of rubbing alcohol lying on the floor by the basin. There was a drugstore right across the street from Aling Lydia’s home where I could buy more. Maybe the lady who ran the store could tell me what medicine I could buy to help Mama’s pain. I still had some of the money Aling Lydia had paid me. Maybe I could make a quick trip while Mama rested. It would be better to have someone here to watch over her while I was gone. Were Jojo and Lola Mercy still coming over?
Still undecided over whether to go or stay, I sat on the mat and stared at the concrete floor. There were a couple of ants moving across it, each carrying a crumb of food. In a way, squatters were a lot like them. We scavenged for what we needed to survive, just like ants. We lived in a sort of colony, like ants. We shared food and protected one another. A single ant couldn’t live by itself, but in a colony, it would survive, just as Mama and I had endured here in the cemetery. Tiger was also a squatter, but he wasn’t an ant. He was a cockroach.
The purple-and-green leaves of my sweet potato plant looked dry, and had curled along the edges from thirst. I sprinkled a little water into the pot. It wasn’t enough. I’d have to water it when I returned from the drugstore.
I stood up and looked outside. Maybe Aling Nena could look after Mama while I went to the store. It wouldn’t be for long anyway.
After setting up the kulambo over Mama to keep the flies and mosquitoes away, I made sure the bars were covered with a sheet to shield her from prying eyes.
The alley was busy as usual; the voices of playing children and scolding mothers sounded strangely comforting to me. I took one last look at Mama before stepping outside. What if she woke up looking for me? What if Aling Nena was too busy to check on Mama? But I had to buy the medicine soon in case she needed it. I was closing the gate of the grave house when I heard a sweet singsong voice coming from up the alley.
“Nora, where are you going?” called Lola Mercy as she shuffled over. She pointed to the basket over her other arm. “I’ve brought something for your mother. Let me have a look at her.”
My fellow ants had arrived.
Chapter Seventeen
Jojo hadn’t come over like he promised he would. He’d told me yesterday that he’d be here but Lola Mercy said he was off doing his water chores. And he also had a tomb-painting job later in the day. He had to do something to make money, right? His grandmother depended on him. But still, I missed him.
“Let me have a look at your mother,” said Lola Mercy as she crawled beneath the kulambo. She began to unpack what she had in her basket. “Did you have somewhere to go, Nora? I’ll look after your mother until you come back.”
I nodded, relieved that Mama was in safe hands. Before I left, I counted the money I had. It would be enough for a few days of medicine and food at the most. I could sell garlands, but who would take care of Mama? It seemed too much to keep asking Lola Mercy or Aling Nena to help out. I wouldn’t be able to repay them.
The drugstore stood on the opposite corner of Aling Lydia’s house and the bakery. A wall-to-wall glass counter and display case ran through the whole establishment, containing ointments, creams, and even cosmetics. Two young women were busy with other customers so I waited. I held my money, the bills folded lengthwise, so they could see that I was here to buy something, that I wasn’t just standing around ogling the items inside the display case.
I glanced across the street at the bakery. I thought about the job Aling Lydia had offered me, the day I was late to do the washing and she had hired someone else to take my place. A lump of bitterness rose up in my chest, remembering how I had shouted and cried, and that I had run away instead of accepting the job. Would she still take me on to help out in the bakery? Maybe I could ask her for a loan and work it off.
No, she won’t. She’ll chase you out with a broom before you have a chance to
speak. I shuffled my feet, my stomach queasy. I should go and talk to Aling Lydia. I had to try, for Mama’s sake.
One of the young women finished with her customer and shifted her attention to me. She walked over to where I stood and asked, “How can I help you?”
I told her about Mama’s boil and the pain she was in. She looked at how much money I had and said I could afford a few foil-wrapped packets of aspirin and penicillin. She told me that since I could only afford a few tablets of the antibiotic, I should crush the tablet into a powder and press it into Mama’s wound. There was also enough money to buy the supplies I needed to keep it clean. I paid her and told her I would be back to pick up the items.
Before I could lose my nerve, I crossed the street to Aling Lydia’s house. I stopped at the gate and listened, debating if I should ring the buzzer on the wall or just march through and knock on their front door.
The decision was made for me when Perla strode out of the house. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt that said I ♥ NY on the front. She didn’t see me until she crossed the courtyard to the back door of the bakery. She paused with a hand on one hip and gazed at me, her long, straight, side-parted hair covering one eye. Then she sauntered over to the gate, tucking a strand behind her ear.
Be brave. “Hi, Perla. Is your mother home?” My voice came out too soft.
Perla made a face and tilted her head. “What?”
I swallowed the dry lump in my throat. “Is your mother home? I want to ask her something.”
“No. She’s out for the rest of the afternoon. My mother is very busy, you know.” She turned to walk back to the bakery.
“Wait!”
Perla spun around, arms crossed in front of her chest, her eyebrows raised.
I swallowed again. “Can you please give her a message for me?”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “What is it?”
Everlasting Nora Page 11
