I lit a candle, setting it beside the burning mosquito coil. I crawled under the kulambo and lay on my stomach next to Mama. The book of folktales Kuya Efren had given to me lay on the mat. I flipped through the pages, trying to decide which story to read first.
“What are you reading?” asked Mama in a soft, sleepy voice.
“Just a book of Filipino folktales.” I tilted the cover so she could see it.
“Is there one about the mango tree? That’s my favorite.”
I slid my finger down the table of contents. “Here’s one! Would you like me to read it to you?”
Mama nodded, the crease between her eyebrows deepening, as if the simple movement caused her more pain.
Candlelight flickered over the pages. I began to read.
A TREE WITH NO NAME
THE LEGEND OF THE MANGO TREE
A Filipino Folktale
Once upon a time, in a sunny grove, in a valley of rolling green hills, stood a tree with no name.
The tree towered over all the others in the woodland, its trunk thick and sturdy, its leaves glossy green. It was magnificent to behold. The tree had no name because it bore no fruit.
Every morning, children would come to the thicket to harvest. They visited many trees there but not Tree-with-no-name.
They climbed Rambutan tree and picked its red, spiky fruit.
The children pranced to Tamarind tree and gathered its long brown pods for cooking.
They harvested the round, yellow-green, fragrant fruit of Guava tree.
The children left the grove with baskets overflowing.
The trees in the grove shook their branches and whispered, because all trees whisper.
“Oh my,” sighed Guava tree. “That feels much better. My branches were so heavy with fruit that I could hardly keep my canopy up.”
“I wish the children weren’t so rough,” whispered Rambutan tree. “My trunk is bruised and my branches are torn.”
Tree-with-no-name listened and wondered. Filled with curiosity, it whispered to Tamarind tree, because all trees whisper.
“What is it like to have fruit? It seems wonderful.”
“Yes, it is,” whispered Tamarind tree. “But you will never understand, for you do not bear fruit. Truly, you do not belong with us.”
Tree-with-no-name sighed. Some of its leaves drifted to the ground.
One day, a great storm swept over the grove. Birds, mice, and other small creatures ran around seeking shelter.
“Oh, Tamarind tree, may we shelter in your canopy?” asked the birds and mice.
“Go away. You cannot stay here. You will ruin my fruits,” whispered Tamarind tree.
Shivering with cold, the animals ran to Guava tree, but before the birds and mice could speak, Guava tree whispered, “You cannot stay here.” It shook its branches to scare them away.
The animals ran to Tree-with-no-name and asked, “Oh big and mighty tree, may we shelter in your canopy?”
Tree-with-no-name whispered, because all trees whisper, “Come.”
The tree stood strong against the storm. It had no name and could not bear fruit but it was glad to help its new little friends.
When the storm passed, Tree-with-no-name whispered goodbye to the birds and field mice. Then a butterfly landed on one of its branches. It was the most beautiful creature the tree had ever seen. The sun shone through its golden wings and the tree realized that this was not a butterfly. The creature transformed into an ethereal being. A Diwata.
“For showing great kindness to all the small creatures of the grove, I will give you a special gift,” said the Diwata. “You are a tree of great heart, so you shall bear a wonderful heart-shaped fruit, golden and sweet. You will be known as Mango tree.”
As the sun rose high in the sky, the Diwata smiled and disappeared. The tree’s branches suddenly felt heavy. Under its canopy hung fragrant, golden fruits. It heard the children come into the grove with their baskets. The tree watched them and felt them climb its trunk.
The tree whispered to them, because all trees whisper, “I am Mango tree.”
“The end.”
A smile lifted the corners of Mama’s mouth. “Read me another.”
It hit me then. I had said the same exact words to her when she used to read to me, before the gambling, before the fire. I turned the page, swallowing the lump in my throat, and read the next story. And the next.
After an hour, Mama placed her hand on my shoulder. “More tea.”
I helped her raise her head so she could drink from the cup. It was almost empty. I lifted the edge of the netting and refilled it from the bottle Lola had brought.
“Thank you, anak.” Her voice was soft, raspy. “I’m so sorry I disappointed you.”
“It’s okay, Mama. Just rest. You’ll get better, you’ll see.”
When I moved to turn away, Mama grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer. Her hot breath fanned my cheek. “Promise me, if something happens to me…”
“Don’t talk that way. You will get well, I know it!”
“Stubborn girl! Listen to me. Please.” Mama stared at me; the whites of her eyes had turned yellow. After I nodded, she continued. “If something happens to me, you must ask Mang Rudy to take you to Rosie. She knows how to contact your uncle. She has all the information. Promise me you will do everything you can to leave this place.”
I wanted to tell her that I had already tried calling him, but instead I nodded, wiping the tears off my cheeks. She stared at the roof of the darkening grave house until her eyes closed again. Her face felt hot and dry to the touch. A small shallow basin sat by Mama’s feet. A rag lay submerged in water and alcohol. I began bathing Mama’s face and arms.
“You will get better,” I whispered. “You have to.”
Chapter Twenty
Mama’s fever continued to rage. Lola’s lagundi tea and the medicine I bought for her gave her a few hours of relief, but it always returned. So did the pain. The swelling on her hip was bigger and so were the red streaks that cut a path over her skin. It also smelled bad.
She grew weaker and ate less. Twice, I was tempted to ask Mang Rudy to help me take her to a hospital, but I kept hoping that Mama would get better, that all I had to do was wait another day. I did go to Aling Lydia for help, but once again, she wasn’t home.
If I had Papa’s watch, I would’ve given it to her as a promise to repay the money she would lend me. Tiger didn’t have the right to keep it. The more I thought of it, the more I wanted it back.
The next morning, I noticed that the hollow space between Mama’s collarbones and neck looked deeper. Her pain and fever made her tremble as she took another pill. Only two were left now. I’d sold the last of the garlands I made yesterday. All the money I made went to basic needs. I didn’t have enough to replenish my supply of everlasting daisies. No garlands, no food, no medicine. I had to do something. As I made breakfast and got ready to wash our clothes, my head filled with schemes on how to get Papa’s watch back from Tiger. It all boiled down to a drastic one. Just the thought of it made my knees so weak, I nearly dropped the basin of clothes I was carrying.
“Nora!”
I had just stepped out of the grave house with the laundry balanced on my hip. Aling Lydia and Perla were coming down the alley, each of them carrying a basket.
The jolt of surprise felt like an electrical shock.
Perla gave her mother my message.
But what are they doing here?
I stared at them, my mouth opening and closing, forming words without sound. I set down the basin. Queasiness spread from my stomach to my chest. The bucket we used for a toilet hadn’t been emptied. At least I’d remembered to cover it with a piece of cardboard. I watched Aling Lydia and Perla approach and wondered if they would notice the smell. My stomach quivered with embarrassment. I tried to squash it down by smoothing my hair and straightening my clothes.
Aling Lydia nodded to me in greeting. Her round powdered face looked serious. Dark pe
nciled brows arched higher than usual over her eyes. Perla was still in her school uniform. She looked around, her eyes growing larger as she peered into each mausoleum, probably from seeing the television in Mang Rudy’s place and the woven cradle suspended from the ceiling in Tess’s grave house. Perla tugged at her mother’s sleeve, whispering, but her mother waved her away dismissively.
“Nora, I’m so sorry I wasn’t home when you came to the house. I was very relieved to hear that your mother is home! Perla told me you said she is very sick. What happened to her?” She gazed at me, her eyes wide with curiosity. It felt like the gossipy sort but I could see how her brow crinkled and how she frowned after saying the word “sick.” She seemed truly concerned.
I opened and closed my mouth again, the words starting and then stopping. I wondered if I should tell her the truth.
She waved her hand in the air between us, shaking her head. “Never mind. You can tell me another time if you like. Let me see your mother.”
I hesitated. The queasiness in my stomach moved and became a lump in my throat. Shame made my body stiff, and for a minute, I didn’t move. Then I pushed it away. I didn’t want to feel that way anymore.
“She’s inside.” Mama and I never had any visitors before. Normal ones, that is. Let them see how we live. I slid the basin of laundry to the side, opened the door to the grave house, and led them in.
Self-consciousness made me take a good look around. The floor had been swept. Papa’s picture and the small plastic table were dusted. Even the capiz chimes looked brighter. They tinkled in the soft breeze. Lola must’ve cleaned while she looked after Mama. I had been too preoccupied to notice.
Aling Lydia handed Perla her basket. She knelt outside the kulambo covering Mama’s sleeping figure. “Lorna? It’s me, Lydia.” She crawled underneath the netting and grasped the hand Mama held out to her.
I sat on my pink-and-yellow mat, listening to their murmuring voices.
Perla stood at the entrance. She seemed frozen, clutching two baskets to her chest. Her large eyes were fixed on Papa’s tomb. After a minute, she shook her head, as if trying to shake an image out of her mind. She looked at me. The corners of her mouth twitched upward.
“So this is where you live?”
It sounded like a fair question. “Yes.”
She cast her eyes down, biting her lower lip. There was a mole below her left eye. Funny, I’d never noticed it before.
Perla glanced at her mom. She sighed, her shoulders drooping. She shuffled forward and sat on the mat beside me with her legs folded in front of her and began picking at her nails.
“Isn’t it scary? I mean sleeping here with—with—”
“Dead people?”
She glanced up at me, still picking at her nails.
“It isn’t the dead people you have to worry about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember the last day I worked? Some guys broke the lock on our mausoleum gate and stole the money I had been saving and my father’s watch. I caught them in the act. If my neighbor, another squatter living up the alley, hadn’t come over, those guys would’ve hurt me.” My voice faltered. “Really bad.”
“That is scarier.” Her eyes shifted sideways to look at me, then at the gate. She frowned, her brow wrinkled with concentration. “I hope you replaced that lock. On top of that, you should use a nail. That’s what my father did. He drilled a hole into the tile, right in front of the door. At night, we slide a metal rod into it. Even if someone broke the lock they wouldn’t be able to get inside.”
I nodded, making a mental note to ask Mang Rudy about doing that. We both looked away, too embarrassed to say anything else. It felt awkward sitting together but not speaking, so I leaned over and said, “You know, sometimes I hear scratching sounds at night.”
Perla’s eyes widened. She turned her head, her eyes scanning the grave house, her ponytail whipping back and forth. “Really? Eww, are there mice here?”
I cupped a hand around my mouth and whispered, “I hear the scratching at night. It sounded close and when I pressed my ear to the tomb, I realized the sound was coming from inside.”
“What?!” Perla jerked back, her hand over her mouth.
My lips began to twitch; then I couldn’t hold it in, and laughed.
Perla’s eyes narrowed. Then she smiled and giggled. “Good one.”
She began unpacking the baskets. There were a couple bags of pandesal, some tins of sardines, and mangoes. There were also some packets of medicine. The other basket contained a few old clothes for Mama and me, and a couple of lightweight blankets. She chattered away the whole time, telling me how to open the sardine tins. Maybe I had been wrong about her. Maybe I thought her bossiness meant she was mean, when all along, she was just shy, like me.
Aling Lydia had crawled out of the kulambo and was now walking around the tomb to where Perla and I sat.
“Nora, your mother needs to go to the hospital. You have to take her as soon as you can. I wish I could lend you money for this but I don’t have very much cash right now, what with my ovens in the bakery breaking down one after the other.” She shook her fist into the air as if the gods of luck were standing before her. “Your mother said something about a brother in Davao. You must call him. Come to the bakery later on.”
“One of my neighbors has a cell phone. I tried calling my uncle, but I haven’t been able to reach him. I will try again soon.” I stood, holding my hands behind me to keep from fidgeting.
“Good. I’d offer my cell phone but it’s almost out of power. You are also welcome to use our phone in the bakery.” She signaled her daughter to stand. “Let’s go, anak. You have homework to do.”
Perla made a face. “Bye, Nora. I hope you hear from your uncle soon.” She followed her mother out of the grave house.
I watched them go, and then stared at the supplies they had brought. I wouldn’t have to worry about food or medicine for a few days. The relief I felt was short-lived. Dread took its place, reminding me that I had to get Papa’s watch back, in case Tito Danny couldn’t come.
Aling Lydia’s words weighed heavy on my mind. I checked on Mama. She was sleeping, but she looked pale, shrunken on the mat. I will not let her die. With renewed determination, I left, closing the grave house door gently, and picked up my basin of laundry.
There was a small cement area behind the grave house where Mama and I did the wash and the dishes. We took our baths there too. A large plastic water bucket sat by the wall. Yesterday, the container was nearly empty, but not anymore. The battered basin next to it was also full of water. Jojo had probably come by early this morning, because there were no mosquito larvae wriggling around below the surface of the water. How did he know I was doing the wash today? A bar of laundry soap sat next to the basin. Even the block of wood I used as a bench was already in place.
Someone was whistling. Jojo’s smiling face appeared around the side of the grave house carrying a pile of clothes. “Hoy! What are you doing here?”
“I live here?” He seemed surprised to see me. What was he up to this time?
“No, I meant, are you about to do your wash?” Jojo asked.
“Hmmm … yeah, along with yours, since you have it already.”
“Actually, I came over to help you. I figured I’d do my own stuff since you had to take care of your mother.”
“Oh. Well, that’s nice of you. Salamat.” I set my basin of clothes next to the one filled with water.
He nodded toward it. “That looks big enough for both of us to use. That is, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” While I balanced myself on my makeshift bench, Jojo simply squatted. We both plunged our hands in the water at the same time.
“How’s your mother doing?” asked Jojo. Scrub, scrub, scrub.
“She gets worse every day.” Scrub, scrub, scrub.
“Does she need more lagundi tea?” Scrub, scrub, wring.
“I guess she could use some more. Aling Lyd
ia and Perla brought some food and medicine but we will run out sooner or later. She’s going to need that and more.” Scrub, wring, wring.
“More penicillin?” Wring, wring, plop.
“That and a doctor’s visit. Or better, a trip to a hospital. But I would need to pay for her medicines and the taxi ride to get her there. I tried calling my uncle but I haven’t been able to reach him. I’ll have to come up with some money fast. Either today or tomorrow.” Should I tell him my plan? Or was it better to keep it to myself?
“So what are you going to do?” He looked at me with wide-eyed concern. Flecks of foam stuck to his cheeks and eyebrows. “Are you thinking about speaking to Aling Lydia? Maybe she can lend you the money.”
“I did talk to her. She didn’t have any cash for me to borrow. Her bakery ovens needed repair. Besides, I don’t have anything to give as a guarantee that I’d pay her back. Anyway, I came up with another plan.”
After finally wringing out the shirt he was washing, he paused, resting his dripping hands on his knees. “What is it?”
There was no turning back now. “You know that Tiger stole my father’s watch, right?”
“Uh-huh,” he said with his mouth hanging slightly open, waiting for me to continue.
“Well … I want to steal it back. He’s not going to be at his grave house this afternoon and his friends follow him like a pack of hungry stray dogs. It would be easy. I could sneak in when he’s not there, grab the watch, and run for it. And you could be my lookout.” The words slipped off my tongue like melted ice cream. Had I really asked him to be my eyes? It made sense after I had said it. I would feel better about doing this if Jojo was with me.
I wanted to tell him that Tiger had a new watch and that he probably wouldn’t miss my father’s old one, but I didn’t.
He had a queer expression on his face, as if I had just told him I was the Virgin Mary.
“What?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his wide mouth. He suddenly burst out laughing. It wasn’t the usual “ha ha ha” laugh. It sounded loud and harsh. “You can’t be serious!” he said between spasms of laughter that erupted every time he looked at me.
Everlasting Nora Page 14
