Tall Story (5 page)

She unhooked the chain from around her neck and
the stone slid silkily onto her hand. It seemed to gleam in her palm. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

‘Go on,’ she was whispering now.

I reached out.

‘
Nardo!
’

Jabby forced me away by the shoulders. ‘Sorry, Gabriela, we’re late for algebra.’

And Gabriela laughed as Jabby frog-marched me away.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘Maybe next time.’

W
hen Auntie Sofia rang, Mum screamed.

If my ears hadn’t been cabled to an mp3 player, she would probably have shattered my eardrums.

She screamed some more, little needle shrieks, clutching the phone to her head. There were tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped at the tears with the back of her other hand, smearing her mascara.

Was she screaming because she was happy or was she screaming because she was sad? It was always hard to tell with Mum.

She looked at me, her nose dripping ever so slightly. She covered the mouthpiece with a trembling hand. ‘It’s Bernardo, Andi … Bernardo!’

Bernardo! My stomach clenched. Poor Bernardo. What could have happened?

‘What about him, Mum? Is he all right?’

Mum was speaking into the mouthpiece again.

‘How soon can he come? Yes, yes, Sofia, I’ve always
said if the papers came through, he should come over as soon as possible.’

As soon as possible? It wasn’t bad news, it was good news! My stomach unclenched and I rushed to Mum’s side.

Mum’s eyes were closed, mouth moving in a quick prayer of thanks. She covered the mouthpiece but when she spoke she could hardly get the words out. ‘Andi, Bernardo’s got his papers. He’s coming to England! He’ll be here
next week
!’

I gaped. Bernardo. Here. Next week.

It was a miracle.

I pulled the earphones out of my ears so fast they made little popping noises. I threw my arms around Mum and she buried her face in my shoulder, soaking my T-shirt. The phone, which was still pressed to her ear, made a hard knob against my neck.

I fished my mobile phone out of my pocket. I should text Dad the good news! I began to thumb a message.

Mum was laughing and crying at the same time now. ‘Yes, yes, of course. Go ahead, Sofia, I’m so happy, you can say anything to me right now. Tell me the roof has fallen down, or the pig has escaped, or the …’

Then Mum straightened up so suddenly, her head almost banged me in the jaw. She grabbed my wrist as if her life depended on it and her tan drained away to a mottled grey.

‘WHAT?’

Mum’s eyes were platters.

This was some other kind of news.

‘What?’ she said again.

‘What?’ I said like a stupid echo. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘SOFIA!’ Her face was a mixture of fury and – what was it? Horror? ‘Oh my God, Sofia.’

She covered her mouth with one hand, strangled noises coming out of the back of her throat.

Auntie’s voice crackled tinnily over the line. ‘Hello? Hello, Mary Ann? Can you hear me?’

Mum dropped the phone into her lap.

‘What’s the matter, Mum? What’s wrong?’

She turned away and collapsed on the sofa, hands covering her face for the longest time.

When she spoke, her voice was hoarse, like she’d suddenly developed a sore throat.

‘It’s Bernardo,’ she said.

‘What about Bernardo?’

There was anguish in the look she gave me.

‘Bernardo is
TALL
.’

‘H
ello? Hello, Mary Ann? Can you hear me?’ Auntie frowned and stared at the telephone as if she could fix the connection just by looking.

I wished now that we had kept that promise. We should have told Ma that I was still growing. We could have told her as soon as I hit seven foot. Seven foot didn’t sound as shocking as eight foot. Somehow it seemed still … normal.

But when I suggested we tell Ma, Auntie just burst out in exasperation, ‘
Jesus Mary Joseph!
Nardo, your ma is a nurse. A nurse! She is a scientist, not a believer. She will spit on the soul of Bernardo Carpio and then what? Where will San Andres be?’

So we didn’t say anything.

And I grew.

And now … eight foot. It was impossible. A point of no return.

Like everyone else, Jabby and I liked to hang out
in the street just before the sun set, when the temperature cooled suddenly and the low sun didn’t burn.

We leaned on the gate and watched the world go by. Or shot hoops through the basketball goal nailed to the telephone pole outside Jabby’s house.

Well. Jabby shot hoops. I watched. Occasionally, when the ball swooped the wrong way, I reached up and tipped the ball into the basket.

The cooler temperatures drew people out of their houses and street vendors tried to press them into buying pork barbecue, fish balls, steamed corn, and sweet bananas fried in crispy wonton wrappers. Passenger tricycles rattled slowly up and down the street, casting for fares.

Inevitably, Old Tibo would wave from his shop opposite my house. ‘Nardo, Nardo!’ His dog, Flash Gordon, always gave a high-pitched yelp, as if to add his own greeting.

Sister Len-Len always made sure to catch my eye from where she fried garlic peanuts in her stall. ‘Hello, Nardo.’

Salim never failed to slow his tricycle cab alongside. ‘Nardo. How are you?’

‘Fine, Brother Salim,’ I would say and Salim
would gun his motor by way of salute and drive off.

It sometimes got to Jabbar.

‘I’m fine too!’ he used to yell. ‘I’m really healthy!’

I tried to apologize but Jabby shrugged it off with a joke. ‘It’s not easy being best friends with Mister “Saviour of the World”,’ he would say, striking a tragic pose.

‘I’m not!’ I would laugh. But Jabby was right.

Only four years earlier, San Andres got into the Book of World Records for the hundreds of teeny tiny tremors that shook it every day.

On the World Records website, the entry says:
The village of San Andres holds the distinction of reporting hundreds of earthquakes a day since seismologists began measuring the tremors in the 1940s. It is said the tremors are only a rehearsal for an earthquake so massive it will probably level the village when it finally comes
. Above the article was the headline:
The Land of Rock and Roll
.

There was a picture in pen and ink of a giant standing between two cliff sides, muscles bulging as he strained to push them apart. The caption said:
Villagers await the return of a giant of legend named Bernardo Carpio. Folklore has it that only the giant can truly save the village from destruction
.

So imagine what a big deal it was when people discovered a boy amongst them named Bernardo who was shooting up like a giant bamboo.

And imagine what they thought when, as the boy grew, the rock and roll dwindled to a full stop.

And then imagine how they would feel if they knew their saviour was about to leave them to their fate.

‘First we tell her the good news,’ Auntie said firmly. ‘We tell her you’re coming. And then she will be so happy, surely, she won’t be too upset about your height.’

‘OK,’ I said. But I was dubious.

‘Why don’t we explain?’ Uncle said. ‘Tell her about Bernardo Carpio? About what everyone in San Andres says?’

Of course, we didn’t encourage the gifts and the thank-yous. But we didn’t discourage them either.

I didn’t feel like Bernardo Carpio. I didn’t feel like a
saviour
. A saviour wouldn’t have stiff joints and lower back pain and aching knees because of his ungainly size.

But I looked at Auntie and Uncle and Old Tibo
and all the people of San Andres and I wanted to be who they thought I was.

Uncle opened a thesaurus to look for synonyms for the words ‘tall’ and ‘grow’. ‘How about “mature”?’ he said. ‘Let’s just casually say that Bernardo’s really become … mature.’

‘She’s not stupid, Victor.’ Auntie frowned. ‘Besides, the moment Bernardo steps off that plane, the game will be up. We must tell her the truth.’

So Auntie made the call.

It went very well at first as Auntie relayed the Home Office’s miraculous change of mind. She beamed as Ma squawked with joy from the other side of the world.

And then she told her.

The phone stopped squawking.

‘Hello? Mary Ann?’ Auntie shook the telephone receiver.

‘What is it?’ Uncle reached for the phone but she brushed his hand away, listening intently and tapping the receiver with a long fingernail.

‘What is she saying?’ I asked. ‘Let me speak to Ma.’

Auntie shook her head.

‘Oh, I’ve had enough of this.’ Uncle stood up and snatched the phone away.

Auntie immediately pressed the button and the distant drone of a dial tone sounded. ‘I think we’ve lost the line,’ she said.

Uncle glared at her and put the phone down.

‘How did she take it?’ I said anxiously.

Auntie’s smile was as hard as plastic. ‘I think she took it very well.’

S
ince the Phone Call, Mum’s turned into a character from this book I read in English who one moment is nice-but-needy Dr Jekyll, the next is monstrous Mr Hyde.

So one moment Mum is walking on air because truly this was the dream she’d been working towards for years and years. Bernardo was coming to England. Hallelujah!

The next moment she’s hunkered like someone waiting for the apocalypse. Unpacking the boxes, putting things away, cleaning the house like a demon. Grim.

Suddenly everything was Bernardo, Bernardo, Bernardo.

Bernardo coming to England eclipsed all Mum’s plans. Sorting out the new house. Putting me in a new school. Settling me in. Everything.

The morning of my first day at Saint Sim’s, I came downstairs to find her washing the tops of the doors.

‘Honestly, Mum. Bernardo isn’t going to inspect the tops of the doors.’

Mum looked down at me like I was the crazy one. ‘Bernardo is
tall
.’

OK.

I tried to ask her
how
tall is Bernardo – six foot? Six foot two inches? She just clicked her tongue and complained that Auntie Sofia never took her seriously. That they should have said something.

But who cares if Bernardo is six foot tall? Loads of boys my age are beginning to shoot up. George McGregor at my old school was six foot tall, and boy was I glad to see the back of him, the jackass.

‘I’ll be off, Mum,’ I said.

‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ she said, totally forgetting to nag me to eat some breakfast. ‘I’d better walk you to school since it’s your first day.’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ I said, moving quickly to the door. She didn’t even pretend to try to get down from the stepladder. ‘I’ll just report to the school office. I can manage.’

Mrs Green said it before I could stop her.

‘Class,’ she said, ‘this is Amandolina Jones.’

The class laughed like a pack of hyenas.

Right.

‘It’s
Andi
, actually,’ I said. ‘Andi with an
i.
’

But they were laughing too hard to hear me.

Mum said she chose the name Amandolina because one of her best friends was named Amandolina, and besides, Amandolina sounded musical. Musical? It sounded more like something with long pointy ears from
The Lord of the Rings
. Dad told me not to say stuff like that because I couldn’t blame Mum for not realizing it was an odd name – she grew up on the other side of the world, how was she supposed to know? Sure. But
you
, Dad, should have known better.
You
grew up in London,
you
went to a London secondary school,
you
knew what London kids were like. But when I said this, Dad just said I was lucky they didn’t name me Tiger Lily Mini-Ha-Ha.

Honestly.

When the class finished laughing, Mrs Green put me in a seat at the back of the classroom, next to a boy named Joe Beedle. Joe grinned at me so broadly, I was afraid one of the spots on his cheek would burst. I nodded at him. But I wasn’t in the mood to make friends. All I wanted was to turn invisible.

Mrs Green was explaining something desperately
boring as she handed out some literacy sheets.

Joe took his sheet from the pile and held one out to me.

‘Thanks,’ I muttered, taking it. But he didn’t let go.

He winked. ‘Amandolina … love the name.’

‘Yeah, thanks.’ I tugged at the sheet but still he wouldn’t let go.

‘It’s, like, got the word “doll” in it, yeah? AmanDOLLina?’

I glared at him. ‘No it hasn’t.’

‘So why do you call yourself Andi?’

I pulled hard and there was a loud rip as the sheet tore in half. Heads turned in our direction.

‘Andi … like undies … underwear … knickers? Maybe you should call yourself Knickers, yeah?’ He laughed at his own lame joke.

Something white-hot exploded behind my eyes. Before Joe Beedle could withdraw, I had his wrist in my grip.

The thing is, you know, with all the basketball training, I’m really strong. Strong enough to shoot a ball into the hoop from the halfway line. Strong enough to break a stupid boy’s wrist.

Of course I didn’t break it. The only reason Joe started crying was because of the pain.

Wimp.

Mrs Green was totally suckered in by Joe Beedle’s howling and refused to let me explain. She said I needed to learn the value of Patience and Restraint. So at the end of my first day at my new school, I had to sit in detention for an hour watching her get the
Times
sudoku wrong.

I should have been annoyed.

But I wasn’t.

Because stuck to the notice board behind Mrs Green’s head was a poster.

‘C
ome on.’ Jabby adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and gestured for me to follow him down the side street.

He dribbled his ball, expertly avoiding the cracks in the asphalt as if he was running a gauntlet of defenders on a basketball court.