How to Make Friends with the Sea Page 6

  But still, Chiqui didn’t utter a single peep.

  She did, however, unglue herself from the concrete, taking a cautious stride.

  Ms. Grace stood. “Come on, Pablo.”

  I skipped down the steps and followed them down the street. We walked single file because the sidewalk was way too narrow. There were also these humongous tree roots busting through the concrete so we had to make sure not to trip on them. After a few minutes, I got this weird feeling. Like we were being watched. I stopped and looked over my shoulder. Jem, Happy, Bing, and Lito crashed into me.

  “Ouch,” I said, touching the spot on my forehead where Jem’s head bumped into mine. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “We’re walking. Same as you,” said Jem with a scowl. She was kind of intimidating. Like a bigger, tougher version of Happy with much shorter hair.

  “Well, I know that. But right behind us?”

  Happy stepped in front of Jem. The Hello Kitties were gone. Instead, she was decked out in Disney princesses. “I thought I’d tag along in case you needed help.”

  “Yeah, okay. But all four of you?” I said.

  I could hear Ms. Grace chuckling behind me. “It’s fine. The more the merrier.”

  I breathed deep.

  The more wasn’t the merrier.

  I thought about those little girls at the mall. Those salesladies. All those people.

  Chiqui didn’t need more people to stare at her, to laugh and make her cry.

  But how was I supposed to tell them without hurting their feelings?

  Ugh.

  Just roll with it, Pablo.

  I glanced at Chiqui. Her face was covered by the brim of her hat, but otherwise she seemed fine.

  Phew.

  We continued our walk through the neighborhood, passing one old house after another. They were so desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint. Some had cracked walls, missing tiles and shingles, broken gates, and rusted fences. Fixer-uppers is what Mamá liked to call them. But I kind of thought they needed more than just fixing. Bulldozing, maybe. Perhaps that would get rid of all the clutter too. The garages with piles of junk. The patios with too many potted plants. Most especially, the never-ending lines of laundry drying under the sun—bras, briefs, and panties galore. How could they just leave them out like that for everyone to see?

  Then there were the sounds—dogs barking, cats yowling, roosters crowing. There were also the tricycles sputtering by, the vendors hollering, and the distant sounds of karaoke.

  It was by far the crummiest neighborhood we’d ever lived in.

  Sigh.

  Eventually we reached the far end of the subdivision where there were hardly any houses. There was a dead end, which wasn’t really a dead end because there was a small pathway hidden behind some shrubbery. We halted. Jem, Happy, Bing, and Lito side-eyed one another.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  Ms. Grace waved and went ahead with Chiqui. “Just catch up when you’re done talking!”

  Jem nudged Happy with her elbow and Happy nudged her back. “The people around here are scared of this place.”

  “Scared? Scared of what?” I glanced at the thick canopy of trees and orchids. It was wild and jungle-y. Sure, I was scared of it. But I suspected it was for an altogether different reason.

  Happy pointed at the shrubbery and treetops. “They believe there are duwendes and kapres in there. Evil dwarves and giants.”

  I was kind of shocked, to be honest. There I was worried about germs and dirt and mutant mosquitoes. But my fears seemed completely normal all of a sudden. They stared, waiting for me to say something. I stood taller and puffed my chest out, imagining I was an explorer with a big machete in my hand.

  Be brave, Pablo. You can do it.

  “It’s okay. I come here all the time. I promise there aren’t any dwarves or giants,” I told them. It was a lie, of course, but a harmless one. Truth was, I’d only been to the sanctuary a few times. There were too many feathers and too much fur and hay and poop there for my liking.

  I gazed ahead at the pathway. It was like we were entering another world, another dimension. The edge stood beneath my feet. As soon as I stepped forward, I could be that other boy.

  That other Pablo I so wanted to be.

  NINETEEN

  We reached the hand-carved wooden sign that read:

  EL LADO SALVAJE SANCTUARY

  WILDERNESS ZONE

  NO ENTRY BEYOND THIS POINT

  Jem eyed the sign suspiciously. “Are you sure it’s safe in there? Because I’m responsible for my brother and sisters. Especially those two,” she said, pointing at Bing and Lito, who were launching helicopter-shaped seedpods into the air.

  Luckily, we hadn’t come across any dwarves or giants. Otherwise my credibility would have totally been shot. I glanced at the sign like no biggie. “Yeah. Don’t worry. You won’t get eaten by a lion or anything.”

  Happy covered her mouth and giggled. “Well, that’s good.”

  The security guard, Mang Wily, who looked like he could have been over a hundred years old, opened the gate. “Magandang umaga, Sir Pablo!” he said with a salute. When I first met him, I thought his first name was actually Mang. But then Mamá explained that it was actually Wily. The Mang was short for Manong—a respectful way to address an older person.

  I nodded. “Hey, Mang Wily.”

  Then I noticed the badge on his chest was terribly askew, like leaning all the way on its side. I wanted so badly to straighten it out.

  Forget it, Pablo.

  I walked away.

  The twins ran ahead. Jem and Happy bolted after them. But then they came to a sudden halt.

  Happy gasped. “Wow.”

  I guess it was pretty amazing. Mamá said the sanctuary’s goal was to mimic a natural habitat. There were hardly any cages, and if there were any, they were more like giant enclosures with jungly-looking plants and strategically placed logs. It really was wild looking. There were ancient trees with vines thick enough to swing on, flowers as big as your head, and even a small waterfall with mossy rocks and a freshwater pool.

  We wandered for a while. It seemed most of the animals were in hiding until three peacocks strutted in front of us. They each gave us a look of superiority. Then two of them fanned out their tail feathers as if they were showing off.

  “What a surprise!” I heard Mamá’s voice before she appeared from behind some ferns. She was kind of dirty. Her cargo pants were smudged with mud, her T-shirt smeared with god knows what, and her ponytail was littered with twigs and leaves. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “We just came for a visit,” I said with a shrug.

  All of a sudden, Chiqui came running down the pathway. Her hat flew off.

  “Dahan dahan, Chiqui!” said Ms. Grace from behind.

  Chiqui ran even faster.

  “Go! Go! Go!” cheered Bing and Lito.

  Slam!

  It was as if Chiqui had stomped on the brakes.

  She half-turned, covering her face with her hair again.

  Awkward …

  I sidled over and shielded her body with mine. “Um. So … maybe you can, like, give us the official tour?” I said to Mamá.

  “Well, of course,” she replied.

  Bing and Lito jumped up and down, chanting, “Tour! Tour! Tour!”

  Phew.

  Mamá led us through a super green and lush maze. Here and there, flowers jutted out in various shades of pink and yellow and red and orange. Happy walked beside me looking like one of the flowers herself. A pink one, obviously.

  “Your mom is pretty cool,” she blurted out.

  “Yeah. I suppose.”

  She moved closer so our arms almost rubbed each other. “The most exciting part of my mom’s day is using fabric softener in the laundry,” she said with a smirk.

  I chuckled. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

  “No. Not really. Well … maybe just a bit.”

 
I thought about Ate Lucinda and how she was always there doing chores, hollering at one of the kids about something or other. She seemed content living in their little old house with her children and her collection of potted plants. I hardly ever saw Happy’s father because he worked nights and slept most of the day. But at least he was there. I was sort of jealous, actually.

  Finally, we stopped at a muddy pit with several muddy beasts.

  “Kalabaw! Kalabaw!” shouted the twins.

  Mamá and Ms. Grace laughed, and everyone else watched the beasts wallow in mud as if it were the most normal thing.

  “These kalabaw, or water buffalos as they’re known in other parts of the world, were rescued from situations where they were overworked and starved. Some were scheduled for slaughter,” Mamá explained.

  My skin itched just looking at all that mud. I shuddered, and Happy raised her eyebrow. “What’s the matter?” she whispered.

  “Nothing … just mosquitoes,” I whispered back.

  We moved on. I was glad to get as far away from the mud as possible. The trees got even bigger, shielding us from the sun. Thank god. The shade made it less hot and humid. More bearable. But still, sweat trickled down my neck and back.

  Screech! Screech! Screech!

  “Monkeys!” said Ms. Grace, pointing up at the trees.

  There were a dozen or so grayish-brown creatures. Some were chilling, picking things out of one another’s fur. Gross. The rest were jumping and swinging from branch to branch. The twins, Bing and Lito, were at it again, chanting, “Unggoy! Unggoy!” which I guessed was “monkey” in Tagalog.

  “And here we’ve got eighteen Philippine long-tailed macaques, which were rescued from small cages and chains. Some were injured by cruel people throwing rocks at them, or electrocuted by live wires. As much as we’d like to rehabilitate and return them to the wild, the species is now in serious threat and practically extinct in some parts of the country.” Mamá reached into her pocket, retrieving a handful of red hairy fruit. She tossed them up one by one, and the monkeys expertly caught them.

  “Ohh. Rambutan! My favorite,” said Happy.

  I looked at her kind of funny. “You eat those?”

  “Yes, they’re delicious.”

  I tried not to make an icky face. But I couldn’t help it. The skin on the fruit could have been from alien armpits. I even gagged a bit. It seemed Happy was catching on because she raised her eyebrow again, parting her lips like she was going to say something. I wouldn’t let her, though. I pretended to be interested in what the monkeys were doing, moving closer to the tree they were on, moving closer to Ms. Grace and Chiqui.

  Phew.

  The last thing I wanted was for Happy to figure out how utterly weird I was.

  Ms. Grace was fiddling with her tote bag, pulling out bottles of water and handing them out. Chiqui had her floppy hat back on. But the breeze ruffled the brim, so I could see her face. I watched her watch the monkeys. I’d never seen so much wonder. Her eyes were like fried eggs with glossy yolks. I tried to see what she was seeing. But to me they were just monkeys. Nothing more.

  Then I flinched. Something touched me. I looked down. Chiqui’s fingers were just inches away. She wasn’t staring at the monkeys anymore. Her glossy eyes were on mine. Everything blurred. Her mouth moved. I heard something. A whisper. I crouched. Then I heard it again. “Pabo,” she whispered. “Pabo.”

  Chiqui was trying to say my name.

  For a second I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted Mamá to know what she’d said. But then she reached out and squeezed my finger. It was as if she were telling me she wasn’t ready.

  It was our little secret.

  TWENTY

  I didn’t get malaria from mutant mosquitoes, or get bitten by rabid animals, or get tetanus from rusty nails. I didn’t even get all that dirty. Maybe a bit sweaty, but I would definitely survive.

  When we finally got home from a long day of animal watching and feeding, and lazing by the waterfall, Mamá announced that Miguel was coming over to cook dinner. I thought it was strange because one, I wasn’t aware that Miguel knew how to cook, and two, it was totally out of the blue. He’d never offered to help out like that before. Not that I was complaining. Miguel was cool. He didn’t really bother me much.

  By the time I was properly disinfected and dressed, Miguel had already arrived. He was in the kitchen cooking up a storm in his pink tie-dyed T-shirt with his sunglasses perched on his head. “Hey, little man. Hope you’re hungry for some veggie burgers,” he said, twirling a spatula.

  I glanced at the patties sizzling in the cast-iron pan. “Sure. They look good.”

  Pop!

  Mamá came out of the pantry with a newly opened bottle of wine. It was one of her special bottles from a small winery in Asturias, the part of northern Spain where she grew up. She handed Miguel a glass and poured one for herself. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun and she had on a tank top and her pants from India that made her look like a genie.

  “Pablo, why don’t you set the table?” she asked.

  “Okay.” But I didn’t move. For a few seconds I watched Mamá and Miguel dodge each other in the small kitchen, flipping patties, slicing buns, washing lettuce, cutting cheese and tomatoes. It was weird how choreographed it all was.

  Suddenly, I felt a tug on my shirt. I turned. Chiqui stood there holding a pile of napkins. “Oh. You want to help?” I whispered to her.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, placing them on the table one by one. I grabbed the cutlery from the drawer and she took those too, arranging the forks and knives out of place. It took every ounce of self-control for me not to freak out.

  My muscles jerked.

  My fingers tapped.

  My toes curled.

  I wanted so badly to reach out and fix it. To straighten the napkins, rearrange the cutlery until they were perfect. But I couldn’t. Through Chiqui’s curtain of hair, I spotted a sort of cracked smile.

  My muscles stopped jerking.

  My fingers stopped tapping.

  My toes stopped curling.

  All I could do was smile back and whisper, “Good job, Chiqui.”

  Mamá gazed at the table, sweeping her arms out dramatically. “It looks beautiful! Well done, Pablo and Chiqui.”

  Miguel appeared from behind, placing the platter of veggie burgers and French fries at the center of the table. He bent down next to Chiqui and said, “Siguradong gusto mo ng French fries, noh?”

  Silence.

  The spotlight was on Chiqui.

  But she didn’t utter a single peep.

  I hadn’t really understood what Miguel had said, other than the French fries part. It was probably nothing. Yet Chiqui was panicked nonetheless. I brushed the table so that one of the napkins fell on the floor. Almost immediately, she ducked under to retrieve it.

  “Speaking of French fries … these are just spectacular, Miguel. I mean, they’re perfect! How do you cut them so even … so straight?” I said a tad too loudly.

  Miguel chuckled. “It’s all in the wrist, little man. I’ll teach you one of these days.”

  “Okay, everyone. Enough with the chitchat. Let’s eat before the food gets cold,” said Mamá.

  She had a point. I was hungry.

  Mamá tried to help Chiqui into her seat, but it was useless. Chiqui squirmed and scowled and then climbed into the seat all by herself. For a split second, I thought Mamá was going to lose it. Her freckles were darker, huddling around her nose like a freckle army. The split second passed, though. All she did was exhale and sit calmly. Really, really calmly. “Gracias, Miguel. This all looks so delicious,” she said.

  Miguel shrugged like it was nothing. “It’s no big deal. Just trying to be helpful.”

  He might have thought it was no big deal, but it was actually kind of glorious. The burgers were round, not too thick, not too thin, and the fries, my goodness, I still couldn’t get over those fries. I’d never seen hand-cut fries so symmetrical. There were also pic
kles, lettuce, tomatoes, and slices of Manchego cheese to go with the burgers. Even the buns, which were clearly store-bought, were still the right ones. Not the ones with sesame seeds that reminded me of crawling larvae. They were the soft type of buns with flecks of oatmeal on top.

  There was this moment of commotion—the clinking of forks and knives, the scraping of plates, arms moving, hands grabbing, mouths chewing. It was then that I noticed something was wrong. I only had one fork and one knife. I would need at least nine more of each to finish eating.

  My ears buzzed. My temples prickled. My fingers and toes went numb.

  But as much as it bothered me—and it really, truly did—I didn’t want to be the odd man out. Chiqui had somehow loosened up; her hair was finally off her face, and she was eating with gusto even though Miguel was there, right next to her, with his ridiculous jokes. And Mamá was laughing, the most I’d seen her laugh in a long while.

  If I’d gone to the cutlery drawer. If I’d taken out nine more forks and nine more knives. If I’d placed them on the table with absolute precision. If I’d cut my burger into perfect little squares … Then the lighthearted mood would have been ruined.

  Suck it up, Pablo.

  I gripped the fork and knife and cut into my burger. One bite. Two bites. Three bites. Four. Nobody noticed how uncomfortable I was. Not even Mamá, who was too busy chatting and making sure Chiqui was eating properly. Each bite became harder and harder, and slower and slower. After a while, I stopped eating altogether and just pushed my food from side to side. Once again, nobody noticed. At least I didn’t think anyone had. Except someone had noticed.

  Chiqui was watching me.

  * * *

  It took me forever to fall asleep. Mamá and Miguel were talking and laughing in the living room like there was some kind of party or something. Thankfully, my bedroom was far enough away so their voices were muffled. Too muffled. I was itchy with curiosity. What were they laughing at? Was it something I did? Something I said?

  Eventually, though, my head got heavier and the voices faded. I passed out. It was one of those velvety kinds of sleep—soft, comforting, and cozy. There were no dreams. Only fleeting images of peacock feathers, muddy beasts, hairy armpit fruit, and Chiqui. I could even hear her cookie munching as if she were right there with me.