Free Tall Story by Candy Gourlay Page B

not want us to be alarmed.
    Alarming is not the word I would choose, although it ranks up there with the others. Terrifying. Horrible. Embarrassing.
    When Bernardo collapsed on the tube, he slumped forward into the narrow aisle between the seats, and a sharp swerve of the train rolled him around like a giant log. He didn’t even flinch. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body arched, his legs rigid and grotesque. Dad dived down and pulled the scarf off his neck. He ripped the tie from Bernardo’s neck with a loud zip. It was attached with Velcro. But nobody laughed. Bernardo’s long, long body softened for a moment and then stiffened again,like a thousand volts were shooting through him.
    ‘Oh my God.’ Mum sat, frozen in her seat, wringing her hands. ‘What’s wrong, Will?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Dad said. He unbuttoned Bernardo’s shirt at the throat.
    Bernardo had dropped his mobile on the floor. I picked it up just as it vibrated with a new text message.
    Beep beep.
    I stared at the tiny glowing screen.
    It was a text message from the Philippines. I could tell by the +63 country code. Auntie Sofia? I pressed a key to view the message.
    Another earthquake 2day. Come back.
    I meant to press the red button to turn it off, but instead the phone scrolled back to the previous message.
    NARDO WHY U ABANDON US?
    Bernardo woke up. It took all three of us and the man sitting at the end of the carriage to sit him up in the corner again. He seemed groggy, disorientated. He collapsed against Mum, his head lolling over hers, and then suddenly he was fast asleep. We had to shake him awake when we got to our stop, and Dad had to yell down at a man on the platform to holdthe train while we unloaded Bernardo and his bags.
    It was only a five-minute walk to the house from the station. It felt like five hours.
    ‘Maybe it’s just jet lag,’ Dad muttered softly to Mum as we guided Bernardo home. But she had her ‘I’m the nurse’ look on her face, pursing her lips and shaking her head. When she does that, I don’t know why Dad doesn’t just reply, ‘Well, I’m a nurse too.’
    The moment we entered the house, Mum was on the phone to Auntie Sofia. Dad, Bernardo and I stood in the hall with the luggage.
    ‘Hello? Hello?’ Mum’s call had gone through. ‘Can you hear me, Sofia? Can you hear me now?’ Then she started yelling in Tagalog, which sounds a bit like this:
Yakataka baka yaka taka babalaba
.
    It never did matter that I couldn’t speak Tagalog. Mum’s body language was so expressive that translating what she was probably saying had become a form of entertainment. Whenever Ma talked to Auntie Sofia, I would translate for Dad: ‘She says she’s glad the crocodiles are attending the disco. She says she can’t wait to taste the cat food.’ ‘No, no, she didn’t say cat food,’ Dad would interrupt. ‘She says the cat food was fine last time but today she’d rather dance like a chicken.’
    Right now, she sounded really upset and whatever she was saying, it had nothing to do with dancing or chickens.
    Looking at Bernardo, though, I suddenly wished that I could understand. As Mum yelled, Bernardo kept his eyes on the floor, his body getting more and more hunched until it was as if his head had disappeared between his bony shoulders.
    Mum suddenly appeared at the door, the phone still pressed to her ear, her eyes staring and frantic. ‘
William, it’s happened twice already! TWICE!
’
    ‘Make yourself at home,’ Dad said to Bernardo quietly. He followed Mum into the living room.
    Bernardo straightened, the ceiling light behind him gently bumping against the back of his head. His eyes were totally red.
    ‘I am the blame,’ he said softly. ‘I am the blame.’ He rubbed his eyes. Oh God, he was crying. What was I supposed to do? Should I put my arms around him? I took a tiny step forward.
    Dad reappeared at the living-room door. ‘Well,’ he said, the fake cheerfulness in his voice matching