Tall Story - Candy Gourlay [27]
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 the fake smile on his face. ‘While Mum’s chatting on the phone, why don’t you show Bernardo to your room, Andi? He might want to freshen up. Take a shower.’
How could Dad act like nothing was going on? I glared at him but he was looking way above my head at Bernardo.
‘Take him up, Andi.’ There was a sharp edge to Dad’s voice. ‘Now.’
I turned and led the way to the stairs. At the bottom of the staircase, I stepped back and said, ‘You first.’
He flashed a wan smile over his shoulder. ‘Salamat. Thank you.’
Following behind him was terrifying. It was like walking behind a very tall tree. He teetered with every step, as if any minute he was going to lose his balance and come crashing down on me. But we survived, and at the top he smiled encouragingly at me.
‘In there,’ I said, pointing at the door with the Toxic Twins poster Blu-Tacked to it.
Bernardo bent down to step through my doorway and immediately toppled over. Oh God. Was he having another fit?
But he’d only tripped over my basketball, which he didn’t see because he was so tall. Or maybe he didn’t see it because it was so dark.
I turned on the light.
Bernardo had landed on the mattresses Mum had laid out on the floor. He rolled over on his back and gazed around him, mouth wide open.
What was he staring at? Did I leave a pair of knickers on the floor?
‘What is it?’ I muttered crossly.
Bernardo pointed at Michael Jordan dribbling a ball above my bedstead, and then at Michael Jordan dunking a ball in a hoop, then Michael Jordan flying in the air with his Air Jordans akimbo, then Michael Jordan posing with Bugs Bunny in that cartoon.
‘What, what?’ I said, impatient.
‘Michael Jordan,’ Bernardo said, grinning like an idiot. ‘Michael Jordan is my biggest fan.’
8
Bernardo
‘Here you go, sweetie.’ The technician’s English was soft and elegant like a character from an old black and white movie. She was beautiful. Her hair was black, a dark frame to the symmetry of her face. Her sparkly, pale pink lipstick was a perfect match for her coffee skin. Her lashes were extravagant, rimming her eyes like an Egyptian princess. S. Patel, the badge on her jacket lapel said.
‘What your name?’ I murmured.
She smiled. ‘My name is Sunita. And it says here your name is Bernard, is that right?’
I nodded. She asked so kindly, I didn’t feel like correcting her. Anyway, ‘Bernard’ sounded English.
‘How old are you, Bernard?’
‘Sixteen.’
Sunita laughed a tinkly sort of laugh. ‘You are a tall lad, aren’t you?’
Tall lad.
The way she put it sounded so nice. Like something to be proud of.
I nodded as I gazed deep into the dark pools of her eyes.
It was a machine for imaging the brain, Ma had said. Its invisible rays drilled deep, searching for answers to questions that had not yet been asked.
‘Down you go, Bernard.’ Sunita helped me lie down on the patient table, supporting my neck with a downy arm. My legs dangled down at the knees: the table was too short. Her fingers were like butterflies as she stroked the hair away from my eyes.
She placed a rolled-up towel on either side of my head. ‘This will help you keep still,’ she said. She covered