Nectar Behind the Clouds

Chapter 2 - The Stranger

I was the one who first saw her, this vision of an old woman, of yellow flowers waiting at the ferry terminal. The wind trailed a path where my eyes traveled. She was still, only holding onto her wide-brim hat as that strong gust whipped the heads of those around her. Even at this distance, I saw the smile that lurked beneath the shadow of her curls. Then all was still, and she revealed her face.

I had thought I had forgotten her, but when I saw my grandmother again after all these years, it was silly that the thought ever crossed my mind. Time preserved her like a flower pressed between pages of a book. I held her gray eyes and the joy of her smile as she slipped by the other passengers. I did not move, letting my mother's mother run towards me, bamboo slippers kicking up sand. There was even a burly man she shoved just because he was obliviously blocking the path.

"Ah, yes. Good to see she still has her spirit," Papa gulped beside me.

Yet, even with her joy, I couldn't help but feel unsettled somehow. I could not match the joy she had for me.

Then, my lola was before me, smiling down at me, her hands reaching for my sides, and I was folded between her arms and clothes. I closed my eyes. I was rolling in daffodils and dirt, and the scent of breakfast in the warm kitchen–a scent absent from our apartment back home. I found myself surprised at thinking that I did not want to let go so soon. But she bent down and pressed her nose to my cheeks... and sniffed me! I laughed, tickled at her affection. She kissed me properly on both cheeks and fixed the collar of my shirt.

"Welcome back," she said to me. A voice so mellow it could calm the waves. "Welcome home."

She let me hold her hand and bring it to my brow. "God Bless you," she said and combed my hair back. She cupped both my cheeks and smiled warmly, searching for what seemed like answers tucked somewhere in my features. You would barely notice it, but her smile changed as she turned to my father. "Hello, Robert. My grandson looks thin."

Papa breathed and copied the same gesture of respect to our elders. "Thank you for seeing us, Linda. The boy's eating well, he's just thin. I was like that at his age."

"It has been so long. I've kept all your drawings, Mikha. They're brighter than any letters your darling father here ever wrote."

Protect me from her, Mikha, my father said. He had the look he put on when he encountered some of his colleagues at work. All tight smiles and firm handshakes, though his hand was visibly shaking inside his pockets.

Soft again when she turned to me, she said, "Your lolo would have..." She shook her head and smiled. "I imagine that there is plenty of food in that city you've been whisked away to. But we've got to fill your belly with a proper meal." There was a playfulness about her now. "Is adobo still your favorite?"

I smile back at her. She was shorter than Papa, but my lola was tall for an old woman. She walked better than I waddled, back straight, head of grey wispy hair fixed on the distant restaurant she was leading us to. Now that her back was turned to us, I can't help but feel strange. Strange that this was happening abruptly. Strange at how she knows everything about me, while I had only memories of her that I am still trying to piece.

I remember her always humming while cooking; vinegar and soy sauce, garlic and onions mixing in her house. I remember her always moving as I sat on the wooden benches, lounging like a cat beneath the afternoon sun. I remember her more than my mother.

I thought she would be a stranger to me. Now I felt that I would be a stranger to her. She does not know me now. I remember her chasing after me as I ran across muddy ground. I remember splashing her favorite skirt as it hung on the rack to dry. I hid then, but she was not angry. I'm afraid that I would not be the grandson she looked after years before. I remember laughing easily then, and smiling a lot.

It was only then that I noticed the beach. The passengers have now fled from the sun's glare and retreated into the shades of several huts nearby. Like the crabs from earlier, hiding in shells. The sea continued to sparkle, and on a nearby cliff, I saw boys of about my age forming a line. I stopped walking when one of them jumped in the air, face ripe with glee, arms spread as if to fly. He plunged into the blue salty waves. He had disappeared into suds and I counted the seconds he was underwater, about to call lola. Then his head broke the surface and waved an arm for his friends to join. His dark, bare face was unharmed by the fall.

I turned back to my father. Some boys were like that, I reminded myself. Some boys had bones of steel and flesh made out of stone. They did not cry at the slightest tear. They charged through the waves and woods unharmed. The wind and soil were kinder to them.