Angel

by Zoe Daniel

The nurse is clearly relieved. ‘Okay, well I think you should head back there now. It will be dark soon and your father is heavily sedated. He will sleep for several hours at least.’

  ‘I will come back to visit him when I can,’ says Angel. ‘But please let him know that I heard what he said and I will do my best. He will understand what that means.’

  Angel looks back at her sleeping father, then she walks out of the recovery room and through the busy hospital reception area. Outside the light is beginning to fade from the already gloomy sky. Far in the distance she can see the truck that brought her here. The tray is fully loaded and there are people getting into the front cab.

  ‘Ronaldo!’ she shouts. ‘Ronaldo, wait for me! I’m coming too!’

  When they arrive back at the church, Ronaldo offers to take her to the town hall where there is food and shelter, but Angel thanks him and says no, there is something she needs to do here first.

  She walks straight through the front entrance of Santo Niño and down to the noticeboards at the back. Already there are dozens of names that have been added to the lists of the missing since she was here earlier in the day. Angel picks up the pen on a string and carefully crosses out Juan’s name and writes next to it: ‘Found safe’. She stares at the names of her mother and brothers. Finding out what has happened to them is her number one priority now. Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a motor running somewhere nearby. Does this mean the electricity is back on? She rushes towards the back of the church. Just outside, set up on an area that has been cleared of rubbish, is a large, rattly generator. She runs over to Father Jose, who is standing next to it talking to a small group of people.

  ‘No one could charge their phones to contact family members with the power off,’ he explains, ‘so I thought we could help by bringing in a generator from Cebu. It took a bit of organising because of transport issues, but we did it! The network is still not completely fixed but at least this means some people might be able to get a call through. The church piggy bank will be stretched for a while but I think it’s a good use of our funds, don’t you?’

  Angel sees there must be at least ten power boards neatly placed side by side on a cement ledge by the machine and they’re all full of charging phones.

  ‘What a great idea!’ exclaims one of the onlookers.

  ‘And the added bonus is that we now have light at the church at night.’ The priest sees Angel and waves her over. She quickly fills him in on Juan’s situation.

  ‘Wonderful. Now we just need to find the rest of your family. Do you know your mother’s phone number?’

  Angel nods. ‘But I don’t have a phone, Father.’

  ‘Wait here,’ he says, and disappears into a small office at the back of the church building. He emerges waving a phone and a charger on a long cable and hands it to her.

  ‘I’ve had this old spare sitting in a drawer for years. It’s no smart phone, but it should be okay for making calls if you can get a signal. I’ve charged it up already for you. Hopefully it has some credit left on it. Good luck!’ And he swishes away again, the hem of his robe dragging in the mud.

  Angel gazes in wonder at the chunky old push-button mobile in her hand.

  She carefully unplugs it and stows the charger in her plastic bag. Around her, people are coming to retrieve their phones before they find a place to sleep for the night and there’s an air of something close to camaraderie as strangers and friends run into each other at the power boards. Some tear their phones from the sockets and immediately start dialling, weeping with joy when the call is answered, or gulping in disappointment when it isn’t. It’s hit and miss.

  Some call family overseas or in Manila, for the first time since the storm. There’s palpable joy and much laughter as first contact is made with those who’ve heard nothing for days from their relatives. What a difference a phone call can make.

  ‘We are all alive, Mama,’ a young woman says, cradling a baby and a toddler and smiling as she weeps with the phone to her ear. ‘We have lost everything, we are hungry, we are tired but we are all alive.’ She laughs into the phone as the children wriggle in her arms. A young man – her husband, Angel guesses – takes the baby and cuddles the little boy, tickling him under the armpits until he giggles in delight. Angel grins. Happiness is still here. Will she find it too, on the end of the line?

  She turns the phone over and over in her hands. The battery is full. She can make the call but she can’t bring herself to do it. What if the news is bad? How will she cope with it alone if the worst has happened to Veronica and the boys? And what of her beloved grandparents?

  Her stomach clenches, but she has no choice. She has to know. Slowly she enters Veronica’s number on the old keypad, double-checking that it’s correct, then she presses send and puts the phone to her ear. Several seconds pass as the connection stalls and then goes through, but the dull insistent beep tells her that the phone she is calling is turned off. She presses ‘End’ on the keypad and swallows her disappointment. Perhaps there’s no signal yet on Samar. Or maybe they have no way of charging the phone? Perfectly reasonable explanations. Angel refuses to let it get her down.

  I will try again later, she says to herself and puts the phone in her pocket. Her hand is shaking a little and she realises she needs to get some food and water and somewhere safe to sleep. She can’t afford to get sick – her family is depending on her.

  Slowly she walks out of the churchyard and up the hill to the town hall, where the queues are still winding out of the makeshift medical clinic. The front lawn is now covered in tents and marquees where the staff of various aid agencies are locked in planning meetings about the logistics of the clean-up or distributing food, water and medicine to the survivors.

  Angel joins a line where people are waiting for food. Volunteers are passing out white polystyrene boxes. Angel has no idea what’s in them but she doesn’t care. She’s so hungry she would eat anything. She wolfs down the rice and meat inside, barely tasting it. Her whole body starts to droop as the efforts of the day take their toll. A woman handing out water bottles comes over to her and says, ‘There’s a children’s shelter over there,’ indicating a building a little further down the hill. Angel thanks her and makes her way there slowly. Inside, small battery lamps cast a warm, yellow glow over rows of mats laid down neatly, about half of them already occupied by sleeping children. A volunteer gives her a light blanket and thin pillow and tells her she can sleep where she likes.

  Angel finds a banig in the corner and lies down under the blanket. She is asleep before her head hits the pillow.

  Twelve

  Angel wakes early. She folds her blanket and tiptoes around the sleeping children and out into the grey dawn light. She turns on the phone and keys in Veronica’s number, but it is still turned off. Angel tries not to think about all of the bad things that could have happened to her mother and brothers. She’s still clinging to the hope that the lack of contact is a simple case of the phones and electricity being off in Samar.

  The makeshift camp is already stirring as she walks up to the town hall, taking in the view of the silvery sea from the top of the hill before heading into the surgery tent. She searches for the medic who promised to come with her to see Mrs Reyes and finds Lucy sorting dressings ahead of the morning rush.

  ‘Ah Angel,’ she grins. ‘I wondered if you’d come back.’

  ‘Here I am, ready to go,’ says Angel eagerly.

  ‘Okay, we will go and see your friend, but first let me take a look at your foot.’

  Once Angel’s foot is cleaned again, Lucy shoulders a large bag of medical supplies and they head down towards the road where they should be able to catch a lift.

  There are a few television cameras around filming the recovery effort. The camera crews are wearing caps and T-shirts showing what channel they’re from. Some are from familiar Filipino TV channels; others are foreigners with CNN and BBC and ABC logos on their cameras and clothing.

  Most of the
journalists look hot, tired and bedraggled. Some appear to be camping in tents on the lawn. For the first time Angel considers that Tacloban’s terrible tragedy has grabbed world attention. She’s not sure that’s a good thing; she wants the world to know that there is much more to her city than the death and destruction of Yolanda.

  Down the hill soldiers and clean-up crews have suddenly arrived en masse and are chainsawing fallen trees and piling debris onto the backs of trucks. They’re grouped into teams, wearing coloured T-shirts printed with things like ‘Yolanda clean-up crew’ or ‘I love Tacloban’. Angel is pleased to see them at work. Here in the centre of the city at least, there are big efforts being made to return to some sort of normality.

  Two trucks are standing by to begin the clean-up elsewhere. Lucy goes up to one of the drivers. ‘Are you going anywhere near Barangay 18?’ she enquires.

  ‘Not me,’ he replies. ‘But he is.’

  The other driver is happy to take them to Issy’s place on the back of his truck. Minutes later they are on their way. Angel is looking forward to seeing Mrs Reyes again, especially now that she can share the good news about her father. She is so glad to be able to repay the old lady in some small way by bringing her medical help.

  The big truck jolts through the city’s devastated streets. It’s still a mess but already Angel can see signs of progress. There are workers on cherry pickers repairing powerlines and phone towers, residents hammering sheets of iron back onto damaged roofs and clean-up crews sweeping debris from the roads. As far as the eye can see, though, there are mountains of rubble. It’s difficult to imagine the city will ever recover from this.

  The big truck grinds to a halt at the end of Issy’s lane. Angel and Lucy jump down, thanking the driver for the ride and waving as the truck lurches away. Angel leads them down the cluttered alley, climbing over sheets of loose tin and boards that have yet to be cleared. The mud has begun to dry so the churned-up mess of grass and stones and dirt is hard and unyielding. The plank across to Issy’s front door is still in place and they step across it gingerly onto the porch.

  ‘Is anybody here? It’s Angel. I’m back!’

  Issy bursts from the house, her arms flung wide.

  ‘Angel, thank goodness you’re okay. We were so worried!’ She hugs Angel tightly.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get back last night as I promised, but I found Papa!’

  Danilo and Maria emerge from the house, their faces drawn with anxiety.

  ‘Finally!’ says Maria as she embraces her. They are clearly relieved to see Angel and hear her news, but there is a strange nervousness, too.

  ‘This is Lucy,’ Angel says. ‘She’s a medic and she’s come to see Mrs Reyes.’

  Issy glances at her parents and they exchange looks.

  Suddenly, Angel knows.

  ‘Mrs Reyes?’ she calls.

  She turns to her friend. ‘Issy?’

  Issy looks stricken as she grasps Angel’s hands. ‘I’m so sorry, Angel. It was just after you left. She was so tired and she fell asleep. When I went to wake her she had passed away.’

  ‘It must have been her heart, Angel,’ Danilo says gently. ‘We knew she wasn’t well. It was all too much for her.’

  Angel slumps down on the cement porch and the tears come quickly.

  ‘She saved me,’ Angel sobs. ‘I was bringing help but I was too late.’

  Lucy crouches down in front of her.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Angel,’ she says quietly. ‘You did your very best. Mrs Reyes would be the first to say that.’ ‘I should have been faster,’ Angel sniffles. ‘I should have brought you straight back with me.’

  Lucy shrugs wearily. ‘It may have helped. It may not have. Heart problems are difficult to treat, especially in circumstances like this. You did what you could, Angel. Never forget that.’

  Lucy stands and addresses the others. ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t help, but I must get back. Please let me check all of you over before I go.’

  She dresses their cuts and scratches and gives each of them a tetanus and antibiotic injection. She hugs Angel, who has remained slumped on the porch and whispers, ‘Stay strong.’ Then she heads out to the road to find a lift back to the town hall.

  After a while, Angel picks herself up and walks a small distance down the lane. Issy’s family means well but she needs to be alone to gather her thoughts. Outside a ruined house, a small car has come to rest. Angel sits down on its battered hood and stares glumly at the surroundings. She had been so energised at finding her father alive, but now her fears for the rest of her family crowd in and the death of Mrs Reyes hangs heavily over everything.

  A little boy of two or three is squatting amid the rubble on the other side of the lane. He’s arranging small pieces of concrete in a row and chatting away to himself. Angel realises that he’s playing some sort of game. Even with carnage all around, children will always play, thinks Angel.

  The next moment she’s on her feet hurrying back to Issy’s house. The faded teddy that she found on the beach a few days before is propped on the windowsill, where she’d left it to dry after washing it in a bucket of rainwater. It looks a lot better now and the tiny bell around the teddy’s neck even tinkles softly. She brushes it off and takes it back to the boy in the lane.

  ‘Hello there. Look what I found!’ she says. ‘This little guy needs a new person to take care of him. Can you help?’

  The boy regards her with astonishment. She hands him the teddy and he lets out a shriek of delight. His skinny little arms hug the toy close and his face is a picture of happiness as he runs off down the lane. ‘Mama! Mama!’ he shouts. ‘I have a bear!’

  Justin has come up behind her. ‘That’s a pretty cool thing to do,’ he says.

  ‘What can I say?’ she shrugs. ‘The bear needed a home.’

  She settles down again on the hood of the car.

  Justin asks, ‘May I?’ When she nods he sits down next to her. A week ago, it’s the last thing that either of them would think of doing, but now everything is different.

  ‘I’m sorry about Mrs Reyes,’ he says gruffly.

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ she responds.

  ‘And I’m sorry about telling you off the other night.’

  ‘I was pretty stupid …’

  ‘Yes, but you’re right. I would have done exactly the same thing.’

  ‘Okay. Apology accepted.’

  ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘I need to find my mum and my brothers. I need to get to Samar.’ She pulls out the phone again and dials her mother’s number.

  ‘No signal,’ she tells him as she puts it away again.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ says Justin. ‘I’ve heard it’s worse than here. I hear the bridge is okay but the roads to get to it are blocked, and who knows what it’s like on the other side.’

  ‘I know. The only sure way to get there is by sea.’

  ‘Every boat in Tacloban was destroyed by the storm,’ says Justin regretfully.

  ‘Not every boat,’ says Angel, and she tells him about Juan’s bangka.

  ‘So the boat is sound,’ Justin says slowly. ‘It’s just the engine that’s the problem?’

  ‘That’s what Papa said.’

  Justin jumps down from the car and turns to Angel with a light in his eyes. ‘I have an idea.’

  Thirteen

  Angel and Justin re-enter the house. Seeing them together Issy raises her eyebrows and follows as they stride purposefully through to the back courtyard, where Danilo and Maria are clearing out some of the mess.

  Justin puts their plan to his parents in an urgent, persuasive tone.

  ‘If it doesn’t work then we’ll come straight back here, won’t we, Angel?’ argues Justin.

  ‘Absolutely!’

  Maria is standing with her arms crossed and a stubborn frown on her face. Danilo is looking at his son with a strange mixture of pride and concern.

  ‘It’s too dangerous. You’re too young. Tell him
, Danilo!’ protests Maria.

  Her husband considers for a moment. ‘Justin has been out on the boats many times, my darling. He’s been helping me for years and in ordinary circumstances I would be more than confident he could take a boat to Samar and back by himself.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a great help!’ Maria retorts.

  ‘However,’ continues Danilo, ‘the conditions are totally different now. The sea is full of dangers and obstacles; only the most skilled driver would be able to navigate through.’

  ‘And, kids, there will still be bodies out there in the water,’ adds Maria.

  Angel and Justin look at each other grimly.

  Angel speaks up slowly. ‘We’ll find one of Papa’s fishing friends to take us. Surely some of them will still be in the neighbourhood.’

  ‘And I bet there’d be at least one who needs to get to Samar and hasn’t got a boat to get him there. They’ll be jumping at the chance!’ says Justin.

  Everyone turns to Maria. She’s running out of arguments but she hasn’t given up yet. ‘I’m sure your mother wouldn’t let you go.’

  ‘But that’s just it!’ bursts out Angel. ‘I might not have a mother if she doesn’t get help soon. She could be ill or badly injured, and they are saying that conditions are even worse over there. Please let us go – this may be her only hope!’

  That’s done it. Maria’s arms drop loosely to her sides.

  ‘You have to promise me you won’t make the trip on your own. And you stay together at all times.’

  ‘Got it,’ Angel and Justin say together.

  ‘And wait until the morning to set out,’ Danilo adds. ‘Conditions will be better then.’

  The two teenagers exchange a glance and then nod in agreement. Their rescue mission is going ahead!

  That evening, the little group holds a simple memorial for Mrs Reyes in the front of the house. Earlier, Issy managed to assemble a small altar with a statuette of Mary and Jesus, candles, plastic flowers and woven reeds. Mrs Reyes was carefully bathed and wrapped in some colourful fabrics that Maria was saving for Issy. Then she was placed in a body bag from one of the Red Cross trucks. Danilo wouldn’t let them take her away to one of the mass graves for those killed in the storm. He’s on a mission to contact her family, find her a decent coffin and then hold a proper burial.