THE MEETING
Church is the most beautiful building on the island. I like it here because it is always cool inside, even now when the sun is heating the sand to coals on the beach below. The walls shine white like the centre of coral. To see it glowing like a beacon at the top of the hill makes the last, steep stretch easier, though Nanay found it harder than her last visit.
We are sitting behind Capuno and Bondoc, who live down the street from us. Nanay has not said ‘Amen’ even once, or stood when she is meant to, though this may be because she is sore from the climb. The other children from school are sitting at the back, all together in one big clump like they do after class. When we came in, the girls bent their heads together and whispered. I know they think I’m strange because I don’t stay to play after school, but Nanay needs me to help her at home. I slide my hand into hers and squeeze. She’s all the friends I need – though I sometimes wish the girls wouldn’t whisper.
Father Fernan is about to start the final part of his sermon. This week it is about temperance, which I think means not drinking alcohol, because it makes God sad when you sing loudly in the street. I hope Bondoc is listening, because though his name means mountain and he looks like a mountain, he sings like a strangled goat.
Capuno and Bondoc are brothers. Capuno is Touched, Bondoc is not, but he followed his brother to Culion anyway. Capuno is as small as Bondoc is big, but he has a quiet energy about him, an undertow. They are two of the kindest men I know, even if they do sing in the street through lack of temperance.
‘So remember, next time you pass the tavern,’ Father Fernan intones, ‘tip your hat to the owner and turn up your palms to God. Let us pray.’
I go to bow my head but Nanay unclasps my fingers and crosses her arms. The sisters do not notice because we are told to look down to talk to God, even though apparently He is above our heads in Heaven.
Father Fernan makes the sign of the cross over us. There is silence for a moment as everyone wonders what is going to come next. Father Fernan rearranges his sombre expression into a smile. People sit a little less straight and murmur to each other. Nanay uncrosses her arms slightly. They are marked where her fingernails dug in. Sister Clara sits beside the pulpit while Sister Margaritte sets up another three chairs and then settles in one.
There is the sound of footsteps up the aisle and a man I have not seen before passes us with Doctor Tomas, whose face is solemn. The stranger is wearing a pale linen suit and carries two wooden planks. He walks like a marionette, picking his feet up high, then sits on one of the chairs, head-string pulled taut. We all look at Father Fernan expectantly.
‘Thank you for joining us,’ he begins, as if we have only just arrived. ‘We are here to discuss some very important changes that will be taking place in Culion Town. These changes may seem strange at first, but we must remember God’s plan, and trust in Him.’
Sister Clara nods gravely, but Sister Margaritte’s wide mouth is sealed thinly shut as an envelope, and Doctor Tomas looks pained, his face scrunched up like a chewed toffee.
‘Sitting beside Doctor Tomas is our special guest, Mr Zamora.’ Everyone’s heads swivel. ‘Mr Zamora works for the government in Manila. He is going to share with you the future of our island.’
The stranger unfolds from his chair. He is so long and thin he looks like a locust standing upright. His hands jangle limply from his wrists as he steps forward and takes off his hat, which he shouldn’t really have been wearing inside anyway.
‘Patients and families,’ he starts, and I already know this is not going to be a good meeting. Nobody who lives here thinks of the Touched as patients, except maybe Sister Clara. ‘Thank you for having me. I very much enjoyed the service.’
His voice is full and low, at odds with his skinny frame, his lips puffy as a fish’s. Nanay is tense again beside me, and in front Bondoc leans back on the hard wooden pew and crosses his arms.
‘Father Fernan is right that I am here to tell you about some very important changes, but he neglected to mention that they are also exciting. We, the government, are moving Culion towards a place of en-light-en-ment.’ He strikes each beat of the word on his palm. ‘Progress is being made in the fight against the affliction that many of you suffer from. With all due respect to Doctor Tomas, the methods used to treat the disease are evolving very fast outside this colony. We already know that leprosy is caused by bacterium, and I am sure Doctor Tomas has advised you all that cleanliness is paramount. We are hopeful that within the lifespan of your children, we will find a cure for lepers.’
There is a collective intake of breath and Nanay flinches. We do not use that word. My palms itch. It is suddenly stifling inside the church.
‘But until that day, changes must be made. We must prevent the spread of the disease. It has been brought to the government’s attention that many of you are breeding. I know that Father Fernan and the sisters will have advised you about the merits of abstinence, but what of those children who are born without the disease? Must they, too, live the life of a leper?’
He has found his rhythm now, striding across the front of the church on his needle-thin legs, hands waving. Meanwhile, we have stopped sitting silently. People are hissing angrily, the noise rising like spit on hot coals. Nanay takes my hand and squeezes.
‘We say, no!’ Mr Zamora continues as if the hissing were applause. ‘We are going to save Culion’s innocents and give them a better life. Is that not what all parents want? A better life for their children? From here on, we will facilitate this through a process of segregation.’
He swoops suddenly on the wooden planks beside his chair and holds them up, one in each hand. On one is written SANO. On the other LEPROSO.
Bondoc stands up, more mountain-like than ever. His body is trembling as he shrugs off Capuno’s restraining hand and forces his way into the aisle, striding to within a foot of Mr Zamora. I think he might hit him, but he just stands, fingers clenched into fists.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he says furiously. Sister Margaritte has stood up too and is beside him, speaking soothingly. Mr Zamora twitches his fish lips into a smile.
‘I was just about to explain,’ he says.
‘Well, explain. And choose better words than the ones you have already used,’ says Bondoc, allowing Sister Margaritte to lead him to a space on the front pew.
‘Please, this is our guest—’ starts Father Fernan, but Mr Zamora raises his hand the way Sister Clara does to us in school, and inclines his head in an of course. He displays the planks again.
‘Sano – clean. Leproso – leper,’ he says.
‘We can read,’ mutters Capuno.
‘Many of these signs will be placed around the island. Those who are clean must stay in the areas marked Sano. Those who are lepers must keep to their designated places.’
‘But what of the families?’ Nanay drops my hand and stands with the suddenness of Bondoc, but she does not approach Mr Zamora.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘What of the families?’
‘I can’t hear you.’ He can. We all know he can.
Nanay must know that too, but after only a moment’s pause she unwraps the cloth around her face. She can be very brave when she needs to be. Sister Clara looks away with a tut, but Mr Zamora stares in a way that is even worse.
‘I said, what about the families? I have bred. My clean daughter has been living with me, her demonstrably dirty mother, for all her life. She has remained clean, despite the best attempts of my affliction to sully her. What do you propose be done?’
Her voice is a challenge, with the point of a sword on her tongue.
Mr Zamora wets his lips. ‘This was what I was going to address next, before your interruption.’
Nanay inhales deeply to reply but Father Fernan stands up and opens his hands, like when he is demonstrating God opening His heart to us.
‘Please, child. Let our guest finish.’
It is a betrayal. I feel this, as certain as the sweat on my palms. He is betraying us. Nanay sinks back down and does not take my hand again, so I squeeze her wrist to show her I am proud.
‘This is all in aid of reducing the spread of Mycobacterium leprae,’ Mr Zamora says importantly. ‘The disease that has taken your nose. Is that your daughter beside you?’ He does not wait for an answer. ‘How would you feel if she ended up looking like that?’
Someone has to say something, but my voice is caught in my throat. Sister Margaritte makes an involuntary movement and Father Fernan holds up his hand to her the way Mr Zamora did to him, as the stranger continues to pace.
‘We are doing this not for our pleasure, oh, no. This place is a drain on the government’s finances, but we have given you a beautiful home.’
‘We have been here for years!’ calls out Bondoc. ‘Generations, in some cases. You haven’t given us anything—’
Mr Zamora talks over him. ‘We are introducing the segregation to save the innocents.’ I do not understand why he keeps using that word. ‘We will give those who are healthy a future. I have been given control of a facility on Coron Island—’
Coron: our neighbouring island. You can sight it on a clear day – and we have many clear days – from the eastern hills. But it is only a low smudge, as if a greasy finger has been wiped across the faraway glass of the horizon. It is too far to wave from one beach to another and see each other.
‘Facility?’ interrupts Sister Margaritte. ‘Like an asylum?’
‘An orphanage,’ says Mr Zamora.
‘But these children, they have parents.’ The nun’s voice is shaking. Nanay grips my hand. ‘Their parents aren’t dead.’
‘But they are sick, Sister. And they live in what will become the largest leper colony in the world within three years, if our projections are correct. I am piloting this scheme on Coron, taking over an orphanage, to give the Culion children a better quality of life. They will live with other healthy children, away from sickness and death. When they grow up, they will be able to have jobs on the mainland, in Manila and further abroad. The disease will die out—’
‘You mean we will die out, Mr Zamora?’ Capuno’s voice is soft, but the challenge halts the man in his tracks. He stares down at Capuno, and his silence is worse than a nod. There is another collective flinch as he continues.
‘This segregation has the full weight of the government behind it. Father Fernan has given his blessing and only this morning Doctor Tomas signed an agreement that already has seventy signatures from world experts from America, India, China and Spain.’
The priest and the doctor keep their faces turned to the floor as Mr Zamora pulls an envelope from his breast pocket, brandishing what I assume is the agreement. Doctor Tomas has signed this. Father Fernan has blessed this. Experts from countries far beyond our sea have agreed to it. The whole world is against us.
‘They are all of the opinion that this is the best – no, the only – course of action. Reinforcements from the government will be arriving to ensure it all goes smoothly. The sisters will bring you, street by street, to the hospital for your assessment. This is the start of a new era.’
This is the end. No one is hissing or standing up to question Mr Zamora. The planks are propped up against the step before the pulpit.
Sano. Leproso.
I have forgotten how to breathe.