Gray Resurrection Read Online Free Page B

The final item was his bottle of Off Lotion insect
repellent. 
    Farrar might be an arsehole, but he was
right about the bloody mosquitoes.
    The taxi arrived early to take them to
Ninoy Aquino airport, which was just as well as traffic was exceptionally
heavy, even for Manila.  They got to the Cebu Pacific Air desk and picked
up their tickets with a couple of minutes to spare, then rushed through the
departure lounge to the boarding gate. 
    Grant was glad to see that the plane was
an Airbus A319 rather than some ten-seater turbo-prop, and he enjoyed a snack
on the flight, his first bite of the day.
    An hour and a half later they arrived in
Zamboanga City and took a taxi to the port, where Grant opted for the MS Weesam
Express as it took just forty-five minutes to make the crossing and had air
conditioning, as opposed to the normal ferry which took an hour longer and
would leave him at the mercy of the late afternoon sun.
    Once they disembarked they had a choice
of vehicles to take them to their destination.  Grant declined the offer
of bicycles and motorcycles, both with sidecars capable of carrying two
passengers, and chose instead to splash out an extra hundred pesos on a taxi.
    The journey to the house where Alma grew
up took just fifteen minutes, and as with the rest of the journey she sat in
silence, looking out of the side window at nothing in particular.  He did
the same, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts, knowing full well what she was
going through.  It was almost two years since his son had died at the
hands of a car thief, and less than a year later he had lost his wife, too, so
he appreciated that there were moments when it was appropriate to talk and
times when he should leave her to her reflections.
    The only time she spoke was towards the
end of their journey.
    “Mama doesn’t know about...us,” she told
him.  “Can I introduce you as my boss?”
    Grant assured her he was fine with that,
but pointed out that it would be awkward if they were going to sleep under the
same roof.  Alma hadn’t thought that far ahead, and was grateful when he
offered to stay at a local hotel.
    When they arrived at their destination
he was surprised to see around thirty people sitting outside in the
street.  Most were playing cards, piles of money in the middle of the
tables.  The house itself was more like an old allotment shed, with the
front wall made of two wooden doors nailed horizontally onto a makeshift frame. 
The inside was no better: the floor was bare concrete; cheap plasterboard lined
the internal walls; and the only sign of technology was a portable television
on a wooden sideboard.
    In the centre of the small living room a
couple of tables had been shoved together and on top was an open casket. 
Toddlers were chasing each other around it, laughing and giggling, while
parents sat around the edge of the room chatting and eating.  In the small
kitchen towards the back of the house three women were preparing yet more food,
and looking round he wondered where they could possibly put it.  Every
available inch of space was already taken up with bowls of rice; pork, chicken
and fish dishes; and copious amounts of soft drinks.
    Alma was staring at the peaceful face of
her sibling when a woman in her late forties entered the room and came towards
them.
    Alma threw her arms around her. 
“Mama.”
    They hugged for some time before Alma’s
mother noticed the stranger staring at them.  Introductions were made and
Grant found that she spoke very little English, but Alma translated and Grant
replied with some of the Tagalog phrases he had learnt over the last few
months.
    A plate heaped with rice and pork was
suddenly thrust into his hand and he was ushered outside to a spare seat. 
Alma remained inside to catch up with her family, so he got stuck in.  One
of the locals at the table spoke passable English and sparked up a
conversation, though Grant was more interested in the food than
chit-chat.  He