Temporary Transmissions

Day 7

I haven't been back to the home country since my mother died. 

Instead, I made arrangements for my father to come live with us. 

I still remember the grieved and angry look on my aunt's face the day my mother died. I don't know if her words were an accusation or a curse. My father said I should forgive her. That she was simply overcome by emotion. But I had felt the weight of her words and regardless of all attempts to excuse them, the words hung between us and kept me from booking that flight back home. 

When my brother's wife refused to care for my father, I sent for him.

Come to us, I said. Juanito would love to be with his grandfather. 

Looking back, I believe that my aunt was right. Everything happened because of me. My mother wouldn't have died if I hadn't gone home. My father would still be alive if I hadn't asked him to come to us. Juanito would still be alive and Juanito's father. . . 

I stop there. I don't want to think about Juanito's father. 

I did my best, goddammit. I fought for him. I fought for his life. We made a promise to each other. Why would any deity take someone who was good and kind and innocent when I was the one who was cursed? 

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, despising my own cowardice. What excuse did I still have to be alive? 

Why do all the bad things happen when you're here? My aunt's voice echoes in my head. Why are you still here? 

I once believed that I had a right to be happy too. 

Why am I still here? 

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Are you asleep? 

My telephone lights up as Peter's message comes in. 

I want to ignore it, but something (is it politeness?) compels me to answer him. 

I'm about to go to bed, I say. My guest has also retired for the night. 

Dots squiggle on the screen. He's typing something in return. 

Is your guest a relative? 

The answer to that question is complicated. How do I explain my relationship with the duende? Instead of explaining, I just say "yes". Then, I tell him that the duende is family from my mother's side. In fact, I tell him the duende is my mother's closest cousin. 

That's good, he writes back. Family is important, Helena. I'm glad your mother's cousin has come to visit you. 

I don't know if I'm happy about it, I write in return. My mother's cousin is quite demanding. 

He sends me a laughing emoji.

Family can be like that, he says. 

I shake my head at the screen and laugh. I don't understand why he still sends me messages everyday. He has brothers and sisters, doesn't he? He has friends. 

I send him an annoyed looking face. 

Good night, I write. I'm going to bed. 

I don't wait for him to reply. I turn on flight mode, kill the screen and drop the phone beside my pillow. 

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