Dad

Summers in Lima were usually extreme, at least when I lived there. It was so hot that I couldn’t walk without holding an ice cream or water in my hand.

My mother would give me some change on Sunday mornings and send me to the bakery, where I would always bring fresh bread and tamales, and maybe avocados as well. We would sit at the table for breakfast, talk about anything, and then do whatever we wanted.

I usually played alone. My siblings and I were fairly different ages, so I felt like an only child to some extent. I didn’t need much more than small papers and pencils to keep me entertained throughout the day. Sometimes the cats came to see me, and sometimes they didn’t.

When my father arrived home from work—or so I thought—I would always run out, and he would take me up with a great smile and ask, “Are you ready?” He would talk to my mother as I hurried to my bedroom to get dressed.

When I was ready, I would look out for my father, who was already there. We would go out together and walk the streets of Lima. He would show me the vineyards and farms of his friends. I adored the sight of the horses and cows, as well as the abundance of grapes and other agricultural products.

Dad’s friends were usually delighted to see him, but not as thrilled as I was. He frequently disappeared, and there was no communication. We didn’t have a phone at home back then, so his visits were important to me.

I used to frequently see the animals and run around the farm. My father would always shout out loud to me, “Claudia, be careful with the horses! They could kick you”. To be honest, I didn’t give a damn if a horse kicked me at that point. Being in the middle of nature made me happy.

I would go around the vineyards and watch the workers, including some children. I went to my dad right then and asked if I might work there like the other children. “Don’t even think about working!” he warned me. His friends smiled as they watched him. I couldn’t figure out why he was obfuscated.

I started to take down the addresses of these children so that I could write to each other. They told me about their experiences on the farm and in the vineyard. When they finished their work, they went to school at night.

I found it amazing that there were kids collecting the eggs, milking the cows, and feeding the chickens. I went back with my dad when he called me out of the blue.

My dad used to take me for lunch after we visited these farms and vineyards; he would only ask for one plate for me, and I would always eat everything. On other occasions, though, we would see my godmother, who was delighted to see him. She would give us something to eat, but I always hesitated because I had just eaten; however, my father would not reject. We would go back to our home after the visit. I would arrive exhausted but joyful. However, I always observed that my brothers and mother were unhappy when they saw my father. I let it go since I never understood why.

My dad would then depart and not return for several days. My mother constantly told me he was working. Every day, I waited for him; I counted the days and calculated two weeks, which was roughly how long he disappeared. Those two weeks eventually became three, then four, and finally months. My father was always on my mind when I was playing or going to school; I even had dreams in which I saw him and thought he lived with us.

In my eyes, it was normal to only see my dad from time to time and for my dad not to live with us. But as I grew older, I learned that it wasn’t true; my friends’ parents lived at home and didn’t travel as frequently. I looked for a solution for months without finding one. I simply couldn’t stop imagining that my father may come back someday.

My father once paid us a visit while we were getting ready for dinner, just around my mother’s birthday. I was looking forward to his arrival, but I was confused by how strange he smelt. I said, “What’s that smell?” My mother merely gave him a look without saying anything.

My dad smiled and remained silent as well. He looked strange, without his usual smile. “What’s that smell?” I asked again. “It’s alcohol,” my brother replied. I stayed quiet, but something in me broke. I think I was disappointed.

We all had dinner. Mom and I carefully opened her presents. At that moment I was afraid, but I didn’t know what it was. It must be the reality of what was happening and what I was beginning to discover.

So I began searching for the truth; I screamed his name at midnight because I had visions that my father would not return. I was unable to locate the answers to any of my questions. Everyone remained silent; no one wanted to speak to me.

My father vanished once more, and I gave up hope of ever seeing him again. Nobody could have imagined the depth of my anguish. I was carrying my grief in silence.

While Father’s Day was coming and my friends had special events, I had nothing. My friends asked me what I would do on that date, and I had to lie; I always had to lie. At the end of the day, I didn’t know who my father was; I didn’t know him.

One day, I was on the bus approaching the bus stop when I noticed my father walking, so I urged the driver to stop, but he ignored me. My dad was getting on another bus when I arrived at the bus stop. I chased the bus, running and running. It didn’t matter that my backpack was heavy; all I wanted was for the bus to stop, but it didn’t.

When I returned, I asked my mother if my father had been home. She answered, “Yes, Claudia, your dad was waiting for you, but he had to go.” I answered, “Why didn’t he wait for me?” Silence descended upon us once more, and I was never able to find the answers I needed. I cried as soon as I entered my bedroom. I didn’t want to see anyone, and the thought of running after a bus didn’t help. I asked myself in a quiet voice, “Why didn’t he wait for me?”

Days went by with no indications. I suppose in my innocence, I felt abandoned. I made the decision to simply wait. As the months passed, other things happened. I prayed every day and night for my father’s return.

Summer was coming to an end, and my father had not returned. I was so lonely although I wanted to learn more about nature and insects and I spent all of my time in my grandmother’s garden, in reality I was trying to find him. 

Until one day, as if no time had passed, my father appeared. He smiling as usual and carrying boxes of grapes, ham, and other meats.

My mother did not look happy, but she did not say anything. My brothers remained in their bedrooms, while my sisters remained quiet. “Where were you?” I asked. All he could say was “working.”

My father and I played some board games, games he had given me; sometimes he let me win, sometimes he did not. Every time he saw me frustrated over losing, he would smile. Then he told me he was sick, but he was getting better. I ignored him and continued to play with him since I didn’t want him to go away. I didn’t want to go to the bathroom because I didn’t want to lose sight of him.

Suddenly, my brother called me and said, “Claudia, come here! Mom has to talk to Dad.” I ran to my brothers’ bedroom, and they turned on the TV. I heard Mom scream, but I didn’t understand what was happening. When I came out of the bedroom, my dad wasn’t there. He had left again and hadn’t said goodbye. I took the board games and put them away. I went to my bedroom and started crying. I didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t understand the reason for Dad’s absence; I didn’t know why there was so much silence at home.

Months passed, and spring arrived. My father arrived home, but he was thinner. Then I observed my mother and brothers feeding him while he was in bed. I only knew my dad was ill up until that moment, and I had no idea what else was going on. When I approached him one day, he looked at me and said, “Everything will be okay.”

The days went by, and my dad was very sick. They had to take him to the hospital. When I visited him, he grabbed my hand and held it tightly; he couldn’t speak anymore. When I went to visit him again, they wouldn’t let me get close to him or see him. I went back home and went to the garden. My mother and my aunt came back; my mother went to her bedroom, while my aunt told me that my father had died.

I started to cry even though they asked me not to because it would affect my mother, but I couldn’t bear the pain. When I stopped crying, I just went to sleep. I felt alone; no one came to comfort me. I was a child at the end of the day, and still the silence was present, a silence that affected me a lot at that moment.

When I awoke during the night, all I remembered was hurrying to catch that bus to spend time with my father. But he never waited for me; it was like watching a movie in my head thousands of times. That bus left with him, and I thought, I’ll never see him again.

Everything was complicated, including his absence, illness, and the silence at home. The indifference to my anguish, the neglect of childhood. I could not comprehend it; I did not understand it.

In the midst of all that labyrinth of confusion, I decided to stand firm with my emotions and go to my father’s funeral. When I approached to see my dad, I burst into tears; I couldn’t control it. My brother hugged me and took me out of the room where they were holding my dad’s wake, while my sister asked me not to cry. It was uncontrollable; I couldn’t stop crying.

After the wake, my uncles took me to eat, I tried some food because I knew going without eating all day was not good for me.

I was silent for days, not wanting to say anything to anyone. No one asked me how I was feeling. In my moments of being alone, all I could think about were the beautiful times we had on the farm and in the vineyards. I became friends with a lot of children who were there. Although there was no telephone in my house, we always wrote letters to each other to tell each other about our school days and, in their case, about their life on the farm and in the vineyards. My friends continued to write to me, and I continued to write to them. They sent me a box of green grapes after I told them of my dad’s passing.

I began to wrap my sadness in a cocoon, a cocoon that no one could enter. Little by little I began to recover from the loss of my father. Although I still didn’t understand the family silence, I never asked what happened.

The only thing I know Dad, is that you never returned.