I felt bad for him, for the guilty party’s urge to make amends through good deeds. He’d gone to the bank branch and asked after me; he said there was no major news, no losses, and the renewals had been carried out as planned. I called him out on how unnecessary it was: how inappropriate for him to be asking about my affairs, under the circumstances. No, of course there’s nothing I need to discuss with you, I said, about my return to the city. At this point there’s nothing driving me off the island. ‘But it’s been six months, how much longer are you staying?’ It’s actually been five and I’ll stay as long as I want, I said, mocking him a bit for the shamelessness of his reproach.

I keep a journal of my findings and the photo of my great-great-grandparents. My life is a routine that begins – after grumbling about being wakened by a chainsaw at seven a.m. – with a swim in the ocean. I cook every day, sometimes too much for my taste, but my glucose levels are stabler than ever and I get to breathe clean air all the time. It comes at a price, but it feels like a small one. Sometimes, sure, I get fed up with the loneliness prescribed by living in a world of questions. Not even when I add up my gradual discoveries do I fully understand my underlying motives. Not that I’ve told Roberto any of this. I’m getting more and more curious, although every answer fleshes out a scene full of possibilities, none conclusive. But it doesn’t matter. In the interludes between my regressions, there have been other plans: trips to the cay, thinkin’ rundowns where no one thinks anything and we just drink, beach adventures, European ice that melts and turns to honey in the Caribbean.

Insularity has done me a favour. As usual, the long-distance call was choppy, but we hung up on good terms. I don’t blame Roberto for my decisions, and I told him so. I thanked him for my newfound happiness, then asked him to please not call me again. I find his voice even more annoying than the mainland accent: the voice of someone with whom I accepted years of boredom as a lifestyle in exchange for a false sense of security.