I sat on a nearby bench and looked through the envelopes. There were about a dozen letters for my father from his daughter Elisa and, according to the stamps and addresses, they’d been sent from different locations in the country: Guayaquil, Manta, Machala. A couple were sent from Quito, the capital. They were piled up in order of dates: from the oldest to the most recent. Her handwriting had changed with time. On early envelopes, her letters were large and ended in curly tails, but in later ones her strokes were fast and reflected the evolution of a girl into a woman. If I had to guess, I would say she was an artist, though I didn’t know much about calligraphy readings. I checked the date on her last letter: it had been sent three years ago from Quito. Why had she stopped writing him?

I turned to the first envelope, dated 1909, and removed the letter.

Dear Papá,

It’s been two years since the last time I saw you. Did you see me on the hill when your daughter said she saw the Virgin? I gave her my doll so you would know that I came to visit. Do you remember me? I’m 12 years old now, but people say I look young for my age. I have been studying hard to be able to write to you. My teacher says I have good penmanship and “dedication.” I like school but sometimes I just feel like lying around, belly up, thinking.

Since we left Vinces, we’ve lived in many places. My mother is now with a puppeteer named Benjamin. She says they’re married, but I don’t remember any ceremonies. I just remember her coming to me one day and introducing him as my new father. She said to call him Papá, but I told her I already have a French father and his name is Armand Lafont. Did I do right, Papá?

I’m now learning to handle the puppets because Benjamin needs help with the show, but I’m a little tired of always performing the same story: La Caperucita Roja. I told him people already know it by heart and are getting tired of seeing the wolf eat the little girl and the grandma. The worst part is some silly tune I have to sing whenever Caperucita is wandering about the forest. I can’t get it out of my mind all day!

I told Benjamin people want love stories, but he says puppets are for the little ones. I sometimes pretend the puppets are all a big family living in La Puri.