THE TROUBLE, THE TELEPHONE LIST AND THE SILENCE OF DONA PALMIRA - By Colin Miranda
I'm from a time when cell phones were science fiction and having a landline at home was a real status, almost a luxury. But we were lucky. As my father was a correspondent for Rádio Nacional, the handset was his work tool and took pride of place in the living room.
Next to the telephone rested the "Bible" of communications at the time: the Telephone Directory.
That thick book contained the numbers of all the people and companies in Cape Verde. But as far as our Ilha Brava was concerned, the section was thin, just a few sheets that you could count on your fingers. In my curiosity as a boy without internet, I knew those pages by heart. I had the names memorized from A to Z.
When boredom struck and my father was away, the telephone became my forbidden toy. My favorite diversion? Playing pranks.
I'd open the list, choose the "victim" of the day, call, have a bit of fun and hang up on them. It was a game of power and anonymity. A prank that I thought was harmless.
In the middle of that list of familiar names, there was one that always caught my eye, because it was unique on the island: "Palmira".
She was our neighbor. A sweet old lady who had put the phone in her house for one sacred purpose: to hear the voice of her son who lived far away in the United States.
My childish mind chose her as its target. I called. But that day, the devil of mischief blew louder in my ear and I decided to go too far. I didn't limit myself to a silly joke. In a disguised voice, I dropped the bombshell:
- "Your son had a car accident in America. He's in hospital."
On the other side, I didn't hear screaming or crying. I heard something much worse: silence.
Suddenly, the line went silent. A heavy, icy silence that ran through the wire and chilled my spine.
Fear gripped me. What if I had thrown a fit? What if the lie had killed the old lady? Guilt made me drop the phone and run. As we lived nearby, I flew to her house. I came up with the perfect excuse for the unexpected visit: I was going to buy sewing needles, since she sold rubber bands, fabrics and other "orders from America".
I entered her house with my heart in my mouth.
Luckily - or by divine intervention - I met a gentleman ("Frank di Lu") who had arrived before me. He was standing next to her, trying to calm her down, saying that it must be a mistake, that maybe it wasn't true. She was pale, looking lost, clinging to that anguish that I myself had planted.
I bought the needle with trembling hands, lowered my head to hide my shame and left carrying a weight I've never forgotten.
That day, the telephone ceased to be a toy for me.
I learned, the hard way, a lesson that I'll carry with me for life: words have weight and distance doesn't diminish the pain they can cause. I discovered that we can't play with other people's hearts, especially the heart of a mother who lives with longing. Technology serves to shorten distances, never to create chasms.
From that day on, I've never been pranked again. The needle I bought never sewed anything, but it served to mend my character.
Author's Note:
The "Dona Palmira" of this story was the late and dear Nha Maninha.
Today, as a grown man, I know it's too late to ask her forgiveness, but here's my tribute and my sincere apology, wherever she is.
Rest in peace, Nha Maninha.
Who else remembers the importance of the Telephone Directory? And who has ever bitterly regretted a childhood "prank"?
Share in the comments.
