The Butterfly Box (2 page)

quietly that Ramon had tried out a new contraption in Switzerland for flying off the mountain on skis. Padre Amadeo had nodded in understanding but later shook his head and worried that the child would only get hurt when her father toppled, as he surely would some day, off the tall pedestal she had so blindly placed him upon. She should focus such devotion on God not man, he thought piously.

Federica longed for it to be time to get up, but it was still early. The sky was as pale and still as a large, luminous lagoon and only the barking dog and the clamour of birds resounded against the quiet stirring of dawn. From her bedroom she could see the ocean disappearing into the grey mists on the horizon as if the heavens were drinking it up. Fler mother often took them to Caleta Abarca beach, as they didn’t have a swimming pool to cool off in, although the sea was almost too cold for bathing. Sometimes they would drive to the small seaside village of Cachagua, about an hour up the coast, to stay with her grandparents who owned a pretty thatched summerhouse there surrounded by tall palms and acacia trees. Federica loved the sea. Her father had once said that she loved the sea because she was born under the sign of Cancer whose

symbol was a crab. She didn’t much like crabs though.

After a long while she heard footsteps on the stairs then the high-pitched voice of her younger brother Enrique, nicknamed Hal after Shakespeare’s ‘Prince Henry’. That had been Ramon’s idea - although his wife was English she had no interest in literature or history unless it was about her.

‘Darling, you’re dressed already!’ Helena gasped in surprise as Federica jumped across the landing and into Hal's bedroom where she was dressing him.

‘Papa’s coming home today!’ she sang, unable to remain still even for a moment.

‘Yes, he is,’ replied Helena, taking a deep breath to restrain the resentment she felt towards her absent husband. ‘Keep your feet still, Hal darling, I can’t put your shoes on if you keep moving.’

‘Will he be here before lunch?’ asked Federica, automatically helping her mother by opening the curtains, allowing the warm sunshine to flood into the dim room with the enthusiasm that belongs only to the morning.

‘He’ll be here sometime before noon, his flight gets in at ten,’ she replied patiently. ‘There, sweetie, you look very handsome,’ she added, smoothing

back Hal’s black hair with a soft brush. He shook his head in protest and squealed before wriggling off the bed and running out onto the landing.

‘I put on my best dress for him,’ said Federica, following her mother down the stairs with buoyant footsteps.

‘So I see,’ she replied.

‘I’m going to help Lidia cook lunch today. We’re making Papa’s favourite dish.’

‘What’s that then?’

‘Pastel de choclo
and we’re making him
merengon de lucuma
as a welcome home cake,’ said Federica, flicking her straight blonde hair offher shoulders so that it fell thickly down her back. She had pushed it off her forehead with a hair-band, which along with her small stature made her appear younger than her six years.

‘Papa’s coming home today,’ said Federica to Hal as she helped her mother lay the table.

‘Will he bring me a present?’ asked Hal, who at four years of age remembered his father only for the presents he gave.

‘Of course he will, sweetie. He always brings you presents,’ said Helena, placing a cup of cold milk in front of him. ‘Anyway, it’s Christmas so you’ll be getting loads of presents.’ Federica supervised Hal while he dipped his spoon into the tin of powdered chocolate and dropped it into his milk. She then grabbed the cloth from the sink to mop up the chocolate that hadn’t quite made it to the cup.

‘Fede, the croissants are ready, I can smell them beginning to burn,’ said Helena, lighting a cigarette. She looked anxiously at the clock on the wall and bit her lower lip. She knew she should take the children to the airport to pick him up as other mothers would. But she couldn’t face it. The awkward drive from Santiago airport to the coast, all the while making conversation as if everything was positively rosy. No, it would be much better to see him at home, the house was big, more space for them to lose each other in. How silly, she thought bitterly, they had lost each other a long time ago somewhere in the vast distances they had placed between themselves. Somewhere in the faraway lands and imaginary characters that seemed so much more important to Ramon than the people in his life who were real and who needed him. She had tried. She had really tried. But now she was empty inside and tired of being neglected.

Federica buttered a croissant and sipped her iced chocolate, chattering away to her brother with an excitement that made her voice rise in tone, irritating the raw nerves of her mother who stood by the window blowing smoke against the glass. Once they had been in love, but even hate was an expression of love, just a different face. Now Helena no longer hated him, that alone would have been a good enough reason to stay. But she felt indifference and it frightened her. Nothing could grow out of that. It was a barren emotion, as barren as the face of the moon.

Helena had made a life for herself in Chile because she had believed, as did her daughter later, that Ramon was God. He was certainly the most glamorous, handsome man Polperro had ever seen. Then his article had appeared in
National Geographic
with photographs of all the old smugglers’ caves and crumbling castles Helena had shown him, and yet somehow the photographs were suffused with a light that didn’t belong to Nature. There was something mystical about them that she couldn’t put her finger on. Every word he wrote sung out to her and stayed with her long after she had turned the last page. Now she recognized the magic as love, for it had followed them for the first six years, converting even the most mundane things, like filling the car up with petrol, into a magical experience. Their lovemaking had pertained to another plain far above the physical and she had believed that the power was within him and in him alone. Only after it had gone did she realize that the connection had been cut - like electricity, their ‘magic’ had been caused by the two of them and ceased the minute one of them felt disenchanted by it. Once it had gone it was gone for ever. That kind of sorcery is of high energy but low life span. At first they had travelled together, to the far corners of China, to the arid deserts of Egypt and the wet lakes of Sweden. When she became pregnant with Federica they returned to settle in Chile. Their ‘magic’ had followed them there too where the white powder coast and pastoral simplicity had enchanted her. But now it echoed with the emptiness she felt within her own being because the love that had filled it had drained away. There was no reason to stay. She was tired of pretending. She was tired of pretending to herself. She longed for the drizzly, verdant hills of her youth and her longing made her hand shake. She lit another cigarette and once more eyed the clock.

Federica cleared away her breakfast, humming to herself and skipping around

the kitchen as she did so. Hal played with his train in the nursery. Helena remained by the window.

‘Mama!’ shouted Hal. ‘My train is broken, it’s not working.’ Helena picked up her packet of cigarettes and strode out of the kitchen, leaving Federica to finish clearing up. Once the table was wiped and the crockery washed up she put on her cooking apron and waited for Lidia to arrive.

When Lidia bustled through the gate she saw Federica’s small eager face pressed up against the glass, smiling broadly at her.

‘Hola
_}
Señorita,’ she said breathlessly as she entered the hall. ‘You’re ready early.’

‘I’ve even cleared away the breakfast,’ replied Federica in Spanish. Although her mother spoke excellent Spanish they had always spoken English as a family, even when her father was home.

‘Well, you
are
a good girl,’ Lidia wheezed, following the child into the kitchen. ‘Ah, you angel. You’ve done all the work,’ she said, casting her dark eyes over the mixing bowls and spoons already laid out on the table.

‘I want it all to be perfect for Papa,’ she said, her cheeks aflame. She could barely contain her impatience and suppressed her desire to run by skipping instead of walking. That way the nervous feeling in her stomach was indulged a little but not too much. Lidia struggled into her pink overalls then washed her swollen brown hands. She suggested Federica do the same.

‘You must always wash your hands before cooking, you don’t know where they’ve been,’ she said.

‘Like Señora Baraca’s dog,’ giggled Federica.

‘
Pobrecito
,’ Lidia sighed, tilting her round head to one side and pulling a thin, sympathetic smile. ‘He’s tied up all day in that small garden, it’s no wonder he barks from dawn till dusk.’

‘Doesn’t she take him out at all?’ Federica asked, running her hands under the tap.

‘Oh yes, she takes him out occasionally, but she’s old,’ Lidia replied, ‘and we old people don’t have as much energy for things like that.’

‘You’re not old, Lidia,’ said Federica kindly.

‘Not old, just fat,' said Helena in English, walking into the kitchen with Hal’s toy engine. ‘She’d have much more energy if she didn’t eat so much. Imagine carrying that bulk around all day, no wonder she wheezes all the time.’

‘Buenos dias, Señora,"
said Lidia, who didn’t understand English.

‘Good morning, Lidia. I need a knife to mend this blasted train,’ said Helena in Spanish, not even bothering to force a smile, however small. She was too anxious and impatient to think of anyone else but herself.

‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Don Ramon will be home soon and he can fix it. That’s men’s work,’ said Lidia cheerfully.

Thank you, Lidia, that’s very helpful. Fede, pass me a knife,’ she said edgily. Federica handed her the knife and watched her walk out again.

‘Oh, it’s so exciting that your Papa is coming home,’ enthused Lidia, embracing Federica fondly. ‘I’ll bet you didn’t sleep a wink.’

‘Not a wink,’ she replied, looking up at the clock. ‘He’ll be here soon,’ she said and Lidia noticed that her small hands trembled when she began to cut the butter up into pieces.

‘Careful you don’t cut yourself,’ she said gently. ‘You don’t want your Papa to come back to a daughter with only seven fingers.’ She laughed, then wheezed and coughed.

Helena, who was usually very deft at mending things, broke the engine. Hal started to cry. Helena pulled him into her arms and managed to cheer him up by promising him another engine, a bigger, better one. ‘Anyway, this engine was old and tatty. What use is an engine like that? The train looks much better without his engine,’ she said and thought how much she’d like to be a carriage on her own without an engine. She lit another cigarette. The doors to the garden were open, inviting in the gentle sea breeze that smelt of oranges and ozone. It was too hot to be sitting in suburbia, they should be down on the beach, she thought in frustration. She wiped her sweating brow with her hand then looked at her watch. Her throat constricted. His plane would have landed.

Federica and Lidia buzzed about the kitchen like a couple of bees in a flowerbed. Federica loved to be included and followed Lidia’s instructions with great enthusiasm. She felt like a grown-up and Lidia treated her as one. They chatted about Lidia’s back pain and her stomach cramps and her husband’s verruca, which was giving him a lot of trouble. ‘I’m afraid of putting my feet where he’s put his,’ she explained, ‘so I wear a pair of socks even in the shower.’

‘I would too,' Federica agreed, not sure what a verruca was.

‘You’re sensible like me,’ Lidia replied, smiling down at the skinny child who
had a manner well beyond her years. Lidia thought she was far too grown-up for a child of almost seven but one only had to look at her mother to understand why. Helena gave her so much responsibility, too much probably, that the child would be quite capable of running the entire household without her.

When Helena entered the kitchen the smell of
pastel de choclo
swelled her senses and her stomach churned with hunger and tension combined. Federica was drying up while Lidia washed the utensils and mixing bowls. Helena managed to grab the remains of the cream before Lidia’s podgy hands pulled it into the soapy water. She scraped her finger around the bottom of the bowl and brought it up to her pale lips. ‘Well done you, sweetie,’ she said, impressed. She smiled at her daughter and stroked her hand down her shiny blonde hair. ‘You’re a very good cook.’ Federica smiled, accustomed to her mother’s changeable nature. One minute she was irritable, the next minute she was agreeable, not like her father who was always cheerful and carefree. Helena's praise delighted Federica as it always did and her spirits soared until she seemed to grow an inch taller.

‘She’s not only a good cook, Señora, but she’s a good housekeeper, too,’ said Lidia fondly, the large black mole on her chin quivering as her face creased into a wide smile. ‘She cleaned up all the breakfast by herself.' she added in a mildly accusing tone, for Señora Helena always left everything to her daughter.

‘I know.' Helena replied. ‘What I would do without her, I can’t imagine,’ she said nonchalantly, flicking her cigarette ash into the bin and leaving the room. She walked upstairs. She was weary. Her heart weighed her down so that even the stairs were an effort to climb. She walked along the cool white corridor, her bare feet padding over the wooden floorboards, her hand too disenchanted even to deadhead the pots of pale orchids as she passed. In her bedroom the white linen curtains played about with the silk breeze as if they were trying to open all by themselves. Irritably she pulled them apart and looked out across the sea. It lay tremulous and iridescent, beckoning her to sail away with it to another place. The horizon promised her freedom and a new life.

‘Mama, shall I help you tidy your room?’ Federica asked quietly. Helena turned around and looked at the small, earnest face of her daughter.

‘I suppose you want to tidy it up for Papa?’ she replied, grabbing an ashtray and stubbing her cigarette into it.

‘Well, I’ve picked some flowers . . .' she said sheepishly.

Helena’s heart lurched. She pitied her daughter for the love she felt for her father in spite of the long absences that should have made her hate him. But no, she loved him unconditionally and the more he went away the happier she was to see him when he returned, running into his arms like a grateful lover. She longed to tell her the truth and shatter her illusions, out of spite because she wished she still shared those illusions. She found the world of children so blissfully simplistic and she envied her.

‘All right, Fede. You tidy it up for Papa, he’ll love the flowers, I’m sure,’ she said tightly. ‘Just ignore me,’ she added, wandering into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Federica heard her switch on the shower and the water pound against the enamel bath. She then made the bed, scenting the sheets with fresh lavender like her grandmother had shown her and placed a small blue vase of honeysuckle on her father’s bedside table. She folded her mother’s clothes and placed them in the old oak cupboard, rearranging the mess that she found there until all the shelves resembled a well-organized shop. She opened the windows as wide as they could go so that the scents of the garden and the sea would spirit away the dirty smell of her mother’s smoke. Then she sat at her dressing table and picked up an old photograph of her father that grinned out at her from behind the glass of an ornate silver frame. He was very good looking with glossy black hair, swarthy skin, shiny brown eyes that were honest and intelligent and a large mouth that smiled the crooked smile of a man with an irreverent sense of humour and easy charm. She ran her thumb across the glass and caught her pensive expression in the mirror. In her reflection she saw only her mother. The pale blonde hair, the pale blue eyes, the pale pink lips, the pale skin - she wished she had inherited her father’s dark Italian looks. He was so handsome and no doubt Hal would be handsome just like him. But Federica was used to getting a lot of attention because of her flowing white hair. All the other girls in her class were dark like Hal. People stared at her when she went into Valparaiso with her mother and Señora Escobar, who ran the sandwich shop on the square, called her ‘La Angelita’ (the little angel) because she couldn’t believe that a human being could have such pale hair. Helena’s best friend, Lola Miguens, had tried to copy her by dying her black hair blonde with peroxide, but had lost her nerve half way through so now she walked around with hair the colour of their terracotta roof, which Federica thought looked very ugly. Her mother didn’t bother to look after herself like Chilean women who always had long manicured nails, perfect