The Butterfly Box (3 page)

lipstick and immaculate clothes. Helena bustled about with her hair scrunched carelessly up onto the top of her head and she usually had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Federica thought she was beautiful when she made an effort and judging by old photographs she was once very beautiful indeed. But recently she had let herself go. Federica hoped she would make an effort for her father.

Helena stepped out of the bathroom followed by a puff of steam. Her face was pink and her eyes sparkled from the moisture. Federica lay on the white damask bedspread and watched her mother dress and prepare herself for her husband’s return. Helena could smell the lavender and the ripe scent of oranges and refrained from lighting another cigarette. She felt guilty. Federica was so excited she quivered like a horse in the starting gate while
she
awaited Ramon’s return with trepidation and the secret knowledge that any moment now she’d gather together her courage and leave him for good. As she painted her face she watched her daughter in the mirror while she didn’t know that she was being watched. She stared out of the window across the sea as if her father was arriving by boat and not by car. Her profile was childish and yet her expression was that of a grown woman. The anxious expectation in her frown and on her trembling lips betrayed too much awareness for a child her age. She worshipped her father with the devotion of a dog, whereas Hal worshipped his mother whom, Helena felt, was more deserving of his love.

When Helena was ready, in a pair of tight white trousers and T-shirt, her hair scrunched up on her head, still damp and knotted, she sat on the bed beside her daughter and ran a damp hand down her face.

‘You look lovely, sweetie. You really do,’ she said and kissed her innocent brow affectionately.

‘He’ll be here soon, won’t he?’ said Federica softly.

‘Any minute,’ Helena replied, masking the tremor in her voice with a deftness that came from years of practice. She got up abruptly and hurried down the stairs. She couldn’t smoke in the bedroom, not after Federica had prepared it so lovingly, but she was in desperate need of a cigarette. Just as she reached the bottom, her espadrilles landing on the cold stone tiles of the hallway, the front door swung open and Ramon filled the entrance like a large black wolf. Helena gasped and felt her stomach lurch. They stared at each other, wordlessly assessing the frigid estrangement that still grew up between them

whenever they found themselves together in the same room.

‘Fede, Papa's here!’ Helena shouted, but as impassive as her features were her voice croaked with repressed emotion. Ramon’s dark brown eyes pulled away from the stony countenance of his wife in search of his daughter whom he heard squeal with delight from the landing before the soft patter of her small feet scurried across the floorboards and skipped down the stairs two at a time. She jumped past her mother and into her father’s sturdy embrace. She wrapped her thin arms around his bristly neck, nuzzling her face into his throat and inhaling the heavy, spicy scent that made him different from everyone else in the world. He kissed her warm cheek, lifting her off the ground and laughing so loudly she felt the vibration shake against her body like an earthquake.

‘So you missed me!’ he said, swinging her around until she had to wrap her legs about his waist to stop herself from falling.

‘Yes, Papa!’ she laughed, clinging on as her happiness almost choked her.

At that moment Hal ran into the hall, took one look at his father and burst into tears. Helena, grateful for the distraction, ran to him and picked him up in her arms, kissing his wet cheek. ‘It’s Papa, Hal darling, he’s come home,’ she said, trying to boost her voice with a bit of enthusiasm but her tone was dead and Hal sensed it and cried again. Ramon put his daughter down and walked over to where his son was weeping in his mother’s arms.

‘Halcito, it’s Papa,’ he said, smiling into the child’s frightened face with his large, generous mouth. Hal buried his head in Helena’s neck and wriggled closer against her.

‘I’m sorry, Ramon,’ she said flatly, sensing his disappointment but secretly taking pleasure from the child’s rejection. She wanted to tell him that he couldn’t expect his children to love him when he took no part in their lives, but she saw Federica’s love set her cheeks aflame and the admiration shine in her pale, trusting eyes and knew that it wasn’t entirely true. Nevertheless, he didn’t deserve his daughter’s love.

‘I’ve got a present for you, Hal,’ he said, walking back to his bag and unzipping it. ‘And I’ve got one for you too, Fede,’ he added as his daughter placed an affectionate hand on his back as he rummaged around for his gifts. ‘Ah, this is for you, Hal,’ he said, walking over to the little boy whose eyes opened wide at the brightly painted wooden train that his father waved in front of him. He forgot his fear and held his hands out. ‘There, I thought you’d like that.’

‘I broke his engine today,’ said Helena, making an effort for the sake of the

children. That couldn’t have come at a better time, could it, Hal?’

‘Good,’ Ramon replied, retreating to his case.

‘Now where’s yours, Fede? I’ve got you a very special present,’ he said, looking up at her expectant face. He felt her hand on his back again. It was so typical of Federica who always had to have some sort of physical contact to feel close. His hands burrowed deep into the bag that was filled not with clothes but with notepads, camera equipment and souvenirs from faraway countries. Finally his fingers felt the rough surface of tissue paper. He pulled it out, taking care not to knock it against the hard metal of his equipment. ‘Here,’ he said, pressing it into her trembling hands.

‘Thank you, Papa,’ she breathed, unwrapping it carefully. Hal had run off into the nursery to play with his new train. Helena lit a cigarette and smoked it nervously, leaning back against the banisters.

‘So how are you?’ he asked without approaching her.

‘Fine, you know, nothing’s changed,’ she replied coldly.

‘Good,’ he said.

Helena sighed wearily. ‘We have to talk, Ramon.’

‘Not now.’

‘Of course.’

‘Later.’

Federica unwrapped the paper to discover a roughly carved wooden box. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t even charming. She felt the tears prick the backs of her eyes and her throat constrict with disappointment. Not because she wanted a nicer present, she wasn’t materialistic or spoilt, but because Hal’s present had been so much more beautiful than hers. She understood his presents as a reflection of his love. He couldn’t love her very much if he hadn’t even bothered to find her a pretty gift.

‘Thank you, Papa,’ she choked, swallowing back her tears in shame. ‘It’s very nice.’ But she didn’t have the strength to rebel against her emotions. The excitement had been too much, now the disappointment threw her into a sudden low and the tears welled and spilled out over her hot cheeks.

‘Fede, mi amor,
¹
he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her wet face. ‘It’s nice,’ she said, trying to sound grateful and not wishing to offend him. ‘Open it,’ he whispered into her ear. She hesitated. ‘Go on,
amorcita,
open it.’ She opened it with a shaking hand. The little box might have been plain on

the outside, ugly even, but inside it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and what’s more it played the strangest, most alluring tune she had ever heard.

Federica stared into the box in awe. The entire interior was covered with neatly cut stones of every colour that shimmered as if each little gem contained a small heart of light all its very own. There was not one patch of wood, not even a minute piece, that lay exposed between the mesmerizing crystals. From within, the box appeared to be made solely out of jewels and not out of wood at all, like the core of a crystallized piece of rock. On the floor of the box trembled the delicate wings of a butterfly that varied in colour from a dark ink blue against her body to the palest of aquamarines and finally amber. So delicate were they that Federica placed a finger onto the surface in order to convince herself that they were really stones and not drops of glittering water from some enchanted pool. A strange, iridescent light caused the butterfly to shudder as if about to extend her wings and fly away. Federica moved the box about slowly to see where the light was coming from and at once she was taken by the magical movement of the butterfly who, as she tilted the box, seemed to change from blues to pinks, reds and oranges. She caught her breath and put the box straight again. The butterfly returned to her cool sea tones before changing
once more into fire as Federica tilted the box again.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she sniffed without taking her eyes off the sparkling treasure chest.

‘Beauty isn’t always on the outside, Fede,’ he said softly, hugging her. He looked up at his wife who still stood stiffly against the banisters, blowing smoke into the air like a dragon. She sighed impatiently and shook her head before walking out of the hall into the corridor, the smoke floating eerily behind her like a phantom. She wanted to tell him that he couldn’t buy his daughter’s love with presents all the time. But regretfully she knew he didn’t have to buy it at all; he already had it for free.

Ramon stood up and tore his eyes away from the trail of smoke, which, along with the ill feeling, was all that remained of his wife. He looked down at the radiant face of his daughter, oblivious to the tension that caused the atmosphere to quiver with the invisible force of disappointment. He ran a hand over his unshaven face and down his dirty black hair that was long and reached his shoulders. It was hot. He needed air and he needed a swim. He had looked forward to returning home, built it up in his mind, romanticized it. But now he was home he wanted to leave again. Home was always a rosier place in the mirages of his mind. It was better to leave it there.

‘Come, Fede,’ he said. ‘Let’s go down to the beach, just you and me. Bring the box with you.’ Federica jumped to her feet, clasped her treasure against her thin chest and, taking his hand, she followed him out through the front door.

‘What about Mama and Hal?’ she said, delirious with happiness that she had been chosen to go with him and she alone.

‘Hal’s happy with his train and Mama’s with him. Besides, I want to tell you how I found your box. There’s a very sad legend attached to it and I know how you like stories.’

‘I love your stories,’ she replied, skipping along to keep up with his lengthy strides.

Helena watched helplessly as her husband left the house, taking with him the overbearing weight of his presence and suddenly she felt cheated, as if the pressure that had built up inside her chest had been for nothing. The house felt still and somehow bigger than when his powerful body had dwarfed it and she bit her lip in frustration. ‘How dare he leave us,’ she thought bitterly, ‘why can’t he just stick around for once?’

The midday sun was scorching in spite of the sea breeze that cooled it off around the edges. They walked down the street, passing Señora Baraca’s dog who pulled on his leash and let out a frenzied round of barks when he saw them. Federica told her father how the dog barked all the time because he wanted to run about and wasn’t able to in his small garden.

‘Well, let’s take him out then.' said Ramon.

‘Really? Can we?’ she replied in excitement. She watched with pride as her father rang the bell. They waited in the shade of an almond tree. The sound of children playing in the street resounded through the air, their laughter like the song of sea birds on the beaches. Federica didn’t wish to be with them. She wished only that her father would stay this time and never go away again.

‘Sí?
'
came a voice from behind the door. It was deep and guttural, muffled by the phlegm that caught in her throat.

‘Señora Baraca. It’s Ramon Campione,’ he said with the assertiveness that pertained to everything he did. Federica pulled herself up, copying her father who always walked tall.

‘Ramon Campione, indeed,’ she replied, venturing out of the house like a timid crow. She was old and bent and wore a black dress of mourning even though her husband had died more than ten years before. ‘I thought you were the other side of the world,’ she croaked.

‘I’m home now,’ he replied, softening his voice a little so as not to frighten her. Federica held tightly on to his hand. ‘My daughter would very much like to take your dog for a walk on the beach. Perhaps we could do you the favour of exercising him.’

The old woman chewed on her gums for a moment. ‘Well, I know you, so you won’t be stealing him,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps you could shut him up for me. If I don’t go insane with grief, I’ll go insane with the barking.’

‘We’ll do our best for you,’ he said and smiled courteously. ‘Won’t we, Fede?’ Federica cowered behind him and lowered her eyes shyly. Señora Baraca’s knotted fingers fumbled clumsily with the lead, the hairs on her chin illuminated like cobwebs by the sun. Finally she opened the gate and handed the dog to Ramon. The dog stopped barking and began to jump about, puffing and snorting with the enthusiasm of a freed prisoner.

‘His name is Rasta,’ she said, hands on hips. ‘My son gave him to me before he disappeared for good. That’s all I have left. I’d rather have my son, he made much less noise.’

‘We’ll bring Rasta back before lunchtime,’ Ramon assured her.