The Butterfly Box (23 page)

¹
Hold
,’ responded the maid in a distant voice. Helena tried to ignore the lengthy delay and asked to speak to Mariana. She waited with a constricted heart as Mariana came to the telephone.

‘It’s me, Helena,’ she said, trying to sound buoyant.

‘Helena. How nice to hear from you,’ Mariana replied, her tone at once

betraying her resentment. She had thought so often of her grandchildren, wondering how they were and whether they were happy in their new home. She had minded very much that they hadn’t written. She had waited for their letters with growing impatience and disappointment. But she didn’t want to reveal her feelings to Helena in case she put the telephone down and shut them out for ever.

‘I haven’t heard from Ramon since I left. Is he all right?’ Helena asked quickly, but she could tell from her mother-in-law’s voice that nothing dramatic had happened.

‘Hasn’t he called you?’ said Mariana in surprise.

‘No. He wrote to Fede,’ she said weakly, trying not to get emotional. She wasn’t meant to care any more.

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, he’s now back in Chile. He’s bought an apartment here in Santiago. He’s got a new book coming out next March, it’s getting quite a lot of attention.’

‘I see.’

‘How are the children?’

They’re happy here. Of course they miss you both. They’re enormously fond of you and Nacho. So am I,’ she said, inhaling the cigarette held with a trembling hand. Suddenly she felt a stomach-wrenching homesickness that took her by surprise.

‘Are you happy?’ Mariana asked, sensing her daughter-in-law’s distress across the wire.

Helena paused. She wanted to say that she was happy, but she didn’t know whether she was or not. She only knew that for some strange reason she missed Ramon and needed to hear from him. ‘Yes,’ she replied impassively.

‘I am pleased,’ said Mariana, not convinced.

‘It’s just taking a while to get used to living here again,’ she said. ‘I’m lonely,’ she added to her amazement, then wondered where the devil that had come from.

‘You’ll settle in. It’s a big thing starting all over again in a new country. Sometimes the grass is greener on the other side until you discover that your problems follow you wherever you go.’

‘Yes,’ Helena replied automatically. Suddenly she realized that Mariana was right. Her problems had followed her to Polperro. She was still lonely. Still

dissatisfied. She had believed that coming home would change everything, that she would be able to return to her childhood, to that idyllic state before responsibility and domesticity had changed her.

‘You don’t often know what you have until you have lost it,’ Mariana added gravely. ‘What shall I tell Ramon?’ She still hoped they might see sense and realize that what they had was worth holding on to.

Tell him that his children miss him. Tell him to call or write or, better still, to come and visit,’ she said, unable to prevent the bitterness from seeping into her words. Tell him not to desert them because they need him.’

‘And what about you,
mi amor?'

‘Nothing. I’m calling for the sake of the children,’ she retorted flatly.

‘
Bueno
. I’ll tell him,’ she replied. ‘Please send the children all our love, we miss them terribly. Perhaps they could write, we would love to hear from them.’

‘Of course. I’m so sorry. My mind has been elsewhere,’ said Helena guiltily and made a mental note to get the children to paint pictures of their new home for them.

When Helena put the telephone down she sunk into an armchair and watched the shadows edge their way into the room and into her head, where they grew, casting doubt into her mind. Had she perhaps been too hasty? She tormented herself with memories of Chile. Having despised it she now longed for it. She thought of her friends, the sunshine, the beach, the smell of the orange trees in the garden, the sound of children playing in the street, the barking of Señora Baraca’s dog. She remembered the days when Ramon would return home to her outstretched arms, carrying her straight up to their bedroom where they would lie for hours discovering each other again after long weeks of separation. Those had been happy times. He had even managed to satisfy her when she had hated him. Such was the power of his nature. She had been eaten up with bitterness because she had been unable to possess it, to tame it. Here she was now, the other side of the world, still longing to possess him. She didn’t dare ask herself whether she might have brought her children to England in order to get him to react, because he hadn’t reacted in the way that she had hoped he would. He had let her go. So now what?

When she turned out Federica’s light she told her that she had spoken to Abuelita, that she had sent her love and that she wanted her to paint her a picture of her new home. At first Federica had been pleased. She closed her eyes

and imagined the picture she would draw and the letter she would write. But then she felt her heart lurch with longing. She remembered her grandmother’s gentle face, the summer house in Cachagua that she loved so much, the navy sea and the soft sand so unlike the sand in England. She remembered her grandfather in his panama hat, the horse ride on Papudo beach and Rasta. Then she recalled her mother’s promise of a puppy and she began to cry. Not because she hadn’t been given a puppy but because the promise had been made to distract her from the argument she had overheard. ‘Now you won’t have to come home ever again.’ Her mother’s words echoed about her head until it throbbed with pain. Finally, when she could no longer bear her desolation she opened the butterfly box on her bedside table and allowed her mind to drift into the secret world of her father’s stories. The pain began to subside as she floated across the Andes Mountains, chased lions in Africa and sailed high above the plains of Argentina in a hot air balloon. As she drifted off to sleep she felt the sun on her face and the heat on her body and basked in her father’s love.

Santiago, Chile

When Mariana told Ramon that she had spoken to Helena, he felt his stomach churn with guilt. He had only written once and he hadn’t telephoned, even though he could well afford the expense of the call. He knew he should have. The only explanation he could give was that he had been busy travelling. Too busy finishing his book. In reality he had deliberately lost himself in India. He had rented a shack on the beach and written his novel. He had tried to forget Helena and the children. He had tried to forget Estella. He had succeeded in the former because things didn’t feel very different. He was used to being alone on his travels so as far as that was concerned nothing much had changed. But Estella was a different matter altogether. He missed her all the time.

In spite of his apparent neglect his conscience was alerted to the misery he might be causing her. He had told her to wait and he had no doubt that she
was
waiting for him, dutifully, in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, floating through the house leaving the warm scent of roses as she went about her

chores. He didn’t want to telephone her or write to her, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t say what she wanted to hear, because he knew he could never commit to anyone ever again. He had hurt Helena and the children and he didn’t want to do the same to Estella. Perhaps he would return in the summer and make love to her again.

When he considered the possibility of Estella falling in love with someone else the jealousy rose in his stomach like an uncontrollable demon to take possession of his mind and torment him to the point where he nearly packed his few belongings and returned to Cachagua to claim her. But then his reasoning had assuaged him. She loved him and a woman in love was as faithful as a dog. So he spent unsatisfactory nights loving strangers, imagining they were Estella, no longer possessed by the demon but looking forward to returning in the summer to find her again.

When he returned to Chile at the end of August he went directly to Santiago where he moved into his new apartment in the barrio of Las Condes. But it didn’t feel like home. In fact, he longed for Viña and he longed for his family. He was bereft without them. Suddenly, after having spent months on his own in India, he was no longer comfortable with himself. He wasn’t used to a solitary existence in Chile and it just didn’t feel right. So he partially moved into his parents’ colonial house in Avenida el Bosque. His mother was delighted to see more of him and took over the domestic side of his life like an adoring wife. His father was less enthusiastic.

‘He’s got a wife, woman. He’s too old to need his mother,’ he growled one evening when he came home to find the sitting room carelessly cluttered with Ramon’s camera equipment, piles of prints and other belongings.

‘Nacho,
mi amor
, he’s going through a painful time. He’s lonely on his own,’ she protested, following him into his study.

‘Well, why doesn’t he ask Helena to come back? It’s very simple. But if you’re always there for him he won’t make the effort.’

‘He doesn’t know what he wants,’ she said, her voice dripping with pity.

‘He wants the bread and the cake, Mariana. I don’t know where we went wrong, but for some reason he is unable to commit to anything.’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘He didn’t want Helena to leave him, but he wasn’t prepared to change his ways for her or ask her to stay. He would have liked everything to tick on as always like a familiar although somewhat tiresome clock. I don’t

blame her for leaving him, though I suspect she had hoped she might force his hand.’

‘What do you mean?’ Mariana asked slowly, sitting down on the worn armchair that Ignacio used for reading in the evenings after dinner.

‘I think she hoped that by leaving him he might be forced to change in order to keep her. I hoped he might make the effort. But he’s an avoider. He let it happen and then disappeared for months to pretend it hadn’t. That’s why he’s come home to live with us, because he misses them now he’s back in Chile.’

‘I wouldn’t have believed you had I not had that strange call. I think Helena misses him too.’ She recalled Helena’s strained tone of voice and now recognized it as an unspoken cry for help.

‘I bet she does.’

‘Do you think she regrets leaving?’

‘The grass is always greener.’

‘Perhaps not as green as she had hoped.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘We have to force him to question what he has done. Something’s got to jolt sense into him. He hasn’t quite grasped the seriousness of it all. He just can’t treat people in this way. Someone’s got to teach him the value of life.’

‘You’re right,’ she said, lowering her eyes. ‘What do you want me to do, Na-cho? Turn him away?’

‘That would be the best thing. He’s not going to miss his wife if you’re buzzing around him looking after him.’ He noticed the dejected expression in his wife’s grey eyes. He sighed and shook his head again. ‘I’m not going to insist that you do it. How can I? You’re his mother.’

‘I want what’s best for him,’ she said and pulled a thin smile.

‘Then tell him he can’t move back in with us.’

Mariana laughed bitterly. ‘Oh no, Nacho, I’m not going to tell him. It’s your idea so you tell him.’ She left the room.

Ramon arrived on time for dinner. Ignacio rolled his eyes at his wife as if silently to indicate his exasperation at his son’s ever-increasing presence in their house. Mariana pretended she hadn't noticed and poured Ramon a glass of whisky on the rocks. ‘There you are, Ramon, have you had a busy day?’ she asked kindly. But Ignacio spoke before Ramon had time to.

‘Have you decided what you’re going to do about Helena, son?’ Ignacio sank

into an easy chair opposite Ramon who managed to take up most of the sofa with his long legs and arms. Ramon sipped at his whisky as if playing for time. Ever since childhood he had been unable to avoid his father's questions and he still felt pathetically weak every time he answered them, like an obedient schoolboy.

‘I think my next trip will be to England, Papa,’ he said, trying not to give too much away.

‘When will you go?’ he persisted.

‘Oh I don’t know, perhaps in a couple of months,’ he replied vaguely.

‘A couple of months? Why can’t you go sooner?’

‘Ramon is very busy with his work,’ Mariana interrupted in her son’s defence.

‘I’m not asking you, woman,’ said Ignacio firmly. ‘Ramon is old enough to answer his own questions. For God’s sake, you’re forty years old.’

‘Forty-one,’ said Ramon and grinned at his mother.

‘Exactly. You’re a man. You should have settled down by now, not be wandering the globe like a gypsy.’

Ramon wanted to tell his father to mind his own business, but then he

remembered that he was virtually living in their house so he had a right to know his plans. ‘I’d like to spend some time in Cachagua, start a few projects. The weather’s getting nicer now ...’

‘You can take the house,’ Ignacio said breezily. ‘It’s yours when you want it,’ he added, avoiding the confused expression that had alighted across Mariana’s face.

‘But there’s no one to look after him,’ Mariana protested, still frowning.