The Butterfly Box (5 page)

They returned Rasta to Señora Baraca who was grateful that he no longer barked, but panted heavily and wagged his thin tail with pleasure. She said that Federica could take him out whenever she wanted. ‘As he hasn’t bitten you, he must like you,’ she said without smiling, chewing on her gums.

Federica followed her father up the street. ‘Mama says I shouldn’t touch him. She says we don’t know where he’s been,’ she said to her father.

‘We do now,’ he replied, smiling down at her. ‘Still, I’d do as she says and wash your hands before lunch.’

‘I cooked your favourite lunch with Lidia,’ she said proudly.

He grinned, his gleaming teeth whiter against his dark skin.
‘Pastel de choclo
,’ he said and she nodded. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

‘Oh yes you do. You’re the best father in the whole world,’ she replied

happily, hugging her magical box and gripping his hand so tightly that he knew she meant it.

Federica followed her father across the midday shadows of the leafy acacia trees, through their front gate and up the path towards the front door. Just before they reached it Lidia appeared, scarlet-faced and anxious.

‘Don Ramon! Señora Helena is waiting to have lunch. She told me to go and find you,’ she puffed, her heavy bosom heaving with exertion.

Ramon strode up to her, disarming her with his wide smile. ‘Well, Lidia, you won’t have to now as we’re back. I hear there’s
pastel de choclo
for lunch,’ he said, walking on past her into the hall.

‘Si,
Don Ramon. Federica cooked it all by herself,’ she said, closing the door behind her and following them into the kitchen.

‘Smells delicious,’ he said, inhaling the warm aroma of onions. ‘Don’t forget to wash your hands, Fede,’ he added, running his under the tap. Federica’s eyes sparkled with happiness and she smiled without restraint. After washing her hands she rushed into the sitting room to tell her mother about the legend of the box.

‘Mama!’ she cried, skipping up the corridor. ‘Mama.’

Helena emerged cross-faced and weary, carrying Hal in her arms.

‘Where have you been, Fede?’ she asked, running her hand down the child’s windswept hair. ‘Hal’s dying of hunger.’

‘We went to the beach. We took Señora Baraca’s dog, Rasta. You know he doesn’t bark any more, he just wanted to be let out to run around. Poor thing. Then Papa swam and I looked after his clothes. Rasta swam, too. Then Papa told me the legend.’

‘What legend?’ Helena asked, humouring her daughter as she ushered her into the dining room.

‘About Topahuay and Wachuko. The Inca princess. This box was made for her.’

‘Really. How lovely,’ said Helena, patiently. She looked up at her husband as he walked into the room, filling it with his presence and the tense atmosphere that had once more returned to the house. They locked eyes for a moment like two strangers curiously looking each other over for the first time. Helena averted her eyes first.

‘I want to sit next to Papa,’ Federica announced happily, pulling out a chair and patting the placemat possessively.

‘You can sit wherever you like, sweetie,’ said Helena, dropping Hal gently into his chair. ‘I hope you washed your hands,’ she added, remembering the dog.

‘Oh yes. Señora Baraca looks like a witch,’ Federica laughed.

‘She does, actually,’ Ramon agreed, chuckling, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.

‘Well, I hope she didn’t cast a spell on you,’ said Helena, making an effort for the sake of the children. Her throat was tight and her chest constricted under the pressure of having to perform. She longed to talk to Ramon on his own. She needed to release the burden of her thoughts. She needed to resolve the situation. They couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t fair on either of them.

‘Oh no. She was very grateful we had walked her dog for her,’ said Federica.

‘I want to see the dog,’ Hal whined, wriggling in his chair with impatience. Lidia entered with the steaming
pastel de choclo.

‘Fede made this for you this morning,’ said Helena, sitting down at the other end of the table from her husband.

‘So I’m told. You’re very good to me, Fede,’ he said truthfully.

‘She certainly is,’ said Helena dryly. She would like to have added that he was wholly undeserving of her affection, but she restrained the impulse with a

gulp of water from her glass. ‘She worked all morning, didn’t you, Fede?’

‘Papa hasn't seen his room yet,’ she added and a bashful smile tickled her face.

‘What have you done to my room, you naughty monkey?’

‘You’ll have to see for yourself,’ she said.

‘Fede picked flowers this morning,’ said Hal disloyally. ‘Didn’t you, Fede?’ ‘Mama!’ protested Federica in frustration.

‘Have you enjoyed your train, Hal?’ Ramon asked in an effort to distract the child from giving anything else away.

‘It’s brightly coloured and goes very fast,’ he said, making ‘chuga chuga chuga chuga’ train noises. Lidia placed a hot plate of food in front of him. ‘I don’t like sweet corn,’ he grumbled, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms in front of him.

‘Yes, he does,’ said Federica. ‘He’s just pretending because I made it.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘You are.’

‘Not.’

‘Are.’

‘All right you two. Enough of this,’ said Ramon firmly. ‘Hal, eat your corn or you go to your room without lunch or your train.’ Hal scowled at his sister, his brown eyes darkening with resentment.

Ramon and Helena’s conversation revolved around the children. If the children went silent, which they often did after an argument, they would be forced to talk to each other, which neither wanted to do, not with that false politeness, like a couple of actors in a badly written play. Ramon let Federica tell her mother the story of the Inca princess, only interrupting her when she turned to him for help over some detail that she had forgotten. Ramon was surprised at how much she had managed to remember. Helena listened, turning to answer her son once or twice when he whined ‘Mama’ just to get attention. Federica was used to being interrupted by her brother, she was also used to her mother indulging him by saying ‘What is it, my love?’ in a slow, patient voice. She didn’t mind. One often tolerates things purely out of habit.

‘Darling, what a delightful story. And the box is now yours. You are a very lucky little girl,’ said Helena. She didn’t add ‘and I hope you’ll look after it’, as other mothers would, because she knew Federica was more responsible about

things like that than she was herself.

‘I thought we could drive up to Cachagua for a couple of weeks,’ Ramon suggested casually as if everything were normal, as if he hadn’t noticed the change in Helena’s countenance. ‘Spend Christmas with my parents. They’d love to see you and the children.’

‘Oh, yes please, Mama!’ squealed Federica in delight. She loved staying with her grandparents. They had a cosy, thatched house overlooking the sea. Helena wished he hadn’t brought it up in front of the children. They needed to talk first. He hadn’t consulted her. Now if she said they couldn’t go, she’d disappoint them. She couldn’t bear to disappoint them. Hal gazed up at her with hopeful brown eyes.

‘Yes! Yes!’ he cried, knocking his fork on the table. He also loved staying with his grandparents. They bought him ice creams and took him for pony rides up the beach. His grandfather read him stories and carried him about on his shoulders.

‘Okay, we’ll go to Cachagua,’ she conceded weakly. ‘Ramon, I need to talk to you after lunch. Please don’t disappear off with Fede again.’ She tried to sound casual so as not to alarm the children. She knew in her mind what she wanted to say to him and feared that her thoughts might seep through her words and betray her.

‘I won’t,’ he replied, frowning at her. There was something final in the tone of her voice and he didn’t like it. Women always had to tie everything up with bows. Everything had to be worked out. Helena was like that. She was incapable of just going along with things and seeing how they turned out. She had to make decisions and formalize them.

After the first course, for which Ramon thanked his daughter by kissing her pale forehead fondly, she skipped out with Lidia to put the final touches on the welcome home
merengon de lucuma.
While she was out Helena and Ramon talked to Hal, anything rather than talk to each other. Hal began to show off with all the attention and started singing a song he’d learnt at school about a donkey. Both parents watched him, anything rather than watch each other. Finally, the door opened and in walked Federica holding a white meringue cake with a single candle flickering on top. Hal sang Happy Birthday. Ramon and Helena both laughed and for a moment the strain in Helena’s neck and chest lifted and she was able to breathe properly.

Federica placed the cake in front of her father and watched as he blew out the candle. Hal clapped together his small hands and giggled as the candle caught alight again as if by magic. Ramon pretended to be surprised and blew at it again. Both children laughed at the joke, certain that their father was truly baffled by the inextinguishable flame. Finally, he dipped his fingers in his water glass and pinched the wick. The flame was smothered and smoked away in protest. ‘Welcome home!’ he read out loud Federica’s curly girlish handwriting, written with brown icing sugar onto the white frothy cream that resembled a choppy sea. Thank you, Fede,’ he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her cheek. Federica stayed on his lap while he cut it. Hal waved his teaspoon at the cake, catching a bit of meringue on the end, which he then hastily put into his mouth before anyone could tell him not to. Helena pretended she hadn’t noticed. She was too tired to use the little energy she had left for her talk with Ramon on her mischievous child.

After lunch Federica reluctantly joined Hal in the garden while her parents went upstairs to talk. She wondered what they needed to talk about and resented her mother for dragging her father away. She carried the box into the garden and, sitting under the shade of the orange trees, she opened it and reflected on the story her father had told her.

‘Can I see your box?’ Hal asked, sitting down beside her.

‘Yes, if you’re careful.’

‘I’ll be careful,’ he said, taking it from her. ‘Wow!’ he enthused. ‘It’s very pretty.’

‘Yes, it is. It used to belong to an Inca princess.’

‘What’s an Inca?’ he asked.

‘The Inca were a race of people who lived in Peru,’ she replied.

‘What happened to the princess?’ he asked.

‘Didn’t you listen to my story at the table?’ she said, smiling down at him indulgently.

‘I want to hear it again,’ he said. ‘Please.’

‘Okay. I’ll tell you again,’ she agreed. ‘But you must listen and be quiet or I won’t tell you.’

‘I’ll be quiet,’ he said and yawned sleepily. It was very hot, even in the shade. The low hum of bees in the flowerbeds and the distant roar of the sea were a soothing backdrop to the languid hours of siesta time. Federica placed her arm

around Hal’s body and let him rest his head against her.

‘Once upon a time in deepest Peru,’ she began and Hal closed his eyes and looked into a strange new world.

Ramon followed his wife upstairs. Neither spoke. He watched her walk down the corridor with her shoulders stooped and her head hung. As he approached his room the scent of lavender reached his nostrils and reminded him of his mother’s house in Cachagua. As if sensing his thoughts Helena told him that Federica had prepared his sheets with fresh lavender from the garden.

The room was breezy and clean and smelt also of oranges and roses. He cast his eye around the place they had shared for the best part of seven years of their twelve-year marriage, but he didn’t feel he belonged there. In spite of Federica’s flowers and loving preparation it was his wife’s room and the coldness of her demeanour told him that he was no longer welcome.

He placed his suitcase on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. Helena walked over to the window and looked out across the sea.

‘So, what do you want to talk about?’ he asked, but he knew the answer.

‘Us,’ she replied flatly.

‘What about us?’

‘Well, it’s just not the same, is it?’

‘No.’

‘I’m tired of pretending to the children that everything’s fine. It’s not fine. I’m not happy. It’s all very well for you, travelling the world like a gypsy, writing your books of stories. But I’m the one trapped here in this house without you. Without any support. I’ve brought these two children up almost single-handedly,’ she said and felt the strain in her neck rise to clamp her head in its vice.

‘But you always knew that was my life. You didn’t have any expectations. You said so yourself. You gave me freedom because you understood that I couldn’t survive without it,’ he said, shaking his head and frowning.

‘I know. But I didn’t know how it was really going to be. In the beginning we travelled together. It was a dream. I loved it and I loved you. But now . . .’ Her voice trailed off.