The Butterfly’s Daughter (18 page)

Ofelia stopped in front of Luz. Her black eye made her face even paler as she mustered a weak smile. “Don't worry, I'll be okay. But could you do me a huge favor?”

“Sure,” Luz replied instantly. At that moment Luz would have done anything for her.

“Take care of Serena?”

Luz held back her groan. Anything but that, she thought. “Of course,” she replied.

The heavy silence in the room after Ofelia left with Mrs. Penfold wore on Luz like a heavy, uncomfortable blanket. Margaret stood at the door, watching until the car taking Mrs. Penfold and Ofelia to the hospital drove off.

“Just what the world needs,” Margaret muttered, closing the door. “Another child brought into the world without a father and no means of support.”

Luz blinked in a sleepy stupor as the words fought through her sluggish brain. Did she hear right? She turned to face the slim, well-heeled woman.

“Excuse me, but do you even know what my friend just went through?”

Margaret appeared surprised by the question, or by the attitude. She crossed her arms and said, “But she put herself in that position, didn't she? The one I'm worried about is that poor baby. People will call it a bastard. It won't be easy for either of them.”

“Don't worry about them,” Luz shot back. “They'll be fine. A whole lot better than if she married that son of a bitch. Do you think being married would've stopped him from pounding her with his fists?”

Margaret started to respond, but hesitated. She closed her mouth and shook her head in remorse. “I'm sorry. She's your friend. I shouldn't have said those things.”

“No. You shouldn't have. You shouldn't talk about things you know nothing about.” Luz turned on her heel and stormed out of the house, trying to escape the dark cloud that seemed to follow her no matter how fast she walked with her hands clenched in her pockets. The heels of her boots left indentations in the soft gravel as she rounded the tall hedge. At last she saw her sweet, funny little VW Bug parked in the shade. She could hear Serena barking, and as she drew near, she saw her paws at the window. Luz opened the door and pushed the front seat forward to reach for the dog. Serena crouched back, her head ducked and eyes bulging. Luz paused, hand in the air. She'd never meant to frighten the little dog.

“You're so ferocious for something so small.” She softened and patted the dog's head using only her fingertips. Serena shivered so violently that her body shook. Luz stroked her thin body, feeling the delicate ribs and spine. Then, in a soft, gentling voice, she said, “You don't know what's going on, do you? Your whole life's been turned upside down. All of a sudden you get grabbed by a stranger, tossed out of your house, and the next thing you know you're driving somewhere, you don't know where.” Luz gave the dog a wry smile. “You know what, Serena? I know just how you feel.”

On impulse, she bent to kiss the dog's head, surprised when Serena licked her face. “I think we just bonded,” she said with a soft chuckle, scratching under the dog's chin. “Let's take you out, okay?”

She picked up the dog and carried it out into the fresh midday air, then walked Serena to a patch of grass and waited. The tiny dog was staring up at her, one paw lifted in question. Luz released a short laugh that changed into a sob as she bent to pick up the dog. She pressed her face against the soft fur of her back.

“I want to curl up on the backseat of the car with you and cry myself to sleep,” she murmured. What was she doing here? She didn't want to take care of Ofelia and her dog. She wasn't sure she could take care of herself.

Luz gently set Serena in the backseat and climbed in after her, scooping up Ofelia's candy wrappers and empty cups into a plastic garbage bag. She cracked the windows open to allow the cool breeze to clear the stale air of the car. Serena was so happy for the company she was jumping all over her, excitedly licking her face and making growly, whimpering noises that sounded like she was talking. Luz's heart melted at the dog's unconditional love when she needed it so badly. She blamed the heaviness she felt in her
heart on exhaustion, but she knew the source went deeper. She fluffed up the pillow and curled up with Serena lying in the curve of her belly, her hand resting on the box of Abuela's ashes on the floor.

She desperately needed to sleep. But no matter how tightly she closed her eyes, her mind refused to back away from the words Margaret had flung out so carelessly. One in particular:
bastard.

Luz had a happy enough childhood. Abuela made her feel loved and the home secure. Yet she always sensed that she wasn't like the other kids at school. Being a child, she blithely assumed it was because her mother had died. But hearing those words this afternoon brought back a memory she'd kept deeply hidden. She was young, no older than ten. Boys from the neighborhood, Luis with his buckteeth and Carlos, a fat boy who always had candy in his pockets, had pointed at her and called out in jeering singsong, “We know what you are. You're a
bastarda
.”

Luz hadn't known what the word meant, so when she came home she sneaked Abuela's English dictionary to her room and closed the door. There were several definitions, and each of them began with the phrase “an offensive term.” Shaking, her index finger traced the words as her mouth formed them, sounding the big ones out. When Luz closed the dictionary she knew why the boys had singled her out and not Maria Elena or Carmen.

Abuela had told Luz that her father had left her and her mother before she was born, but Luz knew lots of kids whose parents were separated or divorced. She knew that her mother had died, but everybody knew there was no shame or blame in dying. But that day had been the first time she'd comprehended that her parents were not married.

Offensive term.
The phrase clawed its way into her child's heart, scarring it. She hadn't known before then that words had the
power to hurt so badly. Those mean boys had rubbed her nose in the word
bastarda
until it had burrowed into her soul. Bad. Dirty. She'd shivered deep in her tummy knowing somehow she was tainted by it.

Weeks later, Luz found the nerve to tell her grandmother about it. She'd been sitting in her favorite easy chair in the living room, a pair of long knitting needles click-clacking as she watched television. Abuela's needles went still. Then she set her knitting on the table, picked up the remote and turned off the television. Her dark brown eyes peered into Luz's pale ones like she was rummaging through her brain, sorting bits of hurt and pain that she could clear away, like debris. Then Abuela gathered Luz in her lap. Luz rested her head against Abuela's breasts. Abuela's voice resonated with fierce love as she spoke to her granddaughter.

Querida,
do you remember how, a few weeks ago, you called me to come hurry and see a chrysalis that had a strange string coming out of it? You knew something was wrong.
¿Te acuerdas?

Luz nodded her head. I remember.

All chrysalises are beautiful when they are formed. Each is bright and green like a piece of jade with those pretty gold dots. God's own jewelry, eh? But sadly, once in a while a tiny parasite is planted into the caterpillar before it becomes a chrysalis. It is a bad seed that lies in wait until the caterpillar changes into the chrysalis. The poor infected chrysalis is not as smooth and green as the others. It grows brown and mottled, like rotten fruit. This tiny parasite grows until it kills the butterfly before it ever has the chance to fly. Only the lowly worm of the thief tachinid fly emerges.

Mi hija,
all your life there will be those who will seek to hurt you by planting the evil of mean words and cruelty into your heart. Those words are like the parasites. They have the power to destroy all that
is beautiful in you. If you let them. But you are strong, my sweet young caterpillar! You will grow and grow and someday you will become a bright and shiny chrysalis, and from that you will emerge a beautiful butterfly.
Yo prometo.
Like your mother before you.

You remember how we threw that foul larvae of the fly away, eh? That is what you must do. You must discard that horrible word from your mind and not let it fester.

Abuela never brought the topic up again and neither had Luz thought of it. Until today. She felt she was peeling an onion and her eyes began to sting and water. The fact that she was illegitimate was no big deal, her mind told her. That word was archaic, watered down by time and tolerance. It didn't define her. Nor would it define Ofelia's sweet baby when he or she was born.

Why, then, did the word have the power to make her curl up in her cocoon of a car, shivering like she did that day thirteen years earlier?

Monarchs begin their epic journey as individual butterflies. They are joined by tens, hundreds, thousands, and tens of thousands of other monarchs, all traveling to the same destination. During the day they feast on nectar from favorite flowers, and at night when the light fades and temperatures drop, they roost close together in trees.

W
aking to her face being licked was a new experience for Luz. Prying open an eye, she saw two large ears fanning out from a fawn-colored head like butterfly wings. She turned her face from the velvety tongue and moved Serena off her.

“Okay, that's enough kisses. No more. I'm awake!”

Yawning, she raised herself up on her elbows, moving slowly as her muscles complained from being too long in the same position. She mopped her face with her hands, then looked out the window. The sun was beginning its descent in the west. Glancing at her watch, she discovered she'd slept hard, two, maybe three hours. Her mouth felt stale and her head groggy, like she could sleep another eight hours. She needed some fresh air. Stepping outside the car, she noted the dropping temperature and reached for her jacket.

“Come on, Serena. Want to go for a walk?”

She reattached the slender rope to Serena's collar and the two took off along the gravel path. Serena trotted by her side like a filly, her slender legs strutting out before her, delighted to be out of the car on the walk. Caterpillars were the closest thing to a pet she'd ever had. Luz had never known how a skinny, bad-breathed, big-eared dog could help fill the void left by her grandmother.

As she walked through the maze of nurseries, a small burst of orange in the air caught Luz's attention. She stopped short and, swinging her head, spotted a monarch in a dizzying flight pattern. With a start, she spotted another. And another two flying high in the air. Picking up the pace, she and Serena followed them down the narrow path.

In a breath, the path opened to a great field of alfalfa that rolled over hills as far as she could see. She stood facing the vista, feeling the country breeze on her cheeks and drinking in the sight. Again she spotted familiar bits of bright orange floating over the field, monarchs sipping the last nectar of the day before the sunset. She raised her hand like a visor over her eyes and, squinting, she spied several butterflies flying toward a single cluster of trees that sat smack in the middle of the field.

“Come on, Serena,” she said with a gentle tug. Her heart pounding with excitement, she took off after them.

The great oaks stood in a majestic cluster, their thick yet graceful branches intertwined, like giant goddesses in a prayer circle. Luz felt a sense of awe as she approached them. She'd heard stories of farmers who knew about certain trees that were sacred and that should never be cut. Driving across the midwestern countryside, from time to time Luz spied a small cluster of trees in the middle of a plowed field and wondered.

Luz slowed her pace as she approached these holy trees.
Stepping under the canopy of entwined limbs she sucked in her breath. Abuela had told her about such things, but Luz had never seen it, nor could she have ever imagined it. She felt like she was walking into a cathedral. She walked slowly, on tiptoe, trying not to make a noise to disturb the settling butterflies. Even Serena appeared hushed and watchful, her ears high and alert.

Nestled in the protective embrace of the mother trees were several hundred monarch butterflies. They clustered close, roosting side by side with their paper-thin wings closed tight, appearing as countless gray-brown leaves on the branches. When a new monarch fluttered in and jockeyed for position on the crowded branch, wings fluttered, revealing bursts of fiery orange color as the others made space.

“So many . . . ,” she breathed. Who knew where they all came from? Perhaps one came from Abuela's garden, all the way from Milwaukee. Luz smiled at that possibility.

“Hey there!”

Luz's heart leaped to her throat at the sound of a man's voice. Serena erupted in a warning bark, her small back coiling in alarm. A rush of wings fluttered around her as a hundred butterflies swooped like bats. Luz swung down to scoop up her growling dog, then turned to see a tall, slender man approach. He was dressed in worn field pants, a brown shirt with pens in the pocket and rolled-up sleeves that exposed long, tanned arms, and a faded, broad-brimmed hat. On his back he carried a knapsack, and in his hands a butterfly net. Seeing the net, she relaxed her guard. It signaled a purpose for his being here. And Luz didn't imagine she'd be attacked by a man with a butterfly net.

He approached slowly, his arms swinging in an easy gait, careful
not to spook her or the butterflies. As he drew near, he nodded his head in friendly greeting.

Luz saw he had the long, thoughtful face of a scholar and the weathered tan of a man who spent many hours in the sun. His hair was the color of the prairie grass surrounding them, his eyes of the Kansas sky overhead. His mustache and soul patch moved when he smiled.