The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY (14 page)

Nude now, Wolf grasped Savannah, jamming her to him. The feel of her flesh, raw and sizzling against his, made him catch his breath sharply.

She moaned when he began licking her neck. Soon he was onto her earlobes, sucking tenderly. And when goaded by instinct he moved to her breasts, she let out a long whine of delight. Like some virgin, hit for the very first time.

And she cried, “Oh, Wolfffff…!”

He was carved from granite, the blue veins throbbing on him like some rapturous dragon. As he moved atop her again, she automatically spread her legs, then grabbed him down there, unable to wait any longer, tugging him toward her warm wetness, shivering at the feel of his fine flesh.

And then it happened.

He suddenly sighed—the moan of an animal gripped by extreme distress. The life seemed to rush out of him, like a bicycle tube going bust, and he rolled over and lay limp on his back beside her, panting strenuously.

But before she could fathom anything further, he was up on his feet and fumbling for his clothes, dispersed there on the floor around the bed.

“Wolfffff!” she screamed. Hastily pulling a blanket over her, she sat up and punched a switch behind her, bringing the small overhead bulb on.

He looked at her for an instant, a queer expression of apology and shame shining blackly in his eyes. Then he began quickly dressing up.

She gawped at him in utter shock, not believing this was happening to her.

“WHAT!” she howled wildly, her face gone the color of death.

“I’m so sorry...I can’t...” he was spluttering.

Savannah gawked at him incredulously, her brain crawling with a million worms.

He was dressed now and she was so overcome with mortification, she leapt out of bed, made a frenetic grab for her clothes and dashed madly to the washroom.

She sat down on the rim of the bathtub and hid her face in her hands.
Mary, no, no, no, no... this isn’t happening!
She wished the floor would open up beneath her. Her head began to swim and she gripped the rim desperately to stop herself from crashing to the floor.

.

H
ow long she sat there she had no idea. But when finally she came out, now dressed, he was still there, sitting quietly on the edge of the bed. He had turned the main light on. The sight of him sent a fresh surge of humiliation washing over her.

He looked up and their eyes met for an instant. His face was normal now, as if nothing had ever happened. Not a hint of guilt, far less shame.
Mary, he doesn’t feel a thing!

“Please come here,” he said softly, patting the bed next to him.

She was so confused and angry she couldn’t respond. He got to his feet and walked over to her, and yet she couldn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean it to happen this way...I shouldn’t have started it...I got carried away.”

Oh please, Mary, make this go away!
her mind shrieked.

“Please look at me,” he was saying. She felt his hand on her cheek, turning her face toward him, and she cringed violently at his touch. “I could have, but...but I didn’t want to. I don’t want it this way.”

She shot him a sharp glance.

“You are very special to me, Savannah. I want to love you badly...but only after I’m committed to you. I want that occasion to be unique,” he said, his voice low. And then he added, “I’ve kept it for that special woman who would be my wife.”

She wasn’t hearing right, she thought.

“What...what’re you saying?” she blurted. “You...”

“Yes,” he nodded, looking down, a blush crawling up his face.

Her jaw hung loose. She felt she was in a very unreal place.

He looked up again. The shyness was gone, as swiftly as it had rolled up. His face was earnest and steadfast now. “I don’t have a ring at this moment, but will you marry me, Savannah? Will you give me the privilege of making love to you one day very soon? I know it’s been only a few hours since we met in the flesh. But when it’s right, it’s right…so why waste time and unnecessarily wait?” Then he went down. Kneeling before her, he took both her hands in his and looked up at her, a tender glow coming to his eyes. And he locked the fingers of his hands in hers. “Will you? Please?”

She felt her kneecaps begin to clatter. Suddenly, tears gathered in her heart.

***

For
Robin, the horror began that same night.

It was almost midnight, the dorm lights were out, and everyone was deep in slumber. She opened her little wooden closet, quietly, very quietly. It was against the west side wall, near her bed, which was the furthest from the main door. She peered into the dark closet for a tick, then thrust her hand in and delicately pulled out a handful of cotton.

“Hey, Stripey,” she whispered. But the creature in the cotton did not move. She placed the cotton on the floor, bent over it and began running her fingers over the creature. The little body was warm.

“Stripey!” she uttered urgently under her breath. But again there was no response. She lowered her face to the creature’s body and stared at him real hard in the dark. But she couldn’t detect any signs of life.
You naughty fellow!
she thought and gave him a pinch. The creature jerked, looked up at Robin, gave a shudder, as if awaking from a coma, then jumped onto Robin’s thigh and darted up her body. She smiled, grabbed the thing in her hand, brought him to her face and kissed him all over.

She went back to the closet and fished out a small packet. With the baby chipmunk on her left shoulder, she quietly tip-toed out of the room, softly shutting the dorm door behind her. She made her way down the passageway to the flight of steps. She zipped up to the fifth floor and then on to the terrace. Quietly, she opened the door and was under the gray sky.

There were assorted water tanks around the place and Robin settled down near one, her back against the terrace parapet. She opened the small packet and placed it on the cool floor.

“Here, little boy, your grub,” she said. The little squirrel scurried down Robin’s torso and sniffed the food, then began feeding, picking up a morsel in his front paws and gnawing on it diligently, propped up on hind legs. It was an assorted mix of peanuts, chops of plum and bits of cheese, which Robin had clandestinely kept aside from her share of food the other day. As Stripey fed, Robin watched him indulgently.

For a while after Daddy had left her this Saturday, she had been terribly depressed and had just lain on her narrow bed and stared vacantly at the ceiling. But the knowledge that soon it would be morning and Daddy would come to fetch her and she would be back at Butcher Garden had snapped her out. Now, she reached out and gently caressed Stripey’s fine fur. Oh, how soft and silky it was.

Stripey finished his meal, then began exploring around. Robin kept sitting, cross-legged on the floor, feeling the cool night breeze stroke her cheeks. She wasn’t sleepy yet. She could hear the ocean in the distance, although taller buildings on the east side blocked out any view. She looked back at Stripey and fondness filled her heart.
Oh, what would I do without you, my little baby?

.

S
he had found him two months ago, on an unusually cold January evening.

They had killed his mother one day—the security people with air rifles, and it had been on Sister Blessing’s orders. In fact, the chief of the Home had directed that every chipmunk on the property be killed, so terrified she was of them after a “murderous attempt” on her. It had happened one afternoon as she had been taking a siesta in her home. A chipmunk had entered through one of the ajar windows searching for something to eat. Eventually it had moved to the bed and begun sniffing Sister Blessing’s feet. Perhaps it fancied what it smelled, for it lightly nipped one of her toes. Sister Blessing had woken up screaming bloody murder and though there was not the faintest hint of a wound of any sort, she had taken a full course of anti-rabies vaccines, and thereafter, squirrels had become enemy number one.

Robin’s heart had screamed in anguish at seeing the body lying so helplessly in the dust, writhing in the throes of death, blood flowing from its mouth and nose. Oh, how poor it had looked. She had run away from the scene, her hand to her face and tried hard not to cry. Later that evening, Moon-Moon, her best friend, had casually mentioned that three babies had been found in the tree where the mother chipmunk had been killed. The guards had pulled the dray out and dumped the babies in the trash-bin near the gate.

Something had stirred in Robin, something that had made her want to take a look. Careful that she wasn’t being observed, she had cautiously lifted up the lid of the bin and sifted through the garbage, her nose screwed up to the stink. She had found them—three tiny babies, curled up in fetal position, their eyes not yet open. They seemed all dead.

And yet, Robin hadn’t been willing to quit. She picked up a twig and gingerly poked one infant. Nothing. She then turned it over. Yes, it was dead...very dead. Her heart gave a little stab, although she had expected nothing better. She didn’t want to mess around anymore—it was pointless. It could only make her sadder. As she was about to shut the bin, a slight movement stopped her.

One of the babies had twitched. Breath on hold, Robin watched. It twitched again. Very alert now, Robin bent down, and cringing violently from the stench, she nevertheless reached out. The baby moved at her touch, then cuddled up to her finger, as if seeking momma. Robin’s heart gave a little squeeze. Then the third baby twitched too.

Two of them were alive. Just alive, but alive alright. Robin looked around, as if for help. But she realized it was futile—if anything, all these people around her were hell-bent on slaughtering these lovely creatures. For a very long time she dithered. Her head told her to leave—there was nothing she could do alone. Even Moon-Moon wouldn’t help with this, far less any of her other friends. How they had all cheered and rejoiced when the guards had begun the massacre. It was as if a big sporting event was in progress.

But Robin couldn’t leave.

After again ensuring that no one was looking, she picked them up from the trash-bin, one, then the second.

It was hard. She had no idea how to raise chipmunk babies. Moreover, she had to keep it all under wraps. No one could know—not even Moon-Moon. Best friend as she was, Moon-Moon couldn’t be relied on all the time—she had the habit of ratting about things she did not like. Robin stashed away the milk that was meant for her. She cleaned out an ancient ink dropper she had procured, and quietly dug a few tiny holes in her flimsy wooden closet with a screwdriver she had managed to get hold of. The babies were kept inside all day, and because it was winter this was the best arrangement.

And she had watched their eyes open one day…and she had watched them grow. Their bodies filled out, the fur took color, and the tails became progressively bushy. At night, when everyone had gone to bed, she would rise and take them out of the closet. She would carefully carry them on her only hand and climb the two stories to the terrace. And she would let them breathe the fresh air and feel the sky on their skins. She would watch them budge around and saw how thrilled they were to be out in the open.

After an hour or so, she would collect them and return to her dorm and after one final feed of milk, she would lie down on the bed and pull a blanket over her, the babies cuddled up to her chest. Unerringly, she would wake up at five am, an hour before official waking time. She would take the babies back to the terrace and again feed them out there. Before the siren hooted at six o’clock, the babies had been returned to their cotton nests in Robin’s closet and no one had a clue.

She named them
Naughty
and
Stripey,
the former for obvious reasons, the latter because (and Robin assumed he was male—no particular reason, just) the dark brown stripes that ran down his body were much more vivid then Naughty’s.

A month passed and by now the babies had grown and could climb things. One Monday evening, she took them to the terrace as usual. While Stripey, the quieter one, stayed near Robin, Naughty, in keeping with character, strayed away. After a while, Robin went looking, but Naughty was nowhere to be found. She called out, but there was no return. Then a sudden flutter of wings made Robin swing around. And there Naughty was, flying away into the gray sky, in the claws of a large owl.

For three days thereafter, Robin ate nothing. She kept to herself and clung on to Stripey. She yearned for Daddy, but there were still four days to go to Saturday. She had been tempted to call him, but finally hadn’t. No point disturbing him as well—what had happened had happened, it couldn’t be undone, no matter what. She still had Stripey and the wise thing to do would be to care for him and love him with all her heart and with Naughty’s share as well. By the time it was Saturday and Daddy had picked her up, she was back to being normal. She did not tell Dad about it. In fact, she hadn’t told him about the chipmunks at all. What if he laughed...what if he thought she was crazy? What if he thought she was stupid? Everyone just loved to kill squirrels; here she was pouring her life over one. Something had to be wrong with her. So she kept her little secret to herself.

Now, as she returned to her dorm this Saturday night (actually it was Sunday morning), she decided she would tell Daddy after all. He was not only her Dad, he was also her best friend, someone she trusted absolutely, someone she felt totally safe with in every way. She needed to share her little secret with somebody now and could there be anyone better than her most favorite person in the world?