The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY (62 page)

He stabbed the switches, turning the lights on, and looked down wildly at his midsection. But his sleeping shorts were in place. He sat on the edge of the bed and allowed his breathing to abate. He realized he was sweating profusely,
Sweet shit, what a dream!
It had been too damn real and scared him. Then he felt a stickiness between his legs and panicked again. He stood up and quickly doffed his shorts. He stared at his manhood. It glistened in the light and he touched it. It
was
gluey and wet.
Sweet shit, what have I done!
He looked around him frantically, but noticed no other signs of wetness, not on the bedspread either.

He pulled the shorts back on, then lay on the bed.
Careful!
he told himself. He had never had an erotic dream so vivid. True, recently he had been dreaming of Savannah now and then, but he had never ejaculated. He had held it back for that special, special occasion of his life.

He sighed. But how long could he cling on? Savannah was gone… He wrapped his arms around him. Even to think of her now was so painful. He got to his feet again and went to the loo for a pee.

I’m fine
, he told himself.
I haven’t broken my vow.

And yet, something didn’t feel quite right.

.

“
W
hen is your next meal due, Wolf?” Maddy asked in the morning.

“None of your fucking business!” he snapped.

“Don’t be a prick! You have to start eating some day. If not, why don’t you order a casket and book a grave. Look at you—you look like blanched pork. How long are you going to wallow in self-pity?”

“Fuck off!”

“Well, that’s a start,” she nodded sincerely. “What you say, you, Rochelle and I go out and catch some…” She glanced at her watch. “…brunch. My treat.”

“No, thanks.”

A glint came to her eyes. “Or would you like some milk?” she inquired. “Take your pick—Rochelle or me? We’re both so heavy with it and are desperate to drop some of our load. … Look at me: 30G…no compromise. Have you seen anything like this, Holly-boy? The biggest dairy farm in the world. Yours for the taking…for free.”

He gave her a nasty glare, as Rochelle giggled under her breath.

Suddenly, he said. “Are you lactating?”

“Why don’t you find out?” She thrust her breasts in his direction.

“You can’t be. You aren’t pregnant…and there’s no chance of that happening given your sexuality.”

“Okay, I’ll make an exception,” she said. “Why don’t you make me pregnant? That way you can have my milk by right. You know you’re the only male on this planet I’d allow to screw me.”

“You’re sick!”

“And by the way, what has my sexuality got to do with my getting pregnant? Haven’t you heard of sperm banks?”

He didn’t say anything.

“Oh, before I forget, Clara wants to see you,” Maddy added.

It was Rochelle who reacted to this. “What for?”

“Not what you guys may think. All she wants is redemption. She’s a tamed vixen now, realizes her mistake, is repentant about it, and her soul won’t find peace until Wolf forgives her,” she said. “So when do I fix an appointment, Wolf? And don’t fret, I shall be there all the time supervising the rendezvous.”

“Let her fucking rot in hell!” he spat.

“Aren’t you a good Christian?”

“Maddy, please!” Rochelle pleaded.

“Okay, later then. Now for breakfast…brunch rather.”

“Never!” Wolf blasted.

“Never to what—forgiveness or food?”

“Both.”

She studied him. “Sometimes I don’t believe I’m looking at a grown man. … But then, like I’d said, you Hollywood boys will forever remain boys…you’ll never ever grow up—there’ll be no evolution whatsoever. And this proves my point so unequivocally.”

His eyes flashed. His lips quivered.

“Oh, come on, come out with it…say it!” Maddy said. A sudden hurt had come to her eyes. “After all, I’m the one person you guys unfailingly turn to every time you need to break wind. Why hold back now? Come on, hit me with it.”

Wolf smiled sadly, then moved over. He put an arm around her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said and gave her a peck on the cheek. Then abruptly he straightened his back and leapt to his feet. A sudden resolve had come to his face. “Let’s go snag some grub. What’s fucking keeping you two hags? Don’t you have any life in you anymore?”

The two hags gawped at him, quite startled.

.

G
rant Butcher stared in disbelief.

Standing before him was Wolf.

It was 12-20 am on this Wednesday, May 28th, and Grant was on an easy chair on the back porch overlooking the swimming pool, going through Newsweek. It was a typically quiet Butcher Garden night and but for Grant the rest of them had hit the mattress. It was unusual for Grant—he was never up so late. But somehow, he had not been able to sleep tonight. He laid down the magazine and slowly rose to his feet.

The two men faced each other, from some ten feet apart.

“I’ve returned, sir,” Wolf said.

And there was nothing more to say.

Grant moved forward, his arms outstretched. And Wolf melted into them.

The night came to a standstill and watched this sight for the Gods, as the two men hugged each other fiercely, their faces in the other’s neck, unable to speak, yet communicating with their innermost cores. Two big, strong men.

When eventually they separated, they sat down together on the back porch, shoulder to shoulder, and remained in each other’s company till the wee hours of the morning, making small talk, reaffirming their bond.

.

T
he pall of gloom lifted. Joy returned once more to Butcher Garden.

The long lost son was back.

Grant of course was so happy. But the happiest of them all was Art. His little brother had returned and there was no greater joy. He did what he had never done in his professional life before—he took the day off, so he could spend it with Wolf. Like Grant, he didn’t ask Wolf the reason he had broken off with Savannah. Nor did Wolf volunteer. It didn’t matter. His brother was back—that was all that counted.

And happy were Estelle and Rochelle. And the servants, the security guards, and Bruno, the big Alsatian, who could not stop wagging his hinds and licking with his tongue. And the roses and the cacti and the palms and the Christmas trees and the Gulmohars of Butcher Garden. They all seemed to blossom again, as if inspirited with fresh life. And the fish and the birds and the bumble-bees and the grasshoppers and the butterflies…

And Robin.

Persona grata once more, literally overnight, Wolf went to fetch his little girl from the Home. Phone calls had been made. Robin was to be granted a couple of days off from school. Wolf now went in through the main entrance, the guards opening the gates wide for him and saluting him smartly as he passed. The reception party awaited: Sisters Blessing and Toynette (who had returned post-haste following the crisis at the Home) and all the other staff. The welcoming smiles and the looks of respect were back on their faces. Sister Blessing’s face was submissive and contrite and Wolf guessed she was fearful of the retribution he might now unleash.
The power of power,
he thought. Suddenly everyone was so delighted to see him.

Robin hadn’t been so happy in a long, long while. She was beyond herself returning to Butcher Garden once more and wouldn’t exit the waters of the swimming pool, nor would she let Wolf leave either. Grant and Art joined the daughter and father in their delectation, as did Estelle and Rochelle, and what a ball they all had. The Butcher family was reunited. Butcher Garden was in bloom.

Time passed at the speed of light and before they knew it, it was dark.

After dinner, Wolf went to drop Robin, with the promise he would be back for her first thing the next morning.

As he returned from the Home, now by himself for the first time in the whole day, Wolf finally let drop the smile he had kept plastered on his face all day. For him, it had been a tough day. A very tough day. On the one hand he had delighted in his daughter’s happiness. Just watching her so ecstatic had given him such comfort. Yet, his heart had kept aching, from betrayal and longing. Somehow, he just could not evict Savannah from his mind and realized how deeply etched she was on his soul. But he had kept his emotions to himself, never once betrayed his agony, instead was more euphoric and merry than ever—for his daughter and his family’s sake.

.

T
he Trustees began gathering and by nine pm they were all there in the Great Room. For the first time, the mood was light and cheerful and Wolf knew it was but a formality. Tonight, even Rochelle and Estelle were invited to sit in. It became a big family gathering.

Art clasped Wolf in his arms once more, like he had done all day. He looked at his sibling, fondness overflowing from his eyes. He didn’t have to say anything and he didn’t. It was mighty clear to one and all that Art Butcher was hugely pleased to have his brother back. More pleased than even Grant…and that was saying something.

Biscuits and coffee were served. But Cardinal Misquitta took offence.

“On such a joyous occasion is this all you have to offer us, Mr. President?”

They all laughed.

Not Grant Butcher though. He took it to heart. He ordered the snacks be taken away forthwith and summoned the chef.

“Can you get a full-fledged dinner ready in half an hour, Zinczenko?” he said.

The cook bowed low. “Yes, sir, that would be no problem at all.”

“If you can manage that, Dave,” Grant told him. “I shall give you a raise of a grand a month.”

The chef beamed, thrusting his chest out and trooped off. A cinch! The gathering clapped in appreciation of the President’s style.

When the idle chatter and the bantering died down, Cass rose from his seat next to Grant, crossed over and lowered himself next to Wolf. He placed an arm around his shoulder.

“Boy!” he said, shaking his head in amazement. “You are some fighter, I hand it to you. What heat you gave us! I’m now afflicted with hypertension, and ulcers, and bowel disorders, and I’m sure Grant here too is.” A ripple of giggles rang around. Cass slapped Wolf’s back. “One man against five of the most powerful people in the nation, and he nearly licked us. Hail the champion!” And they all clapped. All except Wolf and Grant and Rochelle. Their faces remained deadpan.

So is it all about winning and losing then?
Wolf was thinking.

Ian Cass’s face got more serious now. His hand still on Wolf, he said, “I’m so glad that you finally saw the light. But then that ain’t no surprise—you’re a Butcher, after all. The blood ain’t run in your veins in vain.”

Wolf felt the urge to ask Cass what had transpired between him and Savannah to make him change his mind so abruptly about adopting Robin. But then, what did it matter anymore. He felt a fresh pang in his chest thinking of Savannah, but with an effort he somehow dismissed her from his mind.

“So what happens next?” Misquitta asked.

“Is there a need to ask?” Cass said. “Tomorrow, Robin comes to Butcher Garden…for good. Initially, the two ladies of the house shall be her official guardians as per the law, although for all practical purposes she’ll be with Wolf all the time. And then when Wolf marries (and it’s about time), the husband and his new bride shall adopt Robin legally.” He turned to Grant, who seemed strangely subdued. “And simultaneously, why ain’t you fulfill your burning desire, Grant, and officially adopt Wolf? Ain’t that be the perfect scenario?”

Oh, yes, yes!
everyone agreed. It was a grand idea indeed.
Perfect!

“Let us wait for a few days more,” Grant said quietly. “My son has been away too long. Let him settle down a bit before he is thrust with the responsibility of a young girl.”

A hush fell over the Great Room. Wolf looked at Grant curiously. He, Wolf, was fine—there was absolutely no point delaying it. Tomorrow would be perfect. Let Robin now come and stay permanently at Butcher Garden…what was wrong with that? It wasn’t as if he was seeing his little girl for the first time.

“There ain’t any need to wait, Grant,” Cass said. “It ain’t as if Robin is a suckling infant. Raised in a Home, she has learned to look after herself…better than most young-adults even. Moreover, there are Estelle and Rochelle to help out. Robin will never feel neglected in your house. So let’s do it tomorrow, and leave all the arrangements to me. We ain’t want the girl’s agonies to be prolonged any further, do we? She’s suffered enough already, the poor baby,”

Everyone agreed again. Art nodded his head earnestly.

“No, we shall wait. Three-four days will not make any difference,” Grant said tersely.

Art glared at his father. Cass looked helplessly at Art. Cardinal Misquitta and Sister Blessing didn’t know what to say. They didn’t think it was their place to butt in. All said and done they were but small fry, who owed their positions to the President and Judge Cass. Estelle got up and excused herself, saying she needed to check on chef David Zinczenko. Curiously, Rochelle seemed the only one to agree with Grant, though silently.