The Butterfly Box(10)

Ramon glanced at his watch while his daughter sat transfixed, stroking the butterfly with an unsteady hand. ‘We should go home for lunch,’ he whispered into her ear, stroking the soft skin of her white neck with tender fingers. ‘Where’s Rasta?’ he chuckled, casting his eyes up and down the beach. He stood up and

stretched before putting his clothes back on again. Federica followed his lead reluctantly. She closed the box and got to her feet. She straightened out the creases in her pretty yellow dress and called for Rasta. Still full of energy he appeared wet and sandy with a ball in his mouth.

‘Here, Rasta,’ she said, patting her thighs. He trotted up to her and dropped the ball on the ground. She shook her head. Some poor person would probably want that ball back, she thought, picking it up with a finger and thumb so as not to dirty her hands. She looked around but saw no one. ‘What shall I do with this ball, Papa?’ she asked.

‘Oh, I think he can keep it. Poor old Rasta. He doesn’t have anything else to play with and I can’t see anyone looking for it,’ he replied, slipping his feet into his moccasins. Federica threw the ball up the beach. Rasta scurried after it. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her back up the steps.

‘That was such a beautiful story, Papa.’

‘I knew you’d like it.’

‘I love it. I love the box. I’ll treasure it for ever. It will be my most treasured possession,’ she said, clutching it against her chest again.

Ramon was pensive as they walked up the hill towards home. He had a dark premonition that Helena had given up. There was a distant look in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. A resignation of sorts. The feisty expression was no longer set into her features, as if she’d grown tired of battle and wanted out. He sighed deeply. Federica was still far away in Pisac with Topahuay and Wanchuko and walked up the hill beside him in silence.

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.





Chapter 3


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.’