The Butterfly Box(12)

‘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.