The Butterfly Box(197)

her other ear to muffle the sound of Ramoncito who was playing a competitive game of chess with his grandfather.

‘It’s Federica.’

Mariana caught her breath. ‘Fede? Is that you?’ she gasped in English.

‘Abuelita, it’s really me,’ she exclaimed, feeling a wave of nostalgia hit her.

‘It’s been so long! How are you?’

‘I’m coming out to Chile tomorrow with Hal. Can we come and stay?’

‘Well, of course you can,’ she said in excitement. ‘I don’t believe it. I thought you’d forgotten about us.'

‘I never forgot about you, Abuelita. I have so much to tell you, so much . . .’ she said, the joy catching in her throat and making it difficult to speak. ‘Is Papa with you?’ she asked hoarsely.

‘He has a house on the beach, between here and Zapallar.’

‘Will he be there?'

‘Yes,’ she said happily. ‘Yes he will. He’ll be so happy to see you both! I’ll send a car to pick you up and bring you down.’ Then she added hopefully, ‘How long will you be staying?’ And Federica couldn’t help but laugh for her grandmother hadn’t changed at all.

When Mariana walked out onto the terrace, her old eyes streaming with joy, Ignacio looked up from his chess game. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, wondering what kind of miracle had the power to make her face glow like that.

Mariana rubbed her hands together, unable to contain her happiness. ‘Ramoncito,’ she said. ‘You’re going to meet your half-brother and sister. They're arriving in two days to stay.’



Ramoncito looked at his grandfather whose face crumpled with delight.

‘Woman, you sure know how to distract our concentration,’ he said and grinned at her. ‘I thought they’d forgotten about us,’ he added, taking his glasses off and wiping his eyes.



‘No, and what’s more they have no plans,’ she said hopefully.

‘Maybe they’re coming home,’ he said, looking at his wife with tenderness.

‘Maybe.’ Then she bustled into the cool interior of the house to prepare their rooms. She wanted to do it personally and Gertrude couldn’t be trusted to get it right. Gertrude couldn’t be trusted to get anything right, but for some reason Ignacio liked her, so she stayed.

‘Abuelito?’ said Ramoncito, moving his piece across the board. His grandfather put his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and looked at his grandson over the top of them. ‘Will I like Hal and Federica?’

‘Yes, you will, you’ll like them very much. But you have to remember that they were torn from their father when they were very small. They’re coming out with a lot of emotional baggage. Be patient and give them time to sort it out. Your father loves you, Ramoncito, and he loved your mother more than he ever loved anyone. Don’t forget that.’

The boy nodded and watched his grandfather turn his attention back to the game.

Ramon typed the last line of his book with great satisfaction. It had been cathartic. Estella had shown him that it was possible to love without possessiveness, to love enough to give the other his freedom. Her life had quite literally changed his. In a way he felt she had unwittingly sacrificed herself for his enlightenment. She had set an example and he had learnt from it. He only wished that he had had the inner ability to learn from her while she had been alive. So he aired his feelings of guilt and failure which had clung to his

conscience since he had wilfully abandoned his children, in an allegory about three birds: the peacock who demands love’s total commitment, the swallow who flies away from love and the third, the phoenix, who brings her unconditional love without asking for anything in return. When the phoenix disappears into the flames the peacock and the swallow have finally learnt how to love without yearning to possess each other. Ramon was pleased with his work. He entitled it To Love Enough and dedicated it To those I have loved’.

He thought of Federica and Hal. It was too late to try to make up for his negligence in the past and that greatly saddened him. But he had Ramoncito and poured into him the love he had in his heart for three. He sank into an easy chair and in the half-light of his study he read the manuscript from beginning to end. The shutters were closed against the heat of early afternoon but the gentle surge of the sea filtered through with the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine and caressed his soul that still mourned the loss of Estella.

When Ramoncito found him later he was submerged in his memories, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. Ramoncito couldn’t wait to tell him the news; he knew how happy he’d be. So he shook his shoulder gently. ‘Wake up, Papa!’ he whispered. ‘I have good news for you.’