The Butterfly Box(7)

‘Come, Fede,’ he said. ‘Let’s go down to the beach, just you and me. Bring the box with you.’ Federica jumped to her feet, clasped her treasure against her thin chest and, taking his hand, she followed him out through the front door.

‘What about Mama and Hal?’ she said, delirious with happiness that she had been chosen to go with him and she alone.

‘Hal’s happy with his train and Mama’s with him. Besides, I want to tell you how I found your box. There’s a very sad legend attached to it and I know how you like stories.’

‘I love your stories,’ she replied, skipping along to keep up with his lengthy strides.

Helena watched helplessly as her husband left the house, taking with him the overbearing weight of his presence and suddenly she felt cheated, as if the pressure that had built up inside her chest had been for nothing. The house felt still and somehow bigger than when his powerful body had dwarfed it and she bit her lip in frustration. ‘How dare he leave us,’ she thought bitterly, ‘why can’t he just stick around for once?’

The midday sun was scorching in spite of the sea breeze that cooled it off around the edges. They walked down the street, passing Señora Baraca’s dog who pulled on his leash and let out a frenzied round of barks when he saw them. Federica told her father how the dog barked all the time because he wanted to run about and wasn’t able to in his small garden.

‘Well, let’s take him out then.' said Ramon.

‘Really? Can we?’ she replied in excitement. She watched with pride as her father rang the bell. They waited in the shade of an almond tree. The sound of children playing in the street resounded through the air, their laughter like the song of sea birds on the beaches. Federica didn’t wish to be with them. She wished only that her father would stay this time and never go away again.

‘Sí?' came a voice from behind the door. It was deep and guttural, muffled by the phlegm that caught in her throat.

‘Señora Baraca. It’s Ramon Campione,’ he said with the assertiveness that pertained to everything he did. Federica pulled herself up, copying her father who always walked tall.

‘Ramon Campione, indeed,’ she replied, venturing out of the house like a timid crow. She was old and bent and wore a black dress of mourning even though her husband had died more than ten years before. ‘I thought you were the other side of the world,’ she croaked.

‘I’m home now,’ he replied, softening his voice a little so as not to frighten her. Federica held tightly on to his hand. ‘My daughter would very much like to take your dog for a walk on the beach. Perhaps we could do you the favour of exercising him.’

The old woman chewed on her gums for a moment. ‘Well, I know you, so you won’t be stealing him,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps you could shut him up for me. If I don’t go insane with grief, I’ll go insane with the barking.’

‘We’ll do our best for you,’ he said and smiled courteously. ‘Won’t we, Fede?’ Federica cowered behind him and lowered her eyes shyly. Señora Baraca’s knotted fingers fumbled clumsily with the lead, the hairs on her chin illuminated like cobwebs by the sun. Finally she opened the gate and handed the dog to Ramon. The dog stopped barking and began to jump about, puffing and snorting with the enthusiasm of a freed prisoner.

‘His name is Rasta,’ she said, hands on hips. ‘My son gave him to me before he disappeared for good. That’s all I have left. I’d rather have my son, he made much less noise.’

‘We’ll bring Rasta back before lunchtime,’ Ramon assured her.



‘As you wish, Don Ramon,’ she replied, blinking into the sunlight with the discomfort of a creature grown accustomed to the darkness of her melancholy.



Ramon and Federica strode down the hill towards the sea, half running to keep up with Rasta who jumped and skipped in front of them, straining at his leash, thirsting to sniff every gateway and post, every patch of grass or tree, cocking his leg indiscriminately everywhere the scent of another animal lingered. He was pathetically happy. Federica’s heart floated with joy as she watched the skinny black mongrel experience freedom for the first time in perhaps many months. She looked up at her father and her cheeks burned with admiration. There was nothing he couldn’t do.

They crossed the road that ran alongside the coast, then made their way down the paved steps to Caleta Abarca beach. One or two people walked up and down, a child played with a small dog, throwing a ball into the sea for it to chase. Federica took off her sandals and felt the soft sand, like Lidia’s flour, between her pink toes. Ramon changed into his bathing shorts, leaving his clothes and leather moccasins in a heap for Federica to look after while he went and washed himself off in the cold waters of the Pacific. She watched him jog towards the sea, followed eagerly by Rasta. He was strong and hairy, with the powerful physique of a man capable of climbing mountains, yet he walked and moved with surprising grace. Ramon Campione’s imagination was as deep and mysterious as the sea, full of shipwrecks and sunken continents. Federica had grown up on his stories and somehow those stories had made his absences less acute. When she looked back on her short life she saw only the long rides through her father’s fertile mind. Those were the adventures she remembered, not the many months of drought. She watched him splash about with Rasta in the glittering water. The light caught the tips of the waves and the silk of his hair and if she hadn’t known better she would have thought he were a playful seal. She placed the box on her lap and ran her hand over the rough wooden surface. She wondered to whom it had once belonged. A shudder of anticipation careered up her spine at the thought of another magical story. She opened the box to the ringing of little bells and marvelled once again at the glittering gems that caused the butterfly’s wings to quiver.