Death of a Butterfly

by Simon Brown

  We followed much the same introductory routine and, once we were settled, Dorothy invited me to relate my experience in Venice. Reminiscent of my first meeting they just sat there silently when I finished. There were no “how terrible” kind of comments I would have once expected. This time I felt content that I had been heard. I no longer needed them to instil their reactions in me. Sandy spoke first.

  “That dream was quite a revelation. How amazing that sleep can bring forth such a profound and life changing realisation. Is the dream still with you?”

  “I have felt different about my situation since. Some of the fear has melted away.”

  I looked to my left to see Herr Huber. Part of me craved his opinion. He spoke in his low voice.

  “We seem to be wired to slip into our most primal emotion of fear. Fear can leave its anxious imprints rippling through so many of our actions. Sometimes fear floods our lives to the extent we drown in it. I congratulate you on being able to free yourself from that ocean of fear.”

  As I listened I did feel myself radiate warmth. I basked in his words. I looked up at Dorothy. She smiled. All of a sudden I felt a tide of emotions well up inside me. I swallowed and felt my eyes moisten. No one spoke for some time. Then Nirmal spoke very slowly.

  “How do you feel, Amanda, now that you are out in the open?”

  I turned to face Nirmal. Sandy passed me a tissue and I dried my eyes.

  “I think I have finally started to understand what you all keep trying to tell me about living from within, instead of losing myself in the external distractions of life.”

  I felt I had somehow been initiated. Nothing had been said, no certificates, rituals, badges or pieces of paper. It had come from inside me. I had felt it myself. It came from an impulse within, rather than anyone’s external judgement or approval.

  Henrique began talking.

  “I brought in a piece of text that made a great impression on me when I read it last week and I thought we could explore it together. It is from A Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.”

  I remembered reading the book in my twenties. Herr Huber passed round a photocopied page of text he wanted us to read. Henrique cleared his throat.

  “It is a part of the story where Dorian Gray, a young man, is having his portrait painted by Basil. The painter’s friend, Lord Henry, comes to observe. Lord Henry voices most of the dialogue. Do you mind if I read the lines that influenced me most aloud?”

  We agreed and Henrique cleared his throat.

  “There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr Gray. All influence is immoral. Because to influence a person is to give him one’s own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sin, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed.”

  Henrique looked up before continuing.

  “He becomes an echo of someone else’s music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realise one’s nature perfectly.”

  We sat still for moment. The words from the last three sentences reverberated in my head. I certainly had been living as an echo of Mathew’s music and perhaps I even acted out a part written for me by my parents. Then the disturbing thought occurred to me that I might become a new echo of Dorothy and her friends.

  “Please continue, Henrique,” Dorothy urged.

  Henrique looked down the page to find the next passage.

  “I believe that if one man were to live out his life fully and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream – I believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all the maladies of medievalism, and return to the Hellenic ideal.”

  I was enjoying this. It felt like being back in college. I read it through again silently. I looked up and noticed Dorothy was looking at Herr Huber with a very soft gaze. Henrique spoke slowly.

  “It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also…”

  Sandy spoke.

  “It reminds me of a line that appears at the end of one of my favourite films, Being There. ‘Life is a state of mind.’”

  These passages kept reverberating around my skull for a long time after everyone left.

  That night I stitched all the parts of my knitting together and finished my sweater. I tried it on and liked the way I looked cuddly in it. The wool felt so soft and the gentle colours blended into each other to create a sense of harmony with my hair. I modelled it for Dorothy.

  CHAPTER 22

  I woke early and decided to start my writing. I found myself describing an old stone wall in detail. I could see an image of the wall in my mind.

  The stone has a light colour and looks porous. When I run my fingers across it I feel the scratches, chips and grooves worn into her over the years. There is a vine growing up the wall. Its roots are embedded into the hot, dusty mud below.

  I play with the ants crawling along their path at the foot of the wall. I let them run over my little hand. I place a warm stone on the path and watched the ants run around, creating a new track.

  I hear a woman call out. I look up. A man with darkish skin stands next to me. I am in his shadow. His sandals almost touch my bare feet. He kneels and puts his hands on my ribs. I look into his eyes. They are dark, a little watery and large. When I see right into his deep eyes I look into a well of love.

  I reach out and touch his cheeks and then his wavy hair. I let my small hand slowly curl around his ear, pulling it gently. Then he lifts me and holds me to his side.

  I read through my text twice, wondering where the words came from. It was as though a distant memory had fuelled a vision that I had been able to describe freely, without really trying.

  I wore my new wool sweater and set about my preparations for my big day. I was going to my old home to get rid of everything I did not want. I felt ready to shed the load for the journey ahead, to enter the new phase in my life unburdened.

  Since my dream of dying, I had the feeling that whatever happens I would know what to do in that moment. I thought about asking Henry to accompany me, but then decided it was time to risk being on my own.

  I hired a car, loaded it with empty boxes and drove north. I stopped on the way to buy fresh flowers. I parked in my drive and I stole a quick glance towards Edward and Edwina’s home. All looked quiet.

  Once in my home, I lay the flowers over the carpet where Mathew once lay dead. After a moments reverence, I decided to sort everything into three groups. One for things I no longer wanted, which would be in the garage, a second for everything I was keeping, in the living room and a third for the things I was not sure about, in the dining room.

  I felt purposeful and motivated. The physical exertion felt good. I started on the ground floor moving items from one room to another. I had decided I would not keep any furniture so I lifted and dragged chairs and tables to the garage. I would need help with the sofa, big chairs and dining room table. By early afternoon I had finished the ground floor. As I sat on the sofa chewing on my packed lunch, the front door swung open.

  “Hello? Hello, Amanda?”

  It was Edward’s voice. I reached for my phone. Edward walked into the living room. He had his hands raised as though he was surrendering to me.

  “I thought I saw you arrive earlier. Do you mind if we have a quick chat? You know, seize the moment.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable here alone with you.”

  “That’s understandable. Let’s talk alfresco.” Henry motioned to the door.

  “Where’s Edwina?”

  “She’s shopping. I would have come earlier but I wanted to wait until the coast was clear.”

  “I would prefer the three of us talk when she gets back.”

  Edward seemed unsure of what to say next. He adjusted his glasses.

  “Um, to be perf
ectly frank, I wanted it to be just the two of us.”

  “That sounds creepy.”

  “Wouldn’t you feel safe out in the fresh air?”

  I agreed and waited for Edward to walk out of my front door first. It occurred to me that I could slam the door shut and lock him out. Deeper inside I felt surprisingly calm and perhaps I did have more of that trust building up inside. Besides, I wanted to hear his version. I stood in the doorway whilst Edward turned to face me a couple of metres away.

  “Okay, Amanda, I know it looks bad. Yes, I did follow you in Oxford Street. Yes, I was on my way to meet you in Covent Garden. Yes, I did log into your email account and check your messages. And yes, I did follow you to Venice, but I did not kill Mathew or attack you in that truck. You’ve got to believe me, Amanda. I’ll swear on my mother’s life if it helps.”

  Edward held his hands out in a pleading manner.

  “Are you going to leave me alone now?”

  “I still have a place for you in my heart. I have only had your best interests. I just want to protect you from all the horror.”

  “Did you send me the notes?”

  “No, I did not send you any notes.”

  I tried to keep an open mind, to hear him, without feeling the need to believe or disbelieve.

  “How are you and Edwina getting on?”

  “We are friends, but no more.”

  At that moment Edwina walked round the corner. Edward could not see her.

  “Is that how you feel about me?” Edwina shrieked.

  Edward jumped and immediately adjusted his glasses.

  “I thought you had gone shopping.”

  “You were so insistent I go on my own, I thought I would park the car round the corner to see what your little secret is. And here you are, pleading with Amanda.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  Edwina walked up to Edward and slapped him hard across the cheek. Edward’s glasses lay askew across his face. Her palm crashed against his ear. His glasses fell off. She grabbed a fistful of hair. Edward grabbed both her hands.

  “You little creep. After all I have done for you. This is how you repay me.”

  She kicked his ankle. Edward hobbled. I felt I had to intervene. I placed my hand very gently on Edwina’s back.

  “Edwina, come inside with me.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  I recognised Mrs Pottersby’s voice floating over the tall hedge.

  “I think we’ll be fine, thanks,” I called back.

  Edwina mustered all her strength. She fought to free her arms but Edward held her rigidly. She spat in Edward’s face and lashed out with her right foot. Then I felt her weaken and tried again.

  “I really want to hear you, I want you to tell me what is happening. Please, let’s talk.”

  “I’ll tell you what this bastard’s been doing, I’ll tell you, I’ll…”

  Tears started well up in Edwina’s eyes. I watched the first drops find their path down her dry cheeks.

  “Let go of her, Edward.”

  Edward let go of her wrists, took a step back and affected a karate pose before picking up his glasses. I held Edwina tight. As her sobbing increased in intensity, her body started to tremble. I had to support her weight, as her legs gave up. She started wailing.

  “It’s all over, isn’t it? All those years I have given you for nothing. I invested so much of myself in you and now it’s all gone.”

  I led her to my kitchen and onto one of the Shaker-style chairs. Edwina slumped forwards onto the table with her head in her hands. I handed her a square of paper from the kitchen roll. Edwina dabbed the napkin over her now blotchy face. Edwina lifted her head and turned to me.

  “What’s the point anymore? I can’t conceive, I’m just a dried up, fat, middle-aged woman.”

  Edwina started sobbing and pulled a chair close to her. I put my arm round Edwina and held her tight. After a while the tremors subsided and the shaking in her breath dissolved. I experienced a flashback to when I felt so hysterical that first evening at Dorothy’s home and how she comforted me. I whispered into Edwina’s ear.

  “When I felt so unhappy and I could not imagine anything else, my aunt and her friends talked about finding all the love I could ever want inside me, that my soul is full of love and light and that all I had to do was unwrap it. At the time I dismissed it, as you might now, but I just want you to know that later I found it. It exists and you can find it too, when you are ready.”

  I moved away slightly so I could see her. Edwina’s eyes were closed. She looked softer and more peaceful. The blotchiness had subsided. I marvelled at how beautiful she looked.

  “Do you want to stay here for a while? Or you can help me sort through all this junk, if you feel up to it.”

  “Just give me a few minutes.”

  I started working through the smaller items in the bedroom. After a while Edwina came up and helped me bring objects downstairs. It was much quicker with two of us. By the evening I had got everything except the big furniture into three piles. I packed the items I wanted to take back to London.

  “You should have a big garage sale for all the things you want to get rid of. You could sell stuff through the Internet too,” Edwina suggested.

  I was back to my old home within a few days. I found someone to collect and store the things I wanted to keep. Save for the furniture the living room was now empty. Edwina and I laid out the rest in preparation for our garage sale. She had put notices up and an advert in the local classified. I felt we were like two children playing at shop keeping.

  As Edwina passed me a book on ancient Saxon history, a card spiralled to the floor. It had a picture of snow-covered mountains in front of a bright blue sky. I picked it up. Inside there was blue writing. The writing had a flourish with big loops. I read it through.

  Hello Darling,

  I hope you are well. I miss you more than ever. My bed feels so empty without you. I am so looking forward to our first Christmas together.

  All my love,

  Cristelle x

  The card had been printed in Switzerland. There was no stamp. Perhaps it had been sent in an envelope. I turned it over to see the picture and then read it again.

  “What is it?” Edwina asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve not seen it before. Could be a card sent to Matthew. It has occurred to me that he stashed all our money away somewhere. Perhaps it is in Switzerland with Cristelle.”

  “Oh no, how terrible. Do you think Mathew could have done something like that?”

  “Not a while ago but now anything is possible. The sender doesn’t mention Mathew’s name and there is no address, so who knows.”

  I put the card in my bag.

  The garage sale was fun. I saw lots of my old acquaintances and it gave me an opportunity to say goodbye to everyone. We sold about half of everything. I had also managed to sell some items on eBay and arranged for them to be collected that day. Edwina said she would take some of the leftovers to a charity shop and the rest would just remain in the house for the building society.

  Back in London I showed Dorothy the card.

  “Have you thought any more of visiting Barcelona?”

  “I did think about it when I woke today. I think I am ready to book my ticket.”

  “It might be helpful to have a change of scene now you have let go of your home.”

  Later that day I went to the café and booked my ticket.

  I happily told Martin Ledbetter that as far as I was concerned the house was empty and gave him the keys. I felt relieved, freer and lighter to escape the emotional burden my old home had come to represent.

  In the morning I started my writing in a very sleepy state. I rolled out of bed and sat with my clean sheet of paper, with my eyes half open.

  I sit on the dry, powdery earth, my back resting against the rough bark of a tree trunk. A warm breeze blows wisps of my long hair across my face. Every now and then a sweet smelling gust ripples the f
abric of my dress, cooling my legs. Each time the wind stirs the leaves of the tree, I see the shadows flutter and shimmy across my bare legs and feet. The moving shadows create the impression that my skin, the earth and the fabric of my clothes merge into one.

  I look up at the source of this light and see the sun shining through the branches of the tree. I squint and lift my little hand to shade my eyes. The sun seems to be feeding everything on the surface with his shimmering light and heat.

  I watch the men working in the field. I see their hoes rise wearily and then fall into the ground. I see the rippling bare backs and arms work the soil, turning its flat hard surface to a darker, rough texture. I watch the women with their wide fawn hats carry wicker baskets of seeds. Their free hands move in a wide sweep and they scatter the seeds into the freshly exposed earth.

  The seeds need Mother Earth and later the sun for their bright green shoots, just like I needed my mother and later my father. I hear the soft rhythm of leather soles clapping between stony soil and calloused flesh. He sits down next to me and puts his long arm around me. I look up. When I see his eyes I smile. He looks into my eyes and I see his twinkle. I put my arms around him and squeeze him as hard as I can.

  He unwraps his cloth and takes out flat bread and breaks off a piece for me. We have olives, carrots, a walnut and an apple each. I save the walnut to the end. When I finish I lay my head on his lap and close my eyes. His salty scent fills my nostrils. I feel his hot hands stroke my hair and then rest on my back. If I squint my eyes everything blurs and merges into each other and becomes a sea of moving colour, somewhere between the earth and sun.