Death of a Butterfly

by Simon Brown

  When she reached our table, her smile evaporated and her face took on a colder, granite tone.

  “So, you want to talk about Mathew.”

  “Yes, please sit down. Would you like a drink?”

  Cristelle shook her head and sat.

  “I am Amanda, Mathew’s wife and this is Mateo, his son.”

  Cristelle’s lips paled.

  “Mathew did not mention he had a son.”

  “He didn’t tell me either.”

  I gave Mateo’s forearm a reassuring stroke.

  “And how can I help you?”

  “I assume you know he died nine months ago.”

  Cristelle nodded and, I thought, winced slightly.

  “I understand you were close.”

  “We shared some very beautiful times together.”

  “Cristelle, we are not here to judge you, or Mathew. I am certainly not interested in accusing you of anything, but it would help us both to find out a little more about what happened to Mathew. Can you talk freely?”

  Cristelle shrugged. Strands of hair became stuck to her lips. She brushed the hairs to one side.

  “Let me come straight to the point. Was Mathew planning to move here?”

  Cristelle’s eyes gave it away. They flitted between Mateo and myself and then down. Mateo clenched his fist. I continued without waiting for a verbal answer.

  “So, yes, he was leaving.”

  I put my hand over Mateo’s fist and looked into his eyes reassuringly. Then I turned to Cristelle.

  “I am very sorry it did not work out. I imagine it was very distressing for you waiting here and then finding out he died.”

  Cristelle looked up at my eyes.

  “Murdered,” she hissed.

  I sensed Mateo tense and began talking immediately to cover any signals he might unwittingly give out.

  “In the process of trying to find his killer, I found out a lot more about Mathew’s past. I found out a lot more about the women in his life.”

  I thought Cristelle blushed.

  “I think a lot of the women felt sad for a long time as a result of being with Mathew. Of course, it was always fun at the beginning. Maybe you feel sad too.”

  Cristelle stared blankly.

  “Don’t concern yourself with me.”

  I did not feel confident in asking her any more. The background music and chatter were too loud, and Cristelle seemed understandably defensive.

  “Cristelle, could we meet again? I would like to talk to you a little more.”

  We arranged to meet her for lunch the next day.

  During our walk home, Mateo asked me why I didn’t interrogate her about the money.

  “We need to find the right time. If she denies it then it will be very hard for her to admit she lied. Better to wait until she is ready.”

  In the morning Cristelle phoned and suggested she pick me up in her car. She said she would be more comfortable if I came alone. I told Mateo.

  “Are you crazy? She might kill you. She think you have killed Ramon. Maybe she want to keep money.”

  I held Mateo by his hands. I looked into his face. He looked flushed, angry and scared at the same time.

  “What is the matter Mateo? We are only going out for lunch. Try to come back into the moment.”

  Mateo looked down and shook his head slightly. Then he looked back into my eyes.

  “I think you love people too much. Maybe you invite bad people.”

  “I would rather die loving people than live longer out of fear. You can have a nice time exploring Zurich. Here take this.”

  I handed Mateo a handful of Swiss francs.

  “You are crazy!”

  It occurred to me that he might have unnerved Cristelle with his clenched fist last night, but there was nothing to be gained now by saying it.

  When the time came, we walked out of the hotel together. Cristelle waved from her red hatchback. Mateo looked at her suspiciously. I kissed Mateo goodbye and walked over to the car.

  Cristelle started the car and we jerked forwards to the main road.

  “I thought I would take you to a village in the mountains. It’s less than an hour away. Great views and more relaxing.”

  Cristelle’s driving was erratic, and I found myself holding the door handle and sometimes having to put my hand on the dashboard to steady myself. She snatched at the wheel to turn corners. Every gear change was accompanied with a revving engine, crunch of cogs and a sudden jolt forwards. We exited Zurich and after a short spell on a fast road turned off into smaller roads that wound their way into the mountains.

  I tried to make conversation but my small talk was rebutted with short answers that left no room to continue the theme. Cristelle appeared tense and deep in thought. Perhaps she was nervous about our looming lunchtime conversation. I tried to remind myself that she was a beautiful human being, who had overcome all kinds of trials and tribulations to blossom into this wonderful, elegant, intelligent, emotional creature.

  We drove up along the narrow road into a forest of pine trees. As the car continued to climb we drove into the bottom of a cloud. Mist swirled around making it difficult to follow the road. Cristelle slowed to a near walking pace. Then she pulled over into a slight clearing at the side of the road. I thought she must be finding the fog too thick.

  “Are you alright, Cristelle? Should we go back?”

  Cristelle reached down for her handbag, fumbled around for a minute and then opened her door.

  “I think we should get out.”

  I looked round. The trees loomed eerily in the mist. Sometimes they would disappear and then reappear looking cold and pale. Cristelle walked round to my door and opened it.

  “Please,” she said curtly.

  Her bag was open and she reached into it and pulled out a small pistol. Cristelle pointed it at my head. Oh no, not again, I thought to myself. This time I felt surprisingly calm. Cristelle did not seem violent. Perhaps I was getting used to having a gun pointed at me. I slowly eased myself out of the car seat and stood in front of her.

  Cristelle looked uneasy. She fidgeted with the gun in her hand. She moved her weight from one leg to the other. Her hair blew across her face and she pulled it back with her free hand and a flick of her head.

  “Give me your bag.”

  I reached into the car and found my bag. I handed it over to Cristelle with an outstretched arm. She snatched it from me.

  “Cristelle, why are you doing this?”

  “Stand over there.”

  I walked away from the car.

  Cristelle lifted the rear hatch and took out a spade.

  “You can walk along that path.”

  I turn and walked along the narrow path she indicated. Cristelle followed.

  “Wait!”

  A new thought seemed to have occurred to her. She tipped the contents of my bag onto the ground. Cristelle moved the pile of objects with her foot until she saw my passport. She picked it up with my purse.

  As we walked into the woods, I felt the soft pine needles under my feet. I could feel the crunch of pinecones. It was easy to feel every step. I became aware of the wind on my face. As it changed direction I could feel the cold air cross from one cheek to the other. I put my hands deep into my coat pockets. The trees were very straight. If I scanned my eyes across my vista I saw a pattern of dark brown vertical lines against an off-white background.

  I thought about Henrique and his idea about us being predicated to being dualistic. I became conscious of my two feet, my two cheeks and my two hands in their pockets. I could hear my footsteps with my two ears and see with my two eyes.

  Was I part of Cristelle’s dualistic world? Was I evil, bad, a threat, someone that had to be gotten rid of? She seemed lost in a world of injustice, loss and revenge.

  I went on to consider how we were both, in current scientific terms, essentially a collection of atoms that came in and out of us. We were both made up of the universe and continually exchanging parti
cles with the universe. I focussed on a breath to experience the exchange of a huge number of atoms entering and leaving. Yet, here we were, two parts of the universe marching into the woods, so one could send some atoms at high velocity, into a temporary collection of particles, I like to think of as me.

  “Stop here.”

  I stood still and turned to face Cristelle.

  “You can dig a grave for yourself.”

  Cristelle handed me the spade. She wobbled slightly as she took a step forward. Her green eyes blinked rapidly as they darted around nervously.

  “Have you ever killed someone before?”

  “No, but you have. Dig, please.”

  I started to press the spade into the ground. The soil was soft, but there were many roots making it hard to move the rich earth.

  “Why do you say I have killed someone?”

  “Because you killed my Mathew.”

  “When Mathew was killed, I was in the park.”

  “You lie to try and save yourself.”

  “Why would I want to kill the man I loved?”

  “You knew he was leaving you for me. He told me he had spoken to you the day before he died.”

  Now I was surprised.

  “I can assure you he never said anything to me.”

  Cristelle’s eyes glared, her nostrils flared and her mouth contorted as she screamed out.

  “Don’t lie. You will not save yourself.”

  She stared with a look of righteous indignation. Her chin jutted forwards. Hair was stuck to the makeup on her face. She pulled it away and flicked her head so that it fell behind her shoulders. I went back to digging.

  I thought about my dream in Venice. I thought how easy it would be to pass over into the next life. I did not feel any fear. I was surprisingly calm. Somehow I was enveloped in a beautiful feeling of trust. I trusted myself and I trusted in life. I had survived the rape ordeal and here I was still alive.

  After a while, I began to feel hot. I stood up and unzipped my coat.

  “So how did you meet Mathew? Was it at the blues club?”

  Cristelle opened her mouth and then paused whilst she seemed to decide how much to tell me.

  “I met him in Barcelona. I was fifteen and still at school. My father was opening a Swiss bank there. Mathew was thirty-six and working in a bar. He sang, played guitar and danced. I knew he was special straight away. He offered to teach me to play the guitar. Soon we were lovers.”

  “What about his girlfriend, Montserrat?”

  Cristelle looked surprised for a moment. She swayed slightly before continuing.

  “He used Montserrat to keep his family happy and stop people suspecting he was really with me.”

  “Didn’t you mind?”

  “I knew it would be crazy to be with him. My father would kill him with this pistol. The police would put him in jail. So we used to meet in his flat when Montserrat was out and make love. He taught me guitar and I became pretty good. It would be a reason if anyone wanted to know why we were together so much.”

  Cristelle’s mood lifted as she talked about Mathew.

  “My whole day revolved around being with him. I used to lie in bed dreaming of the time we could really be together. I used to fantasise about the house we would have together and how I would look after Ramon. I mean Mathew.”

  “So what happened? Why didn’t your fairy tale come true?”

  “We were lovers for a year and then Montserrat came home early from work. She was sick. She caught us in bed. She went crazy. Mathew had to hold her down. I left. After I could not see him. Mathew was frightened she would tell his family. She threatened to tell the police. So he said he must leave Spain. He knew an English woman and they married so he could live in England. He said he would come back for me when I was seventeen. It was only another year.”

  My interest had been aroused. I noticed how eager I was to hear the rest of her story.

  “So what happened?”

  “I waited but he did not come. He said it would be difficult for me in England. He said to wait and wait. Then my family moved back to Zurich and I met a Swiss man. We broke up five years ago, and then two years ago I found Ramon on Facebook. We had a mutual friend and Mathew’s face appeared on the side of my screen like a miracle. We arranged to meet in London and it was as though nothing had changed between us.”

  Oh no. Mathew had been having an affair for the last year of our relationship. I felt my heart sink, I felt heavy on my feet. My shoulders dropped as my chest deflated. There was a slight pain near my heart. I had slipped out of the present into the past. I was back at home watching Mathew rushing out to go up to London with his guitar. I was back wondering if Mathew still loved me. I was back in suspicion, jealousy and hurt. Cristelle continued relentlessly.

  “We met during the day when you thought he was at work. He used to come to my hotel so we could make love for the whole afternoon. In the evening, we made beautiful music together.”

  Cristelle sneered with a crooked smile as she spat out the next words, as though spraying her venom over my face.

  “He never loved you. He always loved me and only me.”

  That was a turning point in my emotions. It was the line I needed to get back into the moment. Cristelle was voicing her delusions. It was her bitterness, jealousy and insecurity pouring out like blood from a gaping wound. I did not need to be a part of any of it. I felt my weight uneven over my feet and shifted slowly so that my body felt centred between my soles. I felt the cold air in my nose and throat.

  Cristelle looked down at the grave. I had only dug about a foot into the ground.

  “So, now I will kill you and you can rot in hell.”

  “Don’t you think you will be caught when Mateo tells everyone you took me for lunch?”

  Cristelle looked back defiantly, with a flick of her head.

  “Maybe I’ll shoot him too. Maybe I’ll use your passport and ID to get our money out of the bank.”

  “Mathew took most of that money from me. I inherited it from my parents.”

  “So what!”

  I could see Cristelle’s face flush with anger. She raised the pistol with both hands to point it at my chest. She took a step forwards readying herself. I looked into her eyes.

  Something extraordinary happened. I glimpsed the love that I had envisioned in my imaginary father’s eyes during my free writing. It was there in her green eyes. It looked like the sun behind clouds peeking out through sky blue gaps. I could see the murky layers floating across the love in her eyes. The layers looked to be full of pain, disappointment, jealousy, pride and self-righteousness. The layers mirrored the mist, like a fog of illusions covering the pure light behind. I thought of Nirmal and unwrapping the soul.

  As I looked into Cristelle’s eyes, I felt a connection, I felt love well up in my heart. Cristelle flicked her head again. She shifted her weight, dropped her arms by her sides and then almost wearily brought the barrel back up to my chest. She looked at me curiously before closing one eye. I could still see the love in her remaining beautiful green eye. I was ready too.

  Something flashed across my eyes, I heard a single sharp metallic crack, and then I saw the gun fall from Cristelle’s hands. Cristelle turned to her left as though in slow motion. Something white and grey hit her cheek and she stumbled back. I followed her gaze. Mateo was standing about twenty paces from us raising his arm with a rock in his hand. I saw he had several stones clasped between his other hand and abdomen.

  “No, Mateo, wait.”

  I looked back at Cristelle’s eyes. Layers of fear swirled across the tiny shafts of love. Cristelle looked from me, to the gun, to Mateo. Mateo looked like a taught spring ready at the slightest twitch to fire another cold, sharp, hard rock. He did not blink, just stared transfixed on his prey. Mateo took two slow steps forwards.

  Cristelle blinked nervously, blood ran down her cheek. Strands of hair stuck across the wound. I thought I saw her legs wobble. She looked behind her and b
ack at the gun. Could she pick up the gun before Mateo struck again? Could she run back into the fog and to her car? I could see a cloud of despair cross her face. She looked so alone, a cold solitary figure, isolated in the mist. She seemed to be slowly drowning in her own emotions. She tried another flick of her head but her hair stuck to her face. Then I saw her look back to me. Her beautiful green eyes appeared pleading. I saw the rims slowly redden and tears begin to fill the lower lid. The water in her left eye gently spilled over into a tear that slid down her cheek until it diluted the crimson blood.

  I held out my hands to Cristelle and took a step forward. She shook her head, and cried out “No,” but fell into my arms. I put my arms around her, gently stroking her upper back. I felt her head against my shoulder. She began to tremble. The quivering built up until savage sobs broke through her wall of suppression. Cristelle felt so heavy in my arms.

  Mateo walked over softly. He stood still beside me. Then he let his arms relax, dropping the stones, one by one, next to his feet. I felt my universe slow to an eternal stillness. Cristelle’s crying subsided and we stood in silence.

  CHAPTER 31

  Gradually we shifted positions. Relief washed over me like a warm shower. Cristelle straightened up and started to compose herself. Mateo picked up the pistol with a stick and dropped it in the trench. He covered it in earth and pressed it down with his shoe. I zipped up my jacket.

  We walked slowly back along the path. The mist was lifting and I could see across the valley through a clearing in the trees. When we got to the car I bent down to collect my pile of belongings and put them into my bag. Cristelle handed me back my passport and purse. A question came to my mind. I turned to Mateo.

  “How did you get here?”

  “After you go in car, I take taxi and follow. We lose you in fog. But then I see car. I see you leave things on path and I follow. I hear shouting and I know where you are. I see her with a gun.”

  “The taxi must have cost a fortune.”

  “I give him the money you give me and he comes to hotel for the rest tonight.”