by Justin D'Ath
‘We aren’t sure, to be honest. She won’t talk about it; not to her mother or me; not to anyone. Goes out nearly every night, just her and the dog. Sneaks out after we’ve gone to bed. Mostly we don’t even hear her, either coming or going – she’s very quiet. Who knows what time she gets back – two, three, four in the morning? Last night was the first time she’s stayed out all night. And the first time she’s gone out before dark.’
‘Where does she go?’ Wolfgang asked.
‘God only knows,’ Keith said. ‘The cemetery, perhaps. We tried following her once but she heard us and threw a tantrum. Threatened to run away from home if we tried it again.’
Wolfgang remembered how she’d stopped and seemed to listen the night he’d followed her. ‘She ran away from the blind school, didn’t she?’
‘She was expelled, not to put too fine a point on it,’ said her father. ‘They had an eight o’clock curfew and Audrey broke it three times that they were aware of. She was only fifteen.’
A year younger than Wolfgang was now. ‘Do you think she’d let me go with her?’ he asked. ‘When she goes out at night?’
Keith looked him in the eye. ‘I don’t know, son. All I know is I’d feel a lot more comfortable if I knew someone was with her. And I’d be quite happy,’ he added, ‘to reimburse you for any wages you lost if you had to quit working at the pool because of it. Audrey need never find out.’
35
Two black butterflies. One on the radiator of his father’s car, one in the shed. Forget the Maryborough road, Wolfgang thought, they are right here in town.
It was Sunday morning. He was supposed to be at seven o’clock mass but instead Wolfgang was riding around the streets of New Lourdes on his bicycle, searching for butterflies. Early mornings were a good time to find them during the summer, before the sun’s heat burned the dew away, when fresh reservoirs of nectar lay deep within the carpels of every newly opened flower, awaiting the day’s first butterfly. And there were plenty about. So far Wolfgang had seen a number of browns, a glasswing, two monarchs, the usual bevy of cabbage whites, but no blacks.
Where were they? Somehow, and within a fortnight of each other, two of the elusive insects – one dead, one alive – had turned up right on his doorstep, which meant there had to be a local population of them. Why had he never seen one? Why had nobody ever seen one?
Wolfgang was positive, now that he had a complete specimen, that the black butterfly was a new species. There was nothing remotely like it in any of his books, nor on the Internet. He could hardly wait until tomorrow, when finally he’d be able to phone Dr Karalis with the news that he had another specimen – this time a complete one. It was so frustrating to have found it on a weekend. Technically, his father had found it, but the old man would have forgotten that by now. In any case, it was in Wolfgang’s trap. His trap, his butterfly.
He realised he was in Audrey’s street. It was a coincidence; he hadn’t been thinking about her. At least not in the last ten minutes. Audrey lived in a wealthy neighbourhood; every house had immaculate, well-tended gardens. Lots of flowers. Wolfgang slowed as he rolled past the Babacans’ driveway. All the curtains were drawn. He didn’t know which window was Audrey’s, but he pictured her behind one of those sets of curtains, asleep in her bed. Safe. Wolfgang felt a surge of protectiveness as he circled back past the sleeping house, trying not to make it too obvious he was studying it.
Twice during the night he’d woken from troubled dreams, his whole body damp with perspiration and his head filled with images of Audrey wandering alone through the darkened cemetery.
I’ll look after you, he thought now.
When Wolfgang arrived home his parents were already sitting down to breakfast. They had breakfast every morning at eight o’clock sharp.
‘Sixteen minutes past,’ his father said, tapping his watch.
‘Wolfgang went to early mass, Leo,’ Sylvia told him.
‘Actually, I didn’t,’ admitted Wolfgang. On the way home he’d been struck by a sudden sense of guilt. He had been telling too many lies lately and he wanted to change. It had something to do with Audrey. ‘I went for a ride instead. I’ll go to ten o’clock mass with you and Dad.’
‘Aren’t you working today?’ his mother asked.
‘Not till one o’clock. Dad, have you ever seen any butterflies that are completely black?’
‘Any markings?’ asked Leo, blowing gently on a spoonful of porridge. He had no memory at all of either the wing or the butterfly he’d rescued from Wolfgang’s trap and then set for him.
‘No markings. Completely black, upper and lower.’
‘There are the crows, of course. Climena melina. Though they tend towards dark brown rather than true black.’
‘What about here in Victoria?’ asked Wolfgang, who knew the crows were a northern species.
Leo shook his head. ‘Nothing remotely like that here,’ he said, frowning at his spoon. ‘Why do you ask, Edward?’
‘Just forget it,’ Wolfgang said softly. It was the one thing his father could be relied on to do.
36
During his afternoon tea-break, Wolfgang bought two cans of soft drink and strolled over to the peppercorn tree. Campbell, tail wagging in recognition, sat up as he approached. Wolfgang patted the dog, then sat down on the grass next to Audrey’s towel. She wore a T-shirt and shorts, and had removed her sandals. Her face, as always, was covered by her hat – a blue cloth one today – and her MP3 lay at her side. Wolfgang watched the slow rise and fall of her chest for fifteen seconds before speaking.
‘Audrey.’
It surprised him how quickly she came awake. Had he not been observing her only moments before, he would never have guessed she’d been asleep.
‘Hi Wolfgang,’ she said, removing her earpieces and sitting up. ‘What’s new?’
He touched one of the cold cans against her bare forearm. ‘Brought you a drink.’
She thanked him, took the can and carefully opened the ring-pull. ‘Bitter lemon,’ she said, tasting it. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’ve got orange, if you’d like to swap?’
‘No, lemon’s fine.’ Audrey aimed a nervous smile in his direction. ‘Did you have a good time last night?’
He blushed. ‘It was great. Thanks for inviting me.’
‘Thanks for coming.’ She hesitated. ‘I didn’t actually know if you would.’
‘I said I would.’
Audrey ran a finger around the rim of her can. ‘Wolfgang, you don’t have to be kind to me.’
‘Kind?’
‘Yeah. I’m not a charity case. Everyone’s always being nice to me – being kind – because I’m blind.’
How could she even consider that after what happened last night on the porch swing? Wolfgang pushed her drink to one side, leaned over and, hoping no one was watching, quickly kissed her on the lips. ‘I love you, Audrey.’
She drew away from him and laughed, her face turning pink. ‘Oh, Wolfgang, don’t be silly.’
‘I’m serious!’
‘How can you love me? You hardly know me.’
‘But I thought ... When you kithed me last night ... And at New Year, too ...’
‘Oh poop! I’ve hurt you, haven’t I?’ Audrey reached over and found his hand. ‘Look, Wolfgang, I do like you. I like you more than I’ve liked anyone in a long, long time. But I don’t love you.’
‘Well, I love you,’ he said stubbornly.
Audrey squeezed his fingers. ‘Thank you. I think maybe I could grow to love you, too. But I’m not going to say it if I don’t mean it, okay?’
‘Okay. But ... you are my girlfriend, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I’m your girlfriend! It’s not as if I go round kissing every boy I meet.’
Later, in the ticket office, Wolfgang replayed their conversation in his mind. Did she meet many boys? How many of them had she kissed? He didn’t want to think about it. He had never kissed anyone until Audrey. Never had a girlfriend. I do lo
ve her, he thought.
‘Wolfgang?’
He looked up, startled to see Audrey standing at the ticket window not a metre from him. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I was just thinking about you.’
A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘That’s spooky – I was thinking about you, too. Do you want to go for a drink later?’
‘A drink?’ he said uncertainly. ‘You mean a cup of coffee or something?’
She laughed. ‘Wolfgang, it really doesn’t matter what sort of drink. I just feel like going somewhere.’
‘Me too. But it’s Sunday – will anything be open?’
‘There’s Krauf’s,’ Audrey said, naming a popular restaurant on Millar Street. ‘I think they’re open every night. What time do you knock off?’
37
‘Will you be having dinner tonight?’ the waitress asked as she seated them at a small table at the rear of the courtyard.
‘Just drinks,’ Audrey said, settling Campbell on the brick pavers beside her chair. ‘White wine for me.’
The waitress turned to Wolfgang. ‘And you, Sir?’
‘Um, a pot of tea, thanks.’
‘And could we have a bowl of nachos,’ Audrey said to the waitress. ‘Or would you prefer cucumber sandwiches to go with your pot of tea, Mr Mulqueen?’
He blushed. ‘Nachos are fine.’
‘Tea!’ she said when the girl had gone. ‘How old are you, Wolfgang?’
He tensed. Had she found out? ‘T-twenty.’
‘I thought maybe you were middle-aged and just not telling me. Tea!’
‘I happen to like tea,’ he said defensively. ‘Did you know it’s one of the most refreshing drinks?’
‘But it’s hardly very exciting, is it?’ she teased.
Wolfgang leaned forward and lowered his voice. A family of four had just sat down at the table next to theirs. ‘The thing is, I don’t think I could face any alcohol today – not after last night.’
‘Had a few of Dad’s Crownies, did you?’
‘One or six,’ he said, which technically wasn’t a lie – he’d had one.
Audrey had her backpack open on her lap. She rummaged through it and fished out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. ‘Could you face a smoke?’
Wolfgang glanced at the family next to them. There were two children, both boys, aged about six and eight. ‘I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke here.’
‘Yes you are – unless they’ve changed it since last time. Is there an ashtray on the table?’
There was. Wolfgang wondered when she’d been here before. With one of her other boyfriends? But when they’d found her in the cemetery on the morning of her birthday, she had made out she’d never had a boyfriend. Yet she knew how to kiss. She seemed so sophisticated, so experienced. So much older than him. A woman. Wolfgang accepted a cigarette and surreptitiously slipped it into his pocket. When Audrey passed him her lighter, he worked the flint a couple of times – to make it sound like he was lighting up – then handed it back.
Audrey drew on her cigarette. ‘What did Dad say last night after he sprung us?’
‘He just wanted to make sure my intentions were honourable.’
‘And are they?’
‘You know they are.’
‘Did he say anything about me?’ Audrey asked.
Wolfgang waited while the waitress placed their drinks on the table. A glass of wine for Audrey, a cup and saucer, a small stainless steel teapot and jug of milk for him. ‘He’s worried about you.’
‘Let me guess.’ Audrey blew a cloud of smoke up into the sun umbrella above them. ‘He told you I wander the streets at night?’
He wished she would keep her voice down. ‘He did, actually.’
She swore softly, drawing a frown from the father of the two boys at the next table. ‘I wish he’d mind his own damn business! I’m nineteen, not a little girl any more.’
Wolfgang poured his tea. ‘Was he making it up?’
‘Don’t you start!’
‘Sorry.’
‘You say sorry a lot,’ Audrey said with a smirk. She placed her cigarette in the ashtray and picked up her wineglass. Then she set it down again, untouched. ‘I should tell you, I suppose – just to let you know the kind of nutso you’re getting involved with. I’m nocturnal.’
‘Eh?’ he said.
‘B,’ she said, ‘C, D, E, F, G, H, I ...’ And continued all the way through to the end of the alphabet. Then she turned her face towards his, and Wolfgang could see the naked vulnerability there. ‘I’m a head case,’ she said softly. ‘It would probably be in your best interests, Wolfgang, to get out of my life now, while the going’s good.’
He poured milk into his tea and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. ‘Is it, like, some kind of sleeping disorder?’
‘Do owls have sleeping disorders? Do possums?’ asked Audrey. ‘I don’t have any trouble sleeping – I just do it in the daytime rather than at night.’
‘But why?’ Wolfgang asked.
‘Because ... that’s ... just ... the ... way ... I ... am!’ Audrey said loudly, leaving a half second gap between each word. All around the courtyard, faces turned in their direction.
Wolfgang sipped his tea, embarrassed. ‘It must get lonely.’
‘You get used to lonely,’ she said, quietly now. ‘Anyway, I’ve got Campbell.’
Their nachos arrived. They were delivered by a different waitress, a small girl with straight brown hair and a very round face. She seemed vaguely familiar but that meant nothing – working at the pool, Wolfgang came in contact with most of the young people in town at one time or another.
‘Wolfgang Mulqueen?’ she said.
He felt a twinge of unease. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t ...’
‘Felicity Woolman. You’re in the same class as my brother.’
‘You’re Liam’th thithter?’ he said, his whole body stiffening. Please don’t talk about school!
‘You probably don’t recognise me,’ Felicity Woolman said brightly, exchanging their ashtray for a clean one. ‘I was blonde in my last year.’
For a few moments after the waitress had gone, Audrey sat very still, a pensive look on her face. ‘Is she pretty?’ she asked finally.
‘Who? Felicity?’ Wolfgang said. ‘No, not particularly.’
Audrey felt for the nachos and used two hands to pull one free of its web of cheese topping. ‘She made you nervous. I thought it might have been because she was pretty.’
‘What makes you think I was nervous?’
‘Your voice changes when you’re nervous.’
‘It doeth not,’ he said, lisping on purpose. Trying to make a joke out of it. ‘Can I have a nacho?’
‘Of course. They’re for both of us.’ Audrey licked the grease off her fingertips. ‘So her brother’s in the same class as you?’
‘That’s right. At university.’
‘And Felicity was at university, too.’
‘I don’t know. Like I thaid, I didn’t recongithe her.’
‘You’re doing it again.’
‘Damn!’ Wolfgang muttered as a brown ribbon of tea slid across the table from his overturned cup.
Audrey felt the warm liquid beneath her wrist and jerked her hand sideways, knocking her wineglass over. It rolled off the table and shattered on the paving. Campbell scurried out of the way. The mother at the next table let out a startled shriek as he bumped against her legs.
‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ Audrey said, leaping to her feet. There was a wide dark patch across the front of her shorts. ‘I’m terribly sorry.’
Wolfgang hurried around the table to her. She thought she’d caused the accident. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, taking her in his arms. If he was going to admit blame, now would be the time. ‘It was nobody’s fault,’ he said.
The first waitress hurried out with a dustpan and a towel. ‘Would you like to move to another table?’
‘I want to go,’ Audrey whispered against the front of Wolfgang’s shirt
.
‘We might leave,’ he told the waitress, glad it wasn’t Felicity Woolman. ‘Sorry about the mess.’
‘Excuse me.’ It was the elder of the two boys at the next table. ‘I think your dog’s hurt.’
‘Campbell!’ cried Audrey, freeing herself from Wolfgang’s embrace. ‘Where is he?’
The boys’ father led Campbell over by the collar. ‘He must have stood on some broken glass.’
Campbell was limping. There was blood on his right front paw. He left a trail of dark prints on the brick pavers. ‘Is it bad, Wolfgang?’ Audrey asked, crouching next to her dog.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, does it look bad?’
He squatted and gingerly lifted Campbell’s injured paw. ‘It’s bleeding a bit. I can’t really see ...’
‘I think there’s a twenty-four hour vet in Condon Street,’ volunteered the waitress.
‘Wolfgang’s a vet,’ Audrey said.
Oh terrific! he thought. Of all the courses he could have chosen for his make-believe university studies, he’d picked veterinary science. ‘I’ve ... only done one year.’
‘You must have learned something,’ said Audrey.
‘It was mostly theory. Anatomy and stuff.’
‘Come on, Wolfgang. Campbell’s hurt!’
There was no getting out of it. And cleaning up a cut paw was hardly rocket science, surely. Wolfgang caught the waitress’s eye. ‘Can you get me a damp cloth. And, um, make sure it’s clean.’
She left and returned with a kleenex and a first aid box. There was an older woman with her, perhaps the restaurant manager.
‘Is everything under control, Sir?’
‘He’s a vet,’ offered one of the boys from the next table. ‘He’s going to fix the dog.’
If only it were that simple, Wolfgang thought. He lifted Campbell’s paw and gingerly dabbed at it with the kleenex. The dog whimpered and licked his ear. ‘Hold him still, Audrey.’
Dark blood oozed from between two of the pads. Wolfgang swabbed it away with the tissue. Just for a moment, before the cavity filled again, he saw a wink of glass protruding from the side of the leathery pad. He tried to grip it with his fingernails but it was slippery with blood.
