‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Don Ramon will be home soon and he can fix it. That’s men’s work,’ said Lidia cheerfully.
Thank you, Lidia, that’s very helpful. Fede, pass me a knife,’ she said edgily. Federica handed her the knife and watched her walk out again.
‘Oh, it’s so exciting that your Papa is coming home,’ enthused Lidia, embracing Federica fondly. ‘I’ll bet you didn’t sleep a wink.’
‘Not a wink,’ she replied, looking up at the clock. ‘He’ll be here soon,’ she said and Lidia noticed that her small hands trembled when she began to cut the butter up into pieces.
‘Careful you don’t cut yourself,’ she said gently. ‘You don’t want your Papa to come back to a daughter with only seven fingers.’ She laughed, then wheezed and coughed.
Helena, who was usually very deft at mending things, broke the engine. Hal started to cry. Helena pulled him into her arms and managed to cheer him up by promising him another engine, a bigger, better one. ‘Anyway, this engine was old and tatty. What use is an engine like that? The train looks much better without his engine,’ she said and thought how much she’d like to be a carriage on her own without an engine. She lit another cigarette. The doors to the garden were open, inviting in the gentle sea breeze that smelt of oranges and ozone. It was too hot to be sitting in suburbia, they should be down on the beach, she thought in frustration. She wiped her sweating brow with her hand then looked at her watch. Her throat constricted. His plane would have landed.
Federica and Lidia buzzed about the kitchen like a couple of bees in a flowerbed. Federica loved to be included and followed Lidia’s instructions with great enthusiasm. She felt like a grown-up and Lidia treated her as one. They chatted about Lidia’s back pain and her stomach cramps and her husband’s verruca, which was giving him a lot of trouble. ‘I’m afraid of putting my feet where he’s put his,’ she explained, ‘so I wear a pair of socks even in the shower.’
‘I would too,' Federica agreed, not sure what a verruca was.
‘You’re sensible like me,’ Lidia replied, smiling down at the skinny child who had a manner well beyond her years. Lidia thought she was far too grown-up for a child of almost seven but one only had to look at her mother to understand why. Helena gave her so much responsibility, too much probably, that the child would be quite capable of running the entire household without her.
When Helena entered the kitchen the smell of pastel de choclo swelled her senses and her stomach churned with hunger and tension combined. Federica was drying up while Lidia washed the utensils and mixing bowls. Helena managed to grab the remains of the cream before Lidia’s podgy hands pulled it into the soapy water. She scraped her finger around the bottom of the bowl and brought it up to her pale lips. ‘Well done you, sweetie,’ she said, impressed. She smiled at her daughter and stroked her hand down her shiny blonde hair. ‘You’re a very good cook.’ Federica smiled, accustomed to her mother’s changeable nature. One minute she was irritable, the next minute she was agreeable, not like her father who was always cheerful and carefree. Helena's praise delighted Federica as it always did and her spirits soared until she seemed to grow an inch taller.
‘She’s not only a good cook, Señora, but she’s a good housekeeper, too,’ said Lidia fondly, the large black mole on her chin quivering as her face creased into a wide smile. ‘She cleaned up all the breakfast by herself.' she added in a mildly accusing tone, for Señora Helena always left everything to her daughter.
‘I know.' Helena replied. ‘What I would do without her, I can’t imagine,’ she said nonchalantly, flicking her cigarette ash into the bin and leaving the room. She walked upstairs. She was weary. Her heart weighed her down so that even the stairs were an effort to climb. She walked along the cool white corridor, her bare feet padding over the wooden floorboards, her hand too disenchanted even to deadhead the pots of pale orchids as she passed. In her bedroom the white linen curtains played about with the silk breeze as if they were trying to open all by themselves. Irritably she pulled them apart and looked out across the sea. It lay tremulous and iridescent, beckoning her to sail away with it to another place. The horizon promised her freedom and a new life.
‘Mama, shall I help you tidy your room?’ Federica asked quietly. Helena turned around and looked at the small, earnest face of her daughter.
‘I suppose you want to tidy it up for Papa?’ she replied, grabbing an ashtray and stubbing her cigarette into it.
‘Well, I’ve picked some flowers . . .' she said sheepishly.
Helena’s heart lurched. She pitied her daughter for the love she felt for her father in spite of the long absences that should have made her hate him. But no, she loved him unconditionally and the more he went away the happier she was to see him when he returned, running into his arms like a grateful lover. She longed to tell her the truth and shatter her illusions, out of spite because she wished she still shared those illusions. She found the world of children so blissfully simplistic and she envied her.
‘All right, Fede. You tidy it up for Papa, he’ll love the flowers, I’m sure,’ she said tightly. ‘Just ignore me,’ she added, wandering into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Federica heard her switch on the shower and the water pound against the enamel bath. She then made the bed, scenting the sheets with fresh lavender like her grandmother had shown her and placed a small blue vase of honeysuckle on her father’s bedside table. She folded her mother’s clothes and placed them in the old oak cupboard, rearranging the mess that she found there until all the shelves resembled a well-organized shop. She opened the windows as wide as they could go so that the scents of the garden and the sea would spirit away the dirty smell of her mother’s smoke. Then she sat at her dressing table and picked up an old photograph of her father that grinned out at her from behind the glass of an ornate silver frame. He was very good looking with glossy black hair, swarthy skin, shiny brown eyes that were honest and intelligent and a large mouth that smiled the crooked smile of a man with an irreverent sense of humour and easy charm. She ran her thumb across the glass and caught her pensive expression in the mirror. In her reflection she saw only her mother. The pale blonde hair, the pale blue eyes, the pale pink lips, the pale skin - she wished she had inherited her father’s dark Italian looks. He was so handsome and no doubt Hal would be handsome just like him. But Federica was used to getting a lot of attention because of her flowing white hair. All the other girls in her class were dark like Hal. People stared at her when she went into Valparaiso with her mother and Señora Escobar, who ran the sandwich shop on the square, called her ‘La Angelita’ (the little angel) because she couldn’t believe that a human being could have such pale hair. Helena’s best friend, Lola Miguens, had tried to copy her by dying her black hair blonde with peroxide, but had lost her nerve half way through so now she walked around with hair the colour of their terracotta roof, which Federica thought looked very ugly. Her mother didn’t bother to look after herself like Chilean women who always had long manicured nails, perfect
lipstick and immaculate clothes. Helena bustled about with her hair scrunched carelessly up onto the top of her head and she usually had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Federica thought she was beautiful when she made an effort and judging by old photographs she was once very beautiful indeed. But recently she had let herself go. Federica hoped she would make an effort for her father.
Helena stepped out of the bathroom followed by a puff of steam. Her face was pink and her eyes sparkled from the moisture. Federica lay on the white damask bedspread and watched her mother dress and prepare herself for her husband’s return. Helena could smell the lavender and the ripe scent of oranges and refrained from lighting another cigarette. She felt guilty. Federica was so excited she quivered like a horse in the starting gate while she awaited Ramon’s return with trepidation and the secret knowledge that any moment now she’d gather together her courage and leave him for good. As she painted her face she watched her daughter in the mirror
while she didn’t know that she was being watched. She stared out of the window across the sea as if her father was arriving by boat and not by car. Her profile was childish and yet her expression was that of a grown woman. The anxious expectation in her frown and on her trembling lips betrayed too much awareness for a child her age. She worshipped her father with the devotion of a dog, whereas Hal worshipped his mother whom, Helena felt, was more deserving of his love.
When Helena was ready, in a pair of tight white trousers and T-shirt, her hair scrunched up on her head, still damp and knotted, she sat on the bed beside her daughter and ran a damp hand down her face.
‘You look lovely, sweetie. You really do,’ she said and kissed her innocent brow affectionately.
‘He’ll be here soon, won’t he?’ said Federica softly.
‘Any minute,’ Helena replied, masking the tremor in her voice with a deftness that came from years of practice. She got up abruptly and hurried down the stairs. She couldn’t smoke in the bedroom, not after Federica had prepared it so lovingly, but she was in desperate need of a cigarette. Just as she reached the bottom, her espadrilles landing on the cold stone tiles of the hallway, the front door swung open and Ramon filled the entrance like a large black wolf. Helena gasped and felt her stomach lurch. They stared at each other, wordlessly assessing the frigid estrangement that still grew up between them
whenever they found themselves together in the same room.
‘Fede, Papa's here!’ Helena shouted, but as impassive as her features were her voice croaked with repressed emotion. Ramon’s dark brown eyes pulled away from the stony countenance of his wife in search of his daughter whom he heard squeal with delight from the landing before the soft patter of her small feet scurried across the floorboards and skipped down the stairs two at a time. She jumped past her mother and into her father’s sturdy embrace. She wrapped her thin arms around his bristly neck, nuzzling her face into his throat and inhaling the heavy, spicy scent that made him different from everyone else in the world. He kissed her warm cheek, lifting her off the ground and laughing so loudly she felt the vibration shake against her body like an earthquake.
‘So you missed me!’ he said, swinging her around until she had to wrap her legs about his waist to stop herself from falling.
‘Yes, Papa!’ she laughed, clinging on as her happiness almost choked her.
At that moment Hal ran into the hall, took one look at his father and burst into tears. Helena, grateful for the distraction, ran to him and picked him up in her arms, kissing his wet cheek. ‘It’s Papa, Hal darling, he’s come home,’ she said, trying to boost her voice with a bit of enthusiasm but her tone was dead and Hal sensed it and cried again. Ramon put his daughter down and walked over to where his son was weeping in his mother’s arms.
‘Halcito, it’s Papa,’ he said, smiling into the child’s frightened face with his large, generous mouth. Hal buried his head in Helena’s neck and wriggled closer against her.
‘I’m sorry, Ramon,’ she said flatly, sensing his disappointment but secretly taking pleasure from the child’s rejection. She wanted to tell him that he couldn’t expect his children to love him when he took no part in their lives, but she saw Federica’s love set her cheeks aflame and the admiration shine in her pale, trusting eyes and knew that it wasn’t entirely true. Nevertheless, he didn’t deserve his daughter’s love.
‘I’ve got a present for you, Hal,’ he said, walking back to his bag and unzipping it. ‘And I’ve got one for you too, Fede,’ he added as his daughter placed an affectionate hand on his back as he rummaged around for his gifts. ‘Ah, this is for you, Hal,’ he said, walking over to the little boy whose eyes opened wide at the brightly painted wooden train that his father waved in front of him. He forgot his fear and held his hands out. ‘There, I thought you’d like that.’
‘I broke his engine today,’ said Helena, making an effort for the sake of the
children. That couldn’t have come at a better time, could it, Hal?’
‘Good,’ Ramon replied, retreating to his case.
‘Now where’s yours, Fede? I’ve got you a very special present,’ he said, looking up at her expectant face. He felt her hand on his back again. It was so typical of Federica who always had to have some sort of physical contact to feel close. His hands burrowed deep into the bag that was filled not with clothes but with notepads, camera equipment and souvenirs from faraway countries. Finally his fingers felt the rough surface of tissue paper. He pulled it out, taking care not to knock it against the hard metal of his equipment. ‘Here,’ he said, pressing it into her trembling hands.
‘Thank you, Papa,’ she breathed, unwrapping it carefully. Hal had run off into the nursery to play with his new train. Helena lit a cigarette and smoked it nervously, leaning back against the banisters.
‘So how are you?’ he asked without approaching her.
‘Fine, you know, nothing’s changed,’ she replied coldly.
‘Good,’ he said.
Helena sighed wearily. ‘We have to talk, Ramon.’
‘Not now.’
‘Of course.’
‘Later.’
Federica unwrapped the paper to discover a roughly carved wooden box. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t even charming. She felt the tears prick the backs of her eyes and her throat constrict with disappointment. Not because she wanted a nicer present, she wasn’t materialistic or spoilt, but because Hal’s present had been so much more beautiful than hers. She understood his presents as a reflection of his love. He couldn’t love her very much if he hadn’t even bothered to find her a pretty gift.
‘Thank you, Papa,’ she choked, swallowing back her tears in shame. ‘It’s very nice.’ But she didn’t have the strength to rebel against her emotions. The excitement had been too much, now the disappointment threw her into a sudden low and the tears welled and spilled out over her hot cheeks.
‘Fede, mi amor,1 he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her wet face. ‘It’s nice,’ she said, trying to sound grateful and not wishing to offend him. ‘Open it,’ he whispered into her ear. She hesitated. ‘Go on, amorcita, open it.’ She opened it with a shaking hand. The little box might have been plain on
the outside, ugly even, but inside it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and what’s more it played the strangest, most alluring tune she had ever heard.
Chapter 2
Federica stared into the box in awe. The entire interior was covered with neatly cut stones of every colour that shimmered as if each little gem contained a small heart of light all its very own. There was not one patch of wood, not even a minute piece, that lay exposed between the mesmerizing crystals. From within, the box appeared to be made solely out of jewels and not out of wood at all, like the core of a crystallized piece of rock. On the floor of the box trembled the delicate wings of a butterfly that varied in colour from a dark ink blue against her body to the palest of aquamarines and finally amber. So delicate were they that Federica placed a finger onto the surface in order to convince herself that they were really stones and not drops of glittering water from some enchanted pool. A strange, iridescent light caused the butterfly to shudder as if about to extend her wings and fly away. Federica moved the box about slowly to see where the light was coming from and at once she was taken by the magical movement of the butterfly who, as she tilted the box, seemed to change from blues to pinks, reds and oranges. She caught her breath and put the box straight again. The butterfly returned to her cool sea tones before changing once more into fire as Federica tilted the box again.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she sniffed without taking her eyes off the sparkling treasure chest.
‘Beauty isn’t always on the outside, Fede,’ he said softly, hugging her. He looked up at his wife who still stood stiffly against the banisters, blowing smoke into the air like a dragon. She sighed impatiently and shook her head before walking out of the hall into the corridor, the smoke floating eerily behind her like a phantom. She want
ed to tell him that he couldn’t buy his daughter’s love with presents all the time. But regretfully she knew he didn’t have to buy it at all; he already had it for free.
Ramon stood up and tore his eyes away from the trail of smoke, which, along with the ill feeling, was all that remained of his wife. He looked down at the radiant face of his daughter, oblivious to the tension that caused the atmosphere to quiver with the invisible force of disappointment. He ran a hand over his unshaven face and down his dirty black hair that was long and reached his shoulders. It was hot. He needed air and he needed a swim. He had looked forward to returning home, built it up in his mind, romanticized it. But now he was home he wanted to leave again. Home was always a rosier place in the mirages of his mind. It was better to leave it there.
‘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 Butterfly Box Page 2
