When she turned out Federica’s light she told her that she had spoken to Abuelita, that she had sent her love and that she wanted her to paint her a picture of her new home. At first Federica had been pleased. She closed her eyes
and imagined the picture she would draw and the letter she would write. But then she felt her heart lurch with longing. She remembered her grandmother’s gentle face, the summer house in Cachagua that she loved so much, the navy sea and the soft sand so unlike the sand in England. She remembered her grandfather in his panama hat, the horse ride on Papudo beach and Rasta. Then she recalled her mother’s promise of a puppy and she began to cry. Not because she hadn’t been given a puppy but because the promise had been made to distract her from the argument she had overheard. ‘Now you won’t have to come home ever again.’ Her mother’s words echoed about her head until it throbbed with pain. Finally, when she could no longer bear her desolation she opened the butterfly box on her bedside table and allowed her mind to drift into the secret world of her father’s stories. The pain began to subside as she floated across the Andes Mountains, chased lions in Africa and sailed high above the plains of Argentina in a hot air balloon. As she drifted off to sleep she felt the sun on her face and the heat on her body and basked in her father’s love.
Chapter 15
Santiago, Chile
When Mariana told Ramon that she had spoken to Helena, he felt his stomach churn with guilt. He had only written once and he hadn’t telephoned, even though he could well afford the expense of the call. He knew he should have. The only explanation he could give was that he had been busy travelling. Too busy finishing his book. In reality he had deliberately lost himself in India. He had rented a shack on the beach and written his novel. He had tried to forget Helena and the children. He had tried to forget Estella. He had succeeded in the former because things didn’t feel very different. He was used to being alone on his travels so as far as that was concerned nothing much had changed. But Estella was a different matter altogether. He missed her all the time.
In spite of his apparent neglect his conscience was alerted to the misery he might be causing her. He had told her to wait and he had no doubt that she was waiting for him, dutifully, in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, floating through the house leaving the warm scent of roses as she went about her
chores. He didn’t want to telephone her or write to her, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t say what she wanted to hear, because he knew he could never commit to anyone ever again. He had hurt Helena and the children and he didn’t want to do the same to Estella. Perhaps he would return in the summer and make love to her again.
When he considered the possibility of Estella falling in love with someone else the jealousy rose in his stomach like an uncontrollable demon to take possession of his mind and torment him to the point where he nearly packed his few belongings and returned to Cachagua to claim her. But then his reasoning had assuaged him. She loved him and a woman in love was as faithful as a dog. So he spent unsatisfactory nights loving strangers, imagining they were Estella, no longer possessed by the demon but looking forward to returning in the summer to find her again.
When he returned to Chile at the end of August he went directly to Santiago where he moved into his new apartment in the barrio of Las Condes. But it didn’t feel like home. In fact, he longed for Viña and he longed for his family. He was bereft without them. Suddenly, after having spent months on his own in India, he was no longer comfortable with himself. He wasn’t used to a solitary existence in Chile and it just didn’t feel right. So he partially moved into his parents’ colonial house in Avenida el Bosque. His mother was delighted to see more of him and took over the domestic side of his life like an adoring wife. His father was less enthusiastic.
‘He’s got a wife, woman. He’s too old to need his mother,’ he growled one evening when he came home to find the sitting room carelessly cluttered with Ramon’s camera equipment, piles of prints and other belongings.
‘Nacho, mi amor, he’s going through a painful time. He’s lonely on his own,’ she protested, following him into his study.
‘Well, why doesn’t he ask Helena to come back? It’s very simple. But if you’re always there for him he won’t make the effort.’
‘He doesn’t know what he wants,’ she said, her voice dripping with pity.
‘He wants the bread and the cake, Mariana. I don’t know where we went wrong, but for some reason he is unable to commit to anything.’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘He didn’t want Helena to leave him, but he wasn’t prepared to change his ways for her or ask her to stay. He would have liked everything to tick on as always like a familiar although somewhat tiresome clock. I don’t
blame her for leaving him, though I suspect she had hoped she might force his hand.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mariana asked slowly, sitting down on the worn armchair that Ignacio used for reading in the evenings after dinner.
‘I think she hoped that by leaving him he might be forced to change in order to keep her. I hoped he might make the effort. But he’s an avoider. He let it happen and then disappeared for months to pretend it hadn’t. That’s why he’s come home to live with us, because he misses them now he’s back in Chile.’
‘I wouldn’t have believed you had I not had that strange call. I think Helena misses him too.’ She recalled Helena’s strained tone of voice and now recognized it as an unspoken cry for help.
‘I bet she does.’
‘Do you think she regrets leaving?’
‘The grass is always greener.’
‘Perhaps not as green as she had hoped.’
‘Perhaps not.’
‘We have to force him to question what he has done. Something’s got to jolt sense into him. He hasn’t quite grasped the seriousness of it all. He just can’t treat people in this way. Someone’s got to teach him the value of life.’
‘You’re right,’ she said, lowering her eyes. ‘What do you want me to do, Na-cho? Turn him away?’
‘That would be the best thing. He’s not going to miss his wife if you’re buzzing around him looking after him.’ He noticed the dejected expression in his wife’s grey eyes. He sighed and shook his head again. ‘I’m not going to insist that you do it. How can I? You’re his mother.’
‘I want what’s best for him,’ she said and pulled a thin smile.
‘Then tell him he can’t move back in with us.’
Mariana laughed bitterly. ‘Oh no, Nacho, I’m not going to tell him. It’s your idea so you tell him.’ She left the room.
Ramon arrived on time for dinner. Ignacio rolled his eyes at his wife as if silently to indicate his exasperation at his son’s ever-increasing presence in their house. Mariana pretended she hadn't noticed and poured Ramon a glass of whisky on the rocks. ‘There you are, Ramon, have you had a busy day?’ she asked kindly. But Ignacio spoke before Ramon had time to.
‘Have you decided what you’re going to do about Helena, son?’ Ignacio sank
into an easy chair opposite Ramon who managed to take up most of the sofa with his long legs and arms. Ramon sipped at his whisky as if playing for time. Ever since childhood he had been unable to avoid his father's questions and he still felt pathetically weak every time he answered them, like an obedient schoolboy.
‘I think my next trip will be to England, Papa,’ he said, trying not to give too much away.
‘When will you go?’ he persisted.
‘Oh I don’t know, perhaps in a couple of months,’ he replied vaguely.
‘A couple of months? Why can’t you go sooner?’
‘Ramon is very busy with his work,’ Mariana interrupted in her son’s defence.
‘I’m not asking you, woman,’ said Ignacio firmly. ‘Ramon is old enough to answer his own questions. For God’s sake, you’re forty years old.’
‘Forty-one,’ said Ramon and grinned at his mother.
‘Exactly. You’re a man. You should have settled down by
now, not be wandering the globe like a gypsy.’
Ramon wanted to tell his father to mind his own business, but then he
remembered that he was virtually living in their house so he had a right to know his plans. ‘I’d like to spend some time in Cachagua, start a few projects. The weather’s getting nicer now ...’
‘You can take the house,’ Ignacio said breezily. ‘It’s yours when you want it,’ he added, avoiding the confused expression that had alighted across Mariana’s face.
‘But there’s no one to look after him,’ Mariana protested, still frowning.
‘What about Estella?’ Ramon asked quickly. He then checked himself to avoid showing too much. He knew his father well enough to know that the slightest change in the tone of his voice would be noticed and analysed.
‘Oh poor, dear Estella,’ Mariana sighed, dropping her shoulders. ‘That dear child, she was such a sweet girl. No one looked after the house like she did. I don’t know what we’ll do without her.’ She looked at Ignacio accusingly. Ramon’s eyes darted from his mother to his father, aware that his heart had plummeted to his stomach, leaving only a throbbing anxiety in its place.
‘It had to be done, woman. She can’t look after us and a baby at the same time,’ he replied, shrugging off her accusations. ‘Ramon, she’s pregnant.’
‘Pregnant?’ Ramon repeated slowly.
‘Pregnant,’ said Mariana. ‘Poor child. You know that young man she was seeing last summer in Cachagua?’ Ramon nodded gravely. ‘Well, the fool got her pregnant then ran off.’
‘It happens all the time, Mariana,’ Ignacio argued wearily.
‘But I liked her. She didn’t deserve to be treated like that. She was a good girl, not one of those women of easy virtue that hang about the port in Valparaiso. She was too trusting. I’d wring that boy’s neck if I ever got the chance.’
‘So where is she now?’ Ramon asked, feeling sick in the stomach and dizzy in the head. He drained his glass and swallowed uncomfortably.
‘Ignacio sent her back to Zapallar,’ said Mariana in a clipped voice.
‘I said she could come back when she’s had the baby. Perhaps her mother can look after it during the day when she works,’ Ignacio said with forced patience.
‘I know, but she was so upset. You know, Ramon, she believed he’d come back. He told her he would and she believed him. I didn’t want to shatter her hopes so I just agreed with her. But as far as I know there’s no sign of him. Dios mio, the indignity of it all.’ She sighed again.
‘Did she tell you the man’s name?’ Ramon asked carefully.
‘No, she wouldn’t say. She was too ashamed, no doubt.’
‘Enough, woman, my head is spinning,’ Ignacio said with irritation. ‘Ramon can have the house. If he wants a maid he can look for one.’
‘Temporary, of course, Estella may come back and I’d like to leave the job open for her,’ Mariana repeated anxiously.
‘That’s fine by me,’ said Ignacio. ‘When do you want to go?’
‘Tomorrow morning,’ Ramon replied automatically. His mind was whirring like the internal machinations of a clock. ‘I’ll just go and wash my hands before dinner.’ When he looked at himself in the mirror he noticed his features had completely drained of colour leaving his complexion grey and sallow. He rubbed his cheeks with his fingers in order to encourage the blood to return, but it was useless, his shock showed all over his face.
‘Why are you giving him the house?’ Mariana asked her husband while Ramon was out of the room. ‘I thought you were going to tell him not to live with us any more.’
‘Because time alone at the summer house might just remind him of his wife and children. He may find his senses out there on the coast. I don’t know. I’m clutching at straws, woman, but maybe the sea and the sunshine will remind
him of the good times he shared with Helena, before it all went wrong.’
Mariana placed an affectionate hand on her husband’s arm and smiled at him reassuringly. ‘We suffer almost more than he does,’ she said, remembering Federica and Hal with sadness.
‘For sure we suffer more than him. That’s the trouble, he doesn’t suffer at all,’ said Ignacio. ‘Quiet now, I can hear him coming.’
When Ramon returned to the sitting room his parents were already standing up and moving slowly into the dining room. Mariana looked at him and smiled sympathetically. Ignacio was less tactful. ‘Are you all right, son, you look pale?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ Ramon replied flatly.
‘Look, I understand this has not been an easy time for you. I just think you’ve been avoiding the issue.’
‘I haven’t, Papa, I think about Helena and the children all the time,’ he lied.
Then why don’t you go and see them? What are you afraid of?’
‘I’m not afraid. Helena needs time on her own,’ he began.
‘For God’s sake, son, that’s the problem, she’s been on her own far too long,’ Ignacio interrupted edgily.
‘She needs time to settle into Polperro. The last thing she needs is me whipping her up again.’
Then write to the children, call them from time to time, be a father, Ramon. Don’t avoid your responsibility.’
‘I think of that dear little Federica and how much she loves you, mi amor. Your father is right. You mustn’t neglect them,’ Mariana said, touching her son’s forearm and patting it fondly.
When Ramon set off the next morning for Cachagua, Helena, Federica and Hal could not have been further from his mind. All he could think about was Estella. He had spent a tormented night fighting off the demons of guilt and remorse that had flown about his bed, pinching him and pulling him, making sleep an impossibility. He had fought them off by trying to focus on the new book he was going to write, but Estella had kept surfacing to the top of his mind like a rosebud in a pond that refused to sink.
At first he had tried to convince himself that the child wasn’t his, but that was useless wishful thinking. There was no mistaking that the child was his, it couldn’t have been anyone else’s, not only because of the timing which
confirmed the summer conception, but because he knew Estella. She wasn’t the type to sleep around. That in itself made him wince. He had seduced her and then abandoned her. That would have been bad enough, but he had abandoned her with child. Even he was repulsed by his own conduct. He had longed for morning, but every time he had looked at his clock it was always only a few minutes on from the previous time. He would have gone there and then had it not been for the curfew that prohibited anyone from leaving their houses between two and six a.m. Finally, when dawn had torn apart the night’s sky and the light had poured in, he had grabbed his bag, clambered into the car and set off. It was six in the morning.
It was only when he caught sight of himself in the rear mirror that he realized he hadn’t shaved or washed his face. He looked like a tramp with long knotted black hair, a dark shadow across his face and weary, bloodshot eyes. He would normally have stopped along the way, had a cup of coffee or a lemon soda, then he could have splashed his face with water and wet his hair, but he didn’t have time. He didn’t want to leave Estella alone for another minute. He pressed his foot on the accelerator pushing the limit as far as he could go without risking being caught by the police for speeding. When he arrived finally at
Zapallar he hurriedly parked the car and strode out into the bright morning sunshine.
He didn’t know where to look. He didn’t even know Estella’s last name to ask, and anyhow he didn’t want the entire village to know about it. He would surely be recognized by someone. He wandered up the beach hoping that perhaps she might be there, that perhaps he might pass her on her way to buy the bread or simply taking a stroll. But there was no sign of anyone. An early spring was beginning to inject the surrounding trees and bushes with a new vitality and the air was distinctly warmer. He half expected to smell her scent of roses and follow it until he found her. But that was the kind of romantic
notion he might have written into one of his novels, it wasn’t real life. After walking up and down the beach for a while he realized that he would simply have to ask someone. He’d have to describe her and risk the whole village knowing about it. There was no other way. He was desperate.
When he saw an old man sitting on a bench gazing out to sea he suppressed his embarrassment and approached him. ‘Good morning, Señor. I’m looking for a young woman called Estella. She’s heavily pregnant, long black hair, down to her waist, about so high,’ he said, indicating her height with his hand.
The man eyed him bleakly through tiny black eyes that watered and blinked at him dispassionately. He leant with brown leathery hands on a knobbly wooden stick and chewed on his gums for he had no teeth to grind. ‘She lives with her parents, must be about twenty or so. She used to work in Cachagua. She’s very beautiful,’ he continued, then sighed in disappointment. ‘You’d recognize this description if you knew her,’ he added, turning away. The man continued to chew without muttering a word. Then something prompted Ramon to add that she smelt of roses and suddenly life returned to the old man and he began to mumble something about her scent reminding him of his mother’s funeral.
‘They buried her in a grave full of rose petals,’ he said wistfully. ‘They said it would soothe her in the event of her waking up and not knowing where she was.’ He turned and cast his eyes over to where Ramon was standing hopefully in the shade of a eucalyptus tree. ‘Your Estella lives up the road, about half a kilometre, on the hill overlooking the sea. You’ll recognize the house because it’s yellow,’ he said, nodding to himself. ‘Whenever I go to the cemetery I can still smell them. One day I’ll go there and never come back.’
‘One day we’ll all go there and never come back,’ Ramon said to the old man’s astonishment. He didn’t think the young man was still there. He waited
Ramon walked up the hill with hasty strides. It was still early. A light mist smudged the edges where the sea joined the sky so that they merged into one shimmering blue horizon. As he looked about him for the yellow house he remembered those lazy days the summer before when he had loved Estella without distraction, without guilt, without remorse and without this terrible fear of entrapment.
The Butterfly Box Page 18
