The Butterfly Box (8 page)

When Federica awoke she was disappointed to see the sea mist swirling dense and grey outside her window, obscuring the morning sunshine and silencing the birds. It was chilly and damp. Her mother always told her that the sea mist was sucked into the coast by the heat in Santiago. If it was really hot in the capital, Viña was misty. Federica hated the mist. It was depressing. Then she forgot all about the dreary skies and pulled her butterfly box onto her lap. She opened it, moved it about, ran her fingers over the stones, pleased that the light was still there causing the iridescent wings to shudder and tremble. That was how her mother found her, absorbed in Ramon’s magic world of make-believe, somewhere amongst the mountains of Peru.

Helena had barely slept at all. Or at least she felt she hadn’t slept. Her head was heavy and pressured. She had taken painkillers and hoped they’d be quick to take effect. She padded into Federica’s room in her dressing gown, followed by Hal who was already dressed and playing with his new train. When Federica saw her, pale faced and grey around the eyes, she noticed immediately and asked if she was all right.

‘I’m fine, thank you, sweetie,’ Helena replied, forcing a thin smile. But her eyes didn’t smile. They remained dull and expressionless. Federica frowned and closed the lid of the box.

‘You don’t look very well, Mama. Shall I make you breakfast? Where’s Papa?’ she asked, jumping off the bed.

‘Papa’s still asleep, so best not to wake him. Why don’t you put on your dressing gown and we can make breakfast together?’ she suggested, patting Hal on his shiny head as he passed her making train noises. Federica scrambled into her dressing gown and wondered whether her father would remember his promise to take her to the beach with Rasta. She hoped he’d wake up and not spend all morning in bed, as he was apt to do. She skipped lightly down the stairs, through the hall and into the kitchen. Hal sat on the floor running his engine over the terracotta tiles, under the table and chairs, talking to himself and still making the noises of a train.

Federica helped her mother lay up for breakfast in the dining room. When her father was at home they stopped eating in the kitchen, which was an English habit of Helena’s that she had never dropped, and ate like Chileans in the dining room. Lidia would arrive at ten to clean the house and cook the lunch.

Ramon rarely went into the kitchen. He had grown up with staff, unlike Helena, whose family kitchen had been the very heart of her home.

Ramon awoke to find himself alone in the strange bed. It took a moment for him to remember where he was and for the heavy feeling of his wife’s unhappiness to find him again. He cast his eyes to the window where the curtains danced with the cold breeze that came in off the Pacific bringing with it the damp sea mist. He didn’t want to get up. The atmosphere in the room was stiflingly oppressive. He wanted to cover his head with the sheets and imagine he was far away on the clouds, above the mist and the misery that hung dense upon the walls of the house like slime. He lay there with a sinking feeling in his chest, suppressing the impulse to get up, pack his bag and leave.

Then he heard the gentle footsteps of his daughter. The sinking feeling turned to one of guilt and he peeped out over the sheets.

‘Are you awake, Papa?’ she asked. He saw her expectant face advance, her large blue eyes blinking at him hopefully. She treaded softly so as not to wake him if he was still sleeping. She moved slowly like a shy deer uncertain whether the animal in the bed was friend or foe. Ramon pulled the sheet down so that she could see he wasn’t sleeping. Her face lit up and she smiled broadly. ‘I’ve made you breakfast, Papa,’ she said and her cheeks shone proudly. ‘Can we go down to the beach, even though it’s misty?’

‘We can go to the beach right now,’ he said, brightening up at the idea of getting out of the house. ‘We’ll take Rasta with us. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then we’ll head off to Cachagua.’

‘Mama says it’ll be sunny by the time we get to Cachagua,’ she said, jumping from one foot to the other impatiently.

While Ramon was in the bathroom Federica skipped around the room, opening the curtains and making the bed. She was used to looking after her mother, but looking after her father gave her more pleasure. It was a novelty. Ramon ate his breakfast for Federica’s sake. Hal had finished his and was playing quietly by himself in the nursery. His interest in his train far exceeded his interest in his father, whom he looked upon with suspicion because he sensed the strained atmosphere as all small children do. Helena sat at the table sipping a cup of black coffee. Ramon noticed her eyes were red and her face sapped of colour. He smiled at her politely, but she didn’t smile back until Federica bounced in with hot croissants. Only then did she sit up and make an effort to act as if everything were normal.

After breakfast Ramon once again took Federica by the hand and led her down the road to the beach, the other hand holding onto Rasta’s leash. Federica no longer cared whether it was sunny or misty. She was with her father, just the two of them. She felt special and cherished and she hugged the butterfly box tightly against her chest. They took off their shoes, Ramon’s large brown explorer’s feet made Federica’s small pink ones look even smaller and more vulnerable. Together they walked up the beach, letting the sea catch their toes and cover them with foam. Ramon told her stories of the places he’d visited and the people he’d met and Federica listened transfixed, begging for another one until they were on the road to Cachagua, driving through the mist up the coast.

As they left the town behind them the road ascended into the pastoral charm of the countryside. They passed small villages of brightly painted houses with crude corrugated tin roofs and glassless windows into dark interiors. Open fruit stalls spilled out into the road and mangy horses and carts ambled up the sandy tracks driven by weathered Chileans in ponchos. Skinny dogs sniffed the dry ground for something to eat and grubby-faced children played with sticks and faded cans of Coca-Cola, their large black eyes staring at the car with curiosity as it sped by. The road was dusty, with the odd precarious hole here and there. They stopped after a while for a break and a drink. The mist was beginning to lift and the sun push through. The shade of the slender acacia trees darkened as the light intensified behind them, fighting its way through the fog. Federica sat drinking a large glass of lemon soda while Ramon chewed on an
empanada.
The dark Chilean children sat in a huddle against the bleached wall of the shack, watching Federica and Flelena with wide eyes, whispering behind their hands, longing to creep up and touch their white angel hair to see what it was made of.

Flelena and Ramon each felt much better being out of the house, away from the place that represented nothing but unhappiness for Flelena and disappointment for Ramon. With the emergence of the sun they began to smile at each other and abandon themselves to the cheerful chatter of their children. The strain in Flelena’s eyes lifted and the colour returned to her cheeks. Ramon hoped that perhaps she might change her mind. A couple of weeks away would do her good.

Mariana and Ignacio took breakfast in the dining room as the sea mist made it too unpleasant to eat outside on the terrace. When Estella entered with the coffee and toast, in her clean blue uniform with her raven hair shining and loose down her back like a glossy pony, Mariana noticed there was something different about her and mentioned it to her husband.

‘Looks the same to me,’ he said, raising his eyes above his glasses to see her better. The same to me,’ he repeated, returning to the large puzzle he was busy putting together.

Mariana watched her pour the coffee. She definitely looked different. It wasn’t the hair, because she often let it down. It was something about her face. She was wearing more makeup. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes shone like wet pebbles. She smelt of soap and roses and her skin glowed due to the oil she had rubbed into it. Mariana smiled and wondered why she had made such an effort.

‘I think she’s got a “friend” in Cachagua,’ she said to Ignacio, who wasn’t remotely interested in the private life of his maid. ‘Yes, she must have a suitor, Nacho. Now I wonder who that could be?’ she said thoughtfully and rubbed her chin with her sensible brown fingers. Estella noticed Mariana watching her with a knowing look on her face and blushed. She smiled back nervously and turned away, fearful that Señora Mariana might guess the reason behind her blushes.

By midday the sky was a majestic blue, the last of the mist burnt off by the fierce heat of the December sun. Mariana sat in the shade on the terrace, listening for the sound of the car, quietly doing her embroidery while Ignacio wrote letters inside. She had been to check the bedrooms and bathrooms and came away very pleased with their new maid who had carried out her every command, forgetting nothing. She liked the fact that the girl had initiative. She went that little bit further without being asked. Mariana swept her soft grey eyes over the dark wooden terrace, at the pots of plants and tall palm trees that gave it respite from the sun and noticed they had all been watered. Now she hadn’t asked Estella to do that, she had taken it upon herself without waiting to be asked. That was initiative, she thought to herself contentedly.

As the car descended the sandy road into Cachagua, Federica rolled down the window and poked her head out. Cachagua was the most charming of seaside villages. A low wooden fence, partly obscured by rich green ferns and palms,

surrounded each thatched house. Sometimes the only visible proof that a house lay concealed behind such an abundance of nature was the tall water tower that rose up to catch the rain. It was an oasis of trees - palms, acacias and eucalyptus. Their sweet scents mingled with the salt of the ocean and the bushes of jasmine buzzed with the contentment of bees. The sandy track weaved its way through the
pueblo
down to the long golden beach and navy sea. Ignacio and Mariana’s house was the nicest house in the village. Obscured behind frothy trees it resembled a log cabin on stilts with a large terrace overhanging rocks at the water’s edge. Inside it was sparsely decorated with brightly woven rugs and deep crimson sofas. Mariana had always had beautiful taste and Ignacio hated clutter. He had been known to throw his hands impatiently across surfaces that he felt were too busy, knocking everything onto the floor. He had a violent temper, which only Mariana could assuage with her calm, soothing voice and gentle manner, always detecting it early by the sudden swelling of his ears.

As the car drove through the gates into the sandy driveway, Ramon beeped the horn. Mariana’s heart jumped in her chest, more out of surprise than delight, for she had drifted off and forgotten to listen out for their arrival. She called to her husband and, getting up slowly - age didn’t allow her to leap to her feet as she used to do as a young woman - she made her way through the house to greet them.

Estella’s hands were clammy with nerves. She leant back against the kitchen sink and smoothed down her pale blue uniform. She heard the excited voices of the children, the bubbling laughter of Señora Mariana as she hugged and kissed their eager faces, then the deep, gravelly voice of Don Ignacio. She strained her ears to find the voice of Ramon Campione but the low chatter of adult voices made his unrecognizable. She didn’t even know what he sounded like.

Federica skipped onto the terrace holding her box out for her grandmother to admire. Helena gently told her to be patient, Abuelita would have all the time in the world to look at it later, once she had had a chance to talk to Papa. Federica retreated obediently to the hammock, where she curled up like a dog and watched as her grandparents chatted to her parents. Hal sat on Helena’s knee with his train, which he rolled up and down the table. After a while Federica grew tired of waiting and opened the box to gaze into her secret world of

make-believe.

‘How long will you be staying?’ Ignacio asked bluntly, noticing the impatience in his son’s eyes. Ramon shrugged and glanced warily over at the hammock. Federica was no longer listening.

‘I don’t know,’ he replied.

‘You will stay for Christmas, won’t you?’ Mariana said. ‘Surely you weren’t going to leave again before Christmas?’ she added, appalled at the thought.

‘Of course not,’ Helena said and smiled tightly.

‘Then why don’t you stay here until New Year? I don’t know who’s coming yet, probably Felipe and Maria Lucia and Ricardo and Antonella. No one tells me anything, you just all turn up when you feel like it,’ she said, pretending to complain but smiling happily. Ramon looked at Helena, but their art of silent communication had been lost long ago with their intimacy.

‘We’d love to,’ Helena replied, thinking of the children and the extra week they would have with their father. They could return to England after New Year. A new year and a new start, she thought and sighed heavily. Mariana noticed the strain between them and her buoyancy subsided a little. She glanced at her husband who could feel her thoughts even without looking at her.

‘Good.' he said and nodded gravely.

At that moment, just when an uncomfortable silence was about to slip into their conversation, Estella appeared on the terrace with a tray of
pisco sour.
She kept her eyes focused on where she was walking for fear of stumbling and making a fool of herself. Ramon leapt to his feet to relieve her of it.

‘Careful, it’s heavy,’ he said, taking the tray.

She looked up at him from beneath her thick dark lashes and replied in a soft chocolate voice, ‘Thank you, Don Ramon.'