Read Online Sound of Butterflies, The by Rachael King - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rachael King
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there are many different species. One of them spins a thick web between two trees and catches small birds in it. I have never seen such a thing as a finch, quite dead, covered with some kind of venom, while another struggles to free itself. One wants to help, but we know that we can’t interfere with nature in this way; besides, who knows what state it would have been in had I freed it? I can’t help but feel ill when I see these spiders, and whenever I do it takes me longer than usual to get to sleep at night. I have taken to greasing my hammock strings with the same vegetable oil we use to deter the ants. I haven’t spoken of this (rather irrational, I know) fear, but I suspect the others feel the same, otherwise why have none of them caught any?
When Antonio arrived to give us Portuguese lessons this afternoon, we talked to him about our desire to move on. He has agreed that it is time, and that we are ready to meet our benefactor. We are to leave for Santarém next week, where we will at last meet our Mr Santos, who lives in Manaus, and then we will progress into little-charted depths. We would have met Mr Santos earlier, said Antonio, but he has been delayed upriver by some troublesome native rubber workers.
I sense that it is only a matter of time before my beautiful butterfly comes to me. I will hold it in my hands more gently than I would a lover. It will be my key to greatness; more importantly, it will belong to me.
Three
Richmond, May 1904
By the slant of the sun, Agatha judges that it is nearly eleven. She clutches her elbow with a gloved hand as she inhales the last of her cigarette, then tosses it into the scrubby part of the flower bed where it will never be found. Her other glove is in her pocket; she takes it out and bangs it on her dress to rid it of any tobacco smells, then returns it to her right hand.
She promised Sophie she would visit today, but the thought of running into Thomas again repels her. That first time she saw him, after his long absence, he seemed to slither along the walls. His newly rough features held a chilling vacancy. She wanted to steal Sophie away from the source of her pain.
No — she is being cruel. Her grandmother would have said that Thomas had been taken by spirits. Agatha has heard of it happening before — people moving around as if they live on this earth, while their ears and hearts are focused on another realm. And he did have about him the air of one who is not fully occupying the world. He stared off into the corner of the room, as if watching something there. But when she forgot herself for a moment and made a light joke, his eyes found hers and quickly looked away; he heard her, all right, but something prevented him from reacting to the world around him. Poor Sophie looked at that point as if she might cry.
Maybe she is not imagining his snake-like quality. Just as she told Sophie that the deer she encountered in the park would stay with her, perhaps Thomas met with a snake in the jungle. They probably crossed his path willy-nilly — there would have been no getting away from them. But no. Her grandmother led her to believe that animals are good spirits, not bad ones that would rob a man of his ability to speak and thereby devastate his wife. Unless he has done something to deserve it.
She shakes this thought off immediately. Not Thomas — he wouldn’t hurt a fly. She smiles. Because he does hurt flies, doesn’t he? And beetles. Even the butterflies he professes to love so much. The first thing he does when he catches them is pinch their little bodies until they die, or drop them in a jar with poison until they suffocate to death.
She sighs and closes her eyes to the strengthening sun. She has always liked Thomas, if just for the fact that he makes Sophie so happy. Despite his murderous tendencies towards insects — she isn’t naïve, she knows it’s all in the name of science — he has a light touch with his wife; when they are together his
When Antonio arrived to give us Portuguese lessons this afternoon, we talked to him about our desire to move on. He has agreed that it is time, and that we are ready to meet our benefactor. We are to leave for Santarém next week, where we will at last meet our Mr Santos, who lives in Manaus, and then we will progress into little-charted depths. We would have met Mr Santos earlier, said Antonio, but he has been delayed upriver by some troublesome native rubber workers.
I sense that it is only a matter of time before my beautiful butterfly comes to me. I will hold it in my hands more gently than I would a lover. It will be my key to greatness; more importantly, it will belong to me.
Three
Richmond, May 1904
By the slant of the sun, Agatha judges that it is nearly eleven. She clutches her elbow with a gloved hand as she inhales the last of her cigarette, then tosses it into the scrubby part of the flower bed where it will never be found. Her other glove is in her pocket; she takes it out and bangs it on her dress to rid it of any tobacco smells, then returns it to her right hand.
She promised Sophie she would visit today, but the thought of running into Thomas again repels her. That first time she saw him, after his long absence, he seemed to slither along the walls. His newly rough features held a chilling vacancy. She wanted to steal Sophie away from the source of her pain.
No — she is being cruel. Her grandmother would have said that Thomas had been taken by spirits. Agatha has heard of it happening before — people moving around as if they live on this earth, while their ears and hearts are focused on another realm. And he did have about him the air of one who is not fully occupying the world. He stared off into the corner of the room, as if watching something there. But when she forgot herself for a moment and made a light joke, his eyes found hers and quickly looked away; he heard her, all right, but something prevented him from reacting to the world around him. Poor Sophie looked at that point as if she might cry.
Maybe she is not imagining his snake-like quality. Just as she told Sophie that the deer she encountered in the park would stay with her, perhaps Thomas met with a snake in the jungle. They probably crossed his path willy-nilly — there would have been no getting away from them. But no. Her grandmother led her to believe that animals are good spirits, not bad ones that would rob a man of his ability to speak and thereby devastate his wife. Unless he has done something to deserve it.
She shakes this thought off immediately. Not Thomas — he wouldn’t hurt a fly. She smiles. Because he does hurt flies, doesn’t he? And beetles. Even the butterflies he professes to love so much. The first thing he does when he catches them is pinch their little bodies until they die, or drop them in a jar with poison until they suffocate to death.
She sighs and closes her eyes to the strengthening sun. She has always liked Thomas, if just for the fact that he makes Sophie so happy. Despite his murderous tendencies towards insects — she isn’t naïve, she knows it’s all in the name of science — he has a light touch with his wife; when they are together his
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