Songs of Butterflies

As the car turned the corner into our private road I saw it; despite my bloodshot and teary eyes I could not miss the sudden glass construction touching the sky at the top of our hill. I had left the house only 4 hours ago and, after living on this hill for almost 47 years, I was pretty sure that thing was not there when I left for my husband’s funeral this morning. Or any morning for that matter.

I leaned towards the car window as if in doing so the structure would explain itself, happy I had a driver. I am not sure my hands would be steady enough to hold the wheel and bring me home. A last, typical attention of my beloved Gerald.

The heavy steel gates promptly opened as the driver pressed the remote and, as soon as he drove through them and passed a few trees, I was able to see people running around the structure like little busy ants; they were bringing big leafed and colorful plants inside what I now guessed was some sort of greenhouse. A stunning one.

The car drove right to it instead of parking at the usual spot in front of the house, he must have been instructed to do so because I was in no shape to emit a breath. The pain, the shock and now the surprise had taken every ounce will out of me. I was breathless.

— Sir. — Said a man as soon as I set foot out of the car. — Sir, I apologize for what must be a surprise for you, but I need to let you know all you see was done following strict instructions by Mr. Gerald, sir. —

He must have been in the military, no one had addressed me that way in a decades. I stared at him, then moved my eyes over to the glass structure. It is a greenhouse. The most breathtaking greenhouse from what I see from here.

— How — I stutter, — did you do… this? — I finally say, using my hand to indicate, well all of it, including some beautiful Asclepias curassavica, also called blood flower I saw someone bringing inside, as fast as if chased by a tiger. — I mean, when… —

The man lifts his hand, asking me to give him a moment, and runs to his nearby truck to get something. He comes back holding a brown, old cardboard box in his hand, one I was very familiar with, making this whole situation even more surreal; if at all possible.

— Sir, — He said again handing me the box. — Sir, — another pause — I was instructed to give you this; — His words whispering but not his posture as his chin indicates what I am now unwillingly holding in my hands. — Mr. Gerald asked me to only give you this and to tell you to please forgive him. And to please, his words Sir, open the box inside the Butterfly House. —

At his words my heart missed a beat, and the next one too. I raise my head to look at the greenhouse and notice the double doors, and the nets under the roof, allowing the windows to be open yet not butterflies to fly away. And then I think, or imagine for what I know, I saw one, looking like a giant iridescent blue morphoes, how the hell did it get here? — What the hell is going on here? — 

— I am so sorry Sir, — The man says as I realize I spoke the last sentence out loud. — I understand your surprise and confusion, but I received very precise instructions. — He paused a moment and then added: — We are bringing in the very last plants and then we’ll leave you alone for today. We still have to finish some fountains and to plant some of the vases into their definitive spot but I will let you call me to arrange that part. The structure is in working order so there is no real pressure for the next part, Sir. —

That said, he nods his head and runs towards the few men left and, after a short chit-chat, they all reach for their trucks and leave. The man in charge comes back to me, same spot I have inhabited since stepping out of the car, afraid to move a muscle. — It’s all done, Sir. — He reassures me once more. — We are leaving now, my contact information is in the greenhouse with all information you might need, don’t hesitate to call me for anything. I am at your full service, Sir. —

I think expected a salute after his last words, but he only gave me a squeezed smile, turned around and jumped in his car to follow the rest of the crew.

I just stood there. I could not really move. I forgot how to. Until I did. The weight of the old box brought me back into my body and it was asking to be sat down. So I took a deep breath and took the few steps separating me from the entrance of that weird, surreal new thing standing in front of me. In our front yard. My front yard, now.

I pulled the first door open, then I pushed the screen to get into the second door. I was in, and once again tears were flowing down my cheeks, this time out of wonder, disbelief, and bewilderment. I knew what this was, I knew he had made this for me. This was my Castle. My life-long dream.

He finally made it true.

I sat on a bench, in front of an almost ethereal pond, too overwhelmed to look at its details and too curious to think of anything but the box I was holding. I opened the cardboard lid and found exactly what I thought I would. His little black book. Except, there were two in there. The one I have known for almost 47 years, and a brand-new one, a Moleskine. The only notebook he would write on since our trip to Italy in ’98, strictly black even after they came up with colored ones; one of his many, weird, writer’s obsessions, like only using black ink fountain pens.

I was curious to open the old, small black book, I had been curious about it since we met, but I felt I had to open the Moleskine first. I wanted to read his voice once more. I held it in my hands, caressed it for a moment, delaying the discovery, letting my imagination feel into him one more time, as if he was alive, then opened it and started reading.

“Dear Adam,

I know! I am sorry; I did not plan to die and leave you alone. I promised to live with you forever yet this came and took me away from my promise. From you. I am so sorry.

I spent the last few months thinking of how to stay close to you when I was gone and found the answer in your words, and the words of my first love, William. Yes, the one I never talked about. This is the notebook he gave me when he died, also taken by an illness he lost his battle with.

It’s time for you to know about my shadows, and maybe, it’s not too late for me to be forgiven.

You know my parents were both dead but what I never told you was how my dad beat my mom to death and left me for dead too. He found out I was gay; someone had seen me and William kiss.

He was arrested and executed a few months later, leaving me orphaned and guilty to the bones. He claimed I was my mother’s fault, a guilt for which she and I deserved to die.

William stayed at my side, every day and every moment we could, safely, be together. That is when he started writing this old black book with positive attributes describing me. He said to me one day  — I heard that for every insult one receives one needs 10 compliments. I will fill this book for you so when you feel down you will have something to remind yourself of how wonderful you are. —

Then he fell sick; he was offered a trial cure but it would cost him $20.000 dollars he said he did not have. Yet he did. When he passed he had this cardboard box delivered to me, it contained his book, a letter, and $20.000 dollars. He told me I had to use them to buy a house and write until I wrote away all of my demons. He loved my writings too.

I kept it all, untouched. I did as he asked and wrote my demons off until I made it to the Pulitzer. I worked all days and wrote all nights until finally, exhausted, I got my first contract, my first house and you, my eternal love. You were there for all of it. You saw my journey yet I did not make you part of it.

I was too scared to say in words events I did not dare to feel. Writing was my cure and I never felt another human could enter the space of my fears.

I am so sorry.

You have been my anchor, my dreams come true, my patient lover always at my side in ways I did not even dare believe possible.

But maybe now, as I lie here with only a few weeks to go, maybe now I have came up with a small way to help you though my death. I will finally use those $20.000. Another life given for a dream. The one you wanted all your life, your secret world of tropical paradise one step away from home.

Money was never a problem yet we never built your dream, too busy following my own dreams. No more of that my lovely Adam. I am gone and it is time for you to catch up with your life! William agrees and thanks you too for all you did for me. I have no words left, so I hope plants, flowers and your most beloved butterflies will make up for my lack of presence, in every painful sense.

And yes, I have arranged everything for it to be build in one day. I had to send you away a few times to have them come and make preparations without you noticing. I NEEDED it to be here, waiting for you, the day I was really gone.

I hope to come back as one of your Rhopalocera exotica, fly around your nose and say hi when you sit down to read in your new little paradise. Say hello if I do so, will you? That way I will know you are not angry with me. Or not too much?

So this is it, I guess. I’d rather let your Castle speak on my behalf, I have never been a master of words when it came to you; too deep my feelings to ruin them with form.

I love you Adam. I always have. You were the best man I ever knew. Thank you for every second you spent with me.

Yours forever in heart,

your husband,

Gerald.”

I try to breathe but only tears flow in my nose, I have to use my mouth. My chest hurting so deep I’m sure there’s broken ribs. Or my heart. Or both. I am happy. I am sad. I am within the world of life and death at once. I need to sit some more. I need to feel. I need my heart to keep on beating. Breathe. Smile; cry some more.

The Angel's Trumpet scent inebriating me, the wings of butterflies singing me a song of love as one, just one, a Rhopalocera exotica flies right under my nose.

A tickle, a song, and then she’s gone.