The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY (16 page)

And why you of all people, why no one else? I simply have no idea whatsoever.
Some things just happen...some things are just meant to be. You meet someone for the first time ever, and five minutes on not only do you feel you’ve known them all your life but that they are your veritable soul-mate.
How do you explain that?
…
It is as if some superpower, some superforce of Nature, beyond human understanding, is quietly at work, conspiring to bring us together...for whatever reason
. ...
And
we are mere instruments, puppets, in the hands of that superpower
.

At that moment, Wolf had no idea whatsoever how right he was in his assumptions.

“Love you too,” she replied and kissed his shoulder.

“I have a face too, you know,” he protested.

“I know. But we don’t want to tempt our little virgin boy too much, do we?”

His face hardened and he glared at her.

“Just kidding,” she quickly said, putting her hands up.

“How about a swim?” he asked.

“I don’t have my costume right now.”

“You have your birthday suit,” he reminded her.

It was her turn to glare.

.

H
is cell rang just past eleven pm.

It was Savannah.

“Not asleep, I hope,” she said.

“Not quite, but about to crash.”

“Good. ... About Robin...”

Automatically, he pressed the handset harder to his ear.

“Yes,” he said, barely breathing.

“I’ve been thinking.”

He waited.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What!”

“It’s one thing having her over at weekends. But adopting her...”

Wolf’s throat had gone dry.

“Wolf?”

“Yes. ... Don’t you like children, Savannah?” he managed to blurt. “I mean
really
like them?”

“What sort of a question is that?” Her voice had gone cold.

“I mean...I thought you liked Robin.”

“I do. But it is wholly different when it comes to adopting someone.”

There was a long pause. Then Wolf said, “I think this is too important to discuss over the phone. Let’s talk tomorrow. My place.”

“No, it has to be now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want it hanging over us anymore.”

“Okay, come over then,” he said, not liking this one bit.

“You well know my car’s in the garage and I don’t feel up to a cab at this time of the night.”

“I’ll come over then,” he said, almost desperately.

“Alright.”

.

H
e was there in twenty minutes, tearing down the streets, unmindful of anything, his heart knocking with odd little jerks.

“I don’t understand,” he burbled, sitting before her on the settee, leaning forward.

“Why should we adopt when we can have kids of our own?” she said, looking steadily at him.

“Robin
is
my kid!” he cried.

She shrugged and looked away.

Wolf thought he was looking at someone else, not the Savannah Burns he knew, had known over the Net. Her face, like her tone, was a remote block of ice. This Savannah Burns scared him.

“Robin is my daughter…I love her more than anything else,” he said. “Moreover, she’s the one person who’s given me a reason to live again. I owe her my life.”

She turned back to him. “I understand that Wolf. Yet, this cannot be your decision alone. There’s someone else involved too, and honestly, I’m not at all comfortable with the idea. It’s pointless to pretend, for if I did, I would be miserable after we wed.”

Wolf bit his lip. He looked down and studied the back of his hands. A deep sinking feeling had formed in the core of his stomach. When at length he looked up, there was a pleading look in his eyes.

“So what do we do now?” he asked feebly, the desperation rife on his face.

“I don’t ask much of life, Wolf. I’ve had a rough twenty-nine years, with no family of any sort, nothing I can really call my own. I want to correct that now. I want to take charge of my destiny. All I’m asking is something very basic—a man of my own, a home of my own, and children of my own. Some fulfillment, some real happiness for a change. If that’s being selfish, then I am. Then perhaps I am not the woman for you.”

He stared at her, speechless. Then a thought occurred to him.

“Tell me, Savannah, is it because Robin reminds you of your past?”

Her face flushed. Then her eyes flashed. The voice turned chillier.

“Please don’t try to interpret me, Wolf. The truth is you know nothing about me...not really.”

“Yes, I realize that.” Suddenly he was seized by anger. “Or is it that you don’t want Robin because she is handicapped?” He got to his feet. “I guess I made a mistake. Goodbye, Savannah Burns.”

And he turned around and rushed out.

.

H
e reached the St. Teresa Children’s Home in eight minutes. He badly needed her—his little baby. He couldn’t breathe.

He slowed on the 12th Lane, the narrow road across from the Home gates, then parked against the kerb at the mouth of the lane. He looked through the windshield at the third floor window of the girl’s hostel. She would be sound asleep, he thought. Dreaming beautiful dreams. It had been the best day of her life, she had said. And now suddenly... With what face was he going to tell her? And what would he tell her at all? That she had been rejected by the woman she wanted to call Mom? That she wasn’t wanted anymore? Wolf shivered.

The dull ache in his chest suffocated him. His needs were pressing, but by waking her up he would be shattering her dreams sooner and she wouldn’t be able to sleep another wink all night. He watched the street lights, watched assorted bugs making sweltering love to them. He looked up at her window again. Then he slumped in his seat, suddenly drained,

It would be selfish to wake her up now. And yet, he couldn’t bear to leave and go home. The day had been so magical; going back to a completely different scenario would make it impossible to stand.

He remained that way, staring at the windows of the third floor, longing for his baby, yearning for one glimpse of her that would somehow comfort him.

When at last he straightened in his seat hours later, the bugs had stopped their business and packed up for the night. He turned the ignition, ground gear and pushed gas. But he forgot to switch the headlamps on. And he began to ramble around the city, quite aimlessly, through various streets and lanes, desperately seeking an escape from the agony within him.

When finally he returned home, dawn was breaking on the horizon. On reaching his room, he automatically reached out for the sleeping pills and the beer.

***

What
hurt most was that there was truth in what he had said.

Yes, Savannah was concerned that she would be involved with a child that was incapacitated—a child that was not her own. But most of all, it bothered her that Robin was an abandoned child raised in a Home...so much like she was. It vividly reminded her of a past she so desperately wanted to forget.

.

H
ers had been a life completely contrary to that of Wolf Butcher. So opposite in fact, it stunned Savannah to think she and Wolf had ever come together at all. Or maybe it was just that: they were so incongruous they simply had to happen. Perhaps it was the pervert thrill of the disparate that had attracted them to each other.

She had been christened Ann by the Jacksonville Home for Girls, Florida, and no last name was yet tagged to her. Not that she had ever asked, but her file said that she had been found abandoned one summer night outside the Home gates.

It was a quiet, loveless existence, but she had friends. Her best friends though were Mary and Rose (they kept the names short and basic), who were her age and with whom she had grown up. They were sent to the Blue Spring Elementary School, two lanes from the orphanage. The matron who looked after their dormitory was a plump fifty-two year old spinster called Mother Parker (the rules necessitated calling all house matrons ‘Mother’). She was an inch under five feet, had rose cheeks, and tiny beads for eyes. Despite her ample bulk, she was surprisingly sprightly in everything she did—when she walked her huge hips swayed from side to side like some frisky elephant’s, her arms swinging away like some boxer in anticipation. She smiled often, revealing small white perfect teeth, that belied a pungent breath—a result of a perennially bad stomach.

Mother Parker was a conscientious lady, who personally bathed the seventeen girls under her charge. But she had her favorites, six in all, and these received her best attention, one-on-one. The three best friends—Ann, Rose and Mary were among the privileged ones. She would do everything for them: from undressing them, to soaping them, to wiping them and dressing them up. Mother Parker ensured that every part of their little body was painstakingly scrubbed, especially the genitalia.

“You do dirty things there all day. It is very important you wash it thoroughly,” she would say, then add profoundly, “Although the truth is you can never wash enough.”

So it wasn’t any surprise if a favored girl was called again at bedtime for one last wash. As it happened, Ann, the prettiest of all the girls at the Home, was the princess among the special girls, and was bestowed the honor of being cleansed every time she took a leak.

Sometimes, Mother Parker got frantic and the rubbing would become abrasive, the soap would get into places it wasn’t supposed to go and it would sting. If the girl screamed or cried, her buttocks would bear the brunt of Mother Parker’s fleshy palm.

Ann, Rose and Mary took it till they were thirteen, then could take no more and one Friday morning they went to school and never returned. Prior to that, Rose had cleaned up Mother Parker’s wallet during the mandatory dusting and mopping of the matron’s small room. It had totaled two-hundred-sixty-seven dollars, enough to buy them one-way tickets on what turned out to be a long bus south to Miami. It was a random call—whatever took them away, far away, from Mother Parker and the Home.

They reached Miami that evening. There was enough money to stay at a low-end lodge. The place was called Riverside Inn. Although brows were raised at such young girls traveling on their own, the inn-keeper said nothing. As long as she got paid.

The next morning, the three friends loafed around the city, taking in the sights, familiarizing themselves with their new home. They ate just once—they had to be clever with the remaining dough. The day after, they went looking for jobs. Together—for they felt safe in numbers. They visited shopping establishments, restaurants, offices, homes that looked affluent (“Do you need a housemaid, ma’am?”), even pubs and night joints.

But they only raised curious looks. Once, someone called the police to report three astray underage girls up to no good, and they had to flee hurriedly, just about evading a patrol car.

More careful now, they continued to search. Even if one of them could get something, it would somehow sustain them. Now they kept to the poorer districts, where they were less likely to rouse much interest. Finally, they spanned out, each on their own. Evenings they would return to the Riverside Inn and compare notes.

But there was nothing really to compare. They had no luck.

Then one fine day the money ran out.

“I want you shitty tramps out of here in an hour,” the inn-keeper, Dorrie, barked.

The girls begged and beseeched. To no avail. Then in the gloom of despair they had a brainstorm. Actually, Ann did.

“Why don’t you hire us, ma’am? We would come much cheaper than any other hand you’d ever have,” she suggested to the inn-keeper.

The lady’s eyes narrowed and a cunning gleam came into them. She said she would need to think about it.

An hour later she was back. All three girls could stay and they’d have to take care of the entire inn, a twenty-two room affair, plus the kitchen and the hall and the yard. In return, they would be given shelter and two meals a day. “But no shitty money.” The girls looked at each other. Well, at least they had an extended lease on life. The ‘shelter’ turned out to be the small tin shed in the compound that was used as a dump room.

And so life went on for the girls. A year passed. Clandestinely they were trying for new work—work that paid in currency. The deprived existence was starting to get to them. Their bodies were growing fast—two derisory meals a day (mostly leftovers) wasn’t enough. And there were other needs—for new clothes, sanitary napkins, a better dwelling...

But fate had willed otherwise.

One late evening, Rose, the largest of the three girls, with a pointed nose and a big chest, was angrily summoned by Dorrie. When all the three girls responded, as was their wont, Ann and Mary were abused away.

“Mind your own shitty business, you sluts! This is for this creep,” Dorrie shouted at them, then turned to Rose, her eyes blazing. “You can’t do one shitty thing right, can you now? Look at the fucking mess you’ve made.” And she took Rose by the hand and dragged her to one of the rooms. After waiting a minute, Ann and Mary reluctantly returned to their shed.