The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY

Free The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY by Rajeev Roy

Book: The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY by Rajeev Roy Read Free Book Online
Authors: Rajeev Roy
Tags: Drama, Romance, Love Story
the Butcher residence was the best of the best.
    Butcher Garden’s front faced the south and while the ocean was a goodly three hundred yards away, the night was calm enough for Wolf to register the roar of the waves. The delightful sounds, together with the exquisite smells around him, and the chaste westerly breeze on his skin would have otherwise induced Wolf with such rapture that he would have lain down on the soft grass and instantly fallen into blissful slumber under the stars. But the ache in his chest had returned and gave him no peace. He now circled the house and moved northward, to the back garden. Here the sway of the roses was finally halted. Together with coconut palms, three adult Gulmohar trees (with crimson flowers—more flowers than leaves), two large beds of assorted cacti, and a juvenile Banyan, comprised the chief plant life here.
    The servant’s quarters were on the northwest corner of the property. Moving right, eastward, Wolf came to the tennis courts, three in all, and further on arrived at the swimming pool. It was Olympic size and its shallow end adjoined the back porch of the house. The now-gray water was comatose and for a second Wolf toyed with the idea of an impromptu swim. Perhaps that would mitigate the sting in his bosom. But finally he decided he just didn’t have the zip for it.
    He looked beyond the swimming pool, at the waterfall to the east, set in a thick man-made tropical forest.
    Water zigzagged down handpicked rocks and boulders, descending twenty five feet to a stream, which led to an amorphously shaped pond, fifty-five feet at the broadest point. The pond teemed with a range of tropical lilies: blue and purple day bloomers (which were now contentedly asleep), and pink and white night bloomers (which were in splendid blossom). Goldfish swam around the pond lazily, but ceaselessly, protected by invisible net a foot above the water. There would be no rest for them at all. On the pond bed were the water Iris. Over the last couple of years, doing practically nothing, Wolf had often turned to the garden for solace. He knew the Iris by name: ‘The Royal Princess’, with a hue that was a mix of white and bluish-purple; ‘White Lightening’, with large blooms and a touch of pale yellow in the center; ‘Louisiana Red’, which was one of Wolf’s favorites. Then there was the ‘Double Bubble’—another of his pets—striking golden in color, with unusual tiny brown markings. The markings gave the impression of embroidery stitches. Besides the Iris, there were the ‘Water Cannas’, with dazzling flowers and ornamental leaves. The sober underground lighting and the smooth, rhythmic sound of the flowing water made it all so marvelous. Wolf watched a frog leap out of the pond and bound away into the dark.
    With such beauty around him, he should have been a man in trance. He was anything but.
    He now came to the car-park on the northeast corner of the estate, big enough to accept a score of four-wheelers. Circling the house, he finally was back to the front. He checked his watch and it said eleven-thirty-five. Butcher Garden had gone to sleep. Only the security people at the main gate would be attentive. And of course Bruno, somewhere around.
    Call her, his heart suddenly cried out. Come on, pull out the handset and tap the numbers. Do it. One last time.
    But he just couldn’t anymore. By now, he was completely exhausted by the effort.
    He should’ve been shocked that he had fallen for someone without even meeting her. But then it was as he had told her in the letter. He had somehow connected with her at a very deep and true level, beyond the physical. Inexplicable Phenomenon. He realized that after the tragedy while he had Dad, and the rest of the family, he had needed someone he could get really intimate with. He yearned for a tight, prolonged hug—of a mashing of lips, of flesh against flesh. Perhaps it was this critical want, this vulnerability, that had made him fall in love

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