FOUR
Sol woke to the smell of frying. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, amazed that the butterfly house was not a dream. The butterfly zookeeper looked around and smiled. ‘Eggs or fruit?’
‘Eggs, please. Is that it?’
‘Is what it?’
‘The basin, your nanay’s basin!’
Ami looked down at the eggs. ‘Well remembered. You know, I never did get the garlic taste out of it.’
They took their breakfast outside and ate their faintly garlicky omelettes, watching the butterflies begin to take flight. The house was even more beautiful in the sunrise, the pale light making the red flowers brighter, the butterflies glowing like extra petals over them.
When she’d finished, Ami said, ‘We should get going. I can’t be late for my talk at the school. I just need to put on my work clothes.’
She disappeared inside and emerged a few minutes later in a man’s suit, complete with waistcoat and silver fob watch. Sol stared.
‘Like it?’ asked Ami, taking a bowler hat from a hook by the door and tilting it on her head. ‘I bought it in London. It’s made for London weather so I do get a bit warm in it, but I love the shock it gives people.’
Sol had never seen a woman in a suit before, but Ami did look marvellous.
Sol watched as she caught a drowsy blue butterfly in a glass dome with a wooden base. ‘Is that a killing jar? Like Mr Zamora had?’
‘I’ve repurposed it.’ Ami smiled. Beneath the base she placed another wooden dish, with a hollow in which a smouldering herb could be placed. ‘It’s a resting jar now. It’ll keep the butterfly calm. I need to take one to show at the school. This kind’s rare. It’d be better if they would come here, but you know city folk. They always think their time is more important than anyone else’s.’
Sol followed the besuited woman out of the butterfly house to a stable housing a single, squat mule. ‘This is Siddy,’ Ami said, patting the animal’s neck. ‘Because he’s forever trying to spirit me off on adventures.’
As Ami readied the mule and cart, Sol ran to collect her shoes. She climbed the hill, calves straining, but at the top she found only the basket coated in orange mush, a few fragments of leather and the buckles from her sandals. They’d been eaten beyond recognition. Scanning the ground around her, Sol saw a busy line of ants bearing away some orange peel. She should’ve known better than to leave food in the forest.
She arrived back at the house nearly in tears. ‘The ants . . .’
‘Ah,’ said Ami. ‘I should’ve seen that coming.’
‘What am I going to do? I can’t go back without shoes. Mistress only bought them a couple of months ago.’
‘Nonsense, you can have a pair of mine.’ Ami bustled inside and brought out a pair of soft brown leather shoes, worn soft and only slightly too big.
She hugged Sol, who was suddenly feeling very tired and tearful.
‘Don’t cry. This is my fault, keeping you awake so late with that silly story when all you needed was a good night’s sl—’
‘It wasn’t silly!’ said Sol indignantly. ‘I’m glad you told me. I’m glad I met you, even though my sandals got eaten.’
‘I’m glad I met you, too.’ Ami released her gently. ‘I’ve had a thought.’
‘What kind of thought?’
‘A good one.’ Ami’s eyes twinkled. ‘But I can’t tell you it just yet.’
‘Why not?’
Ami tapped the side of her nose. Sol looked at her, confused. Ami repeated the gesture and said, ‘That means it’s a secret, but all will be revealed.’ Sol copied her and Ami laughed. ‘Exactly. We really do need to leave, though. Especially as I need to talk to your mistress first.’
They climbed into the cart, and Sol twisted around in her seat so she could watch the house fade from view through the trees. As soon as it was gone she might have felt that it had never existed at all, but for the crate of replacement oranges at her feet, the suit-clad woman beside her and the jewel-bright butterfly on her lap.
The road they took through the forest was so winding Sol was sure she’d never have found it on her own. Being in the butterfly house was like going back in time, and now, as the forest thinned and their road joined a paved, busy thoroughfare, it was as if the clock had been wound forward at double speed.
By the time they reached Manila, the streets were already packed. Some people turned to stare at Ami in her suit and bowler, but the woman only smiled and doffed the hat at them. Sol supposed she was used to people staring. She began to direct Ami through the twisting streets to her mistress’ house.
‘This is it.’ Sol indicated where to stop the cart. Ami looked up at the gleaming sign.
HOPE CHILDREN’S HOME
20 THE AVENUE
MANILA
PROPRIETORS: Mr & Miss Rey
‘I need to go around the back,’ continued Sol, ‘so Cook doesn’t see me. I’ll be in trouble.’
Ami clucked her tongue. ‘Ridiculous. You shall come in the front with me.’
She tucked the glass dome under one arm, and took Sol’s hand in hers. ‘Ring the doorbell, please.’
Sol, emboldened by Ami’s confidence, did so.
Cook opened the door with a wooden spoon in her hand, looking harried. The sound of a baby crying rose towards them. Her face froze in a caricature of shock as she took in the woman’s bowler hat, the butterfly, and Sol at her side, dusty and grinning.
‘Hello, there,’ said Ami jovially. ‘I’m Amihan, living lepidopterist and butterfly zookeeper.’ She squeezed Sol’s hand at this. ‘Sol found my house last night. She got lost on the way back from the orange farm, I believe. And if you don’t mind me saying so, it’s a bit careless of you to allow her to make such a journey alone.’
‘I . . .’ Cook’s eyes flicked from Sol to Ami to her bowler hat.
‘In fact, I should rather like to speak to you about Sol’s future. She’s a bright young girl, and I believe she has all the makings of a butterfly zookeeper.’
‘I . . .’
‘Please, let me finish. I should very much like to discuss the possibility of apprenticing her.’
‘I . . .’ Cook was braced against the door frame, her wooden spoon held up against the barrage of Ami’s words, dripping gravy.
Hot sparks somersaulted inside Sol’s stomach. ‘You can’t mean—’
Ami looked down at her with her warm brown eyes. ‘I very much do mean.’ She turned her attention back to Cook. ‘Well?’
Sol could barely speak through her grin. ‘That’s Cook.’
‘Oh, I apologize, I thought you were the mistress,’ said Ami, bowing deeply. Cook giggled, wiping her hands down her grease-stained apron. ‘Could I have a word with her before I go to my talk?’
‘Of course,’ said Cook, seeming to remember herself. ‘Come in, please.’
Ami dropped her hand as they stepped inside and instantly Sol felt a little less brave.
‘I’ll just go and fetch her. Sol, can you—’
‘Sol stays here,’ said Ami, an edge of sharpness in her voice.
Cook gestured for them to follow her into the front sitting room. ‘Wait here.’
Sol felt especially grubby in the pristine room, which Mistress kept for entertaining rich women who came to coo and donate money to their cause. Ami settled in a carved wooden armchair with silk cushions, crossing her legs like a man and looking as comfortable as if she lived there, not in a wild house covered in wings. After a few moments Cook returned alone.
‘She won’t come,’ she said apologetically. ‘She’s busy with the baby. Got left on the doorstep two nights ago, poor thing, and won’t stop fretting.’
‘Then I shall have to go to her,’ said Ami, up on her feet and striding past Cook before she could react. Sol scuttled after her, Cook just behind, as they followed the baby’s cries down the hall. Ami stopped outside the day-nursery door and raised her hand to knock, but froze. Her dark face paled.
‘What is it?’ whispered Cook to Sol, but Sol shook her head.
Ami lifted a finger to her lips. It seemed as if she were holding her breath. Beneath the baby’s sobs the mistress’ voice was just audible, singing low and soft.
‘Listen!’ Ami hissed. Sol listened. It was Spanish, and she didn’t understand the words. Then Ami started singing along in Tagalog.
Find me a boat and we’ll float to the sea, Come, little one,
come, there is so much to be.
The world is so big and there’s so much to see,
Come, little one, come and go floating with me.
The crying inside dipped and the singing stopped.
‘Who’s there?’ asked a voice sharply.
There were brisk footsteps and as the door opened Sol stumbled instinctively backwards.
The master stood in the doorway. At the sight of Ami his face drained of colour. They looked at each other, and around them formed a silence so complete and so deep Sol felt she could fall into it.
‘Well?’ said the mistress’ voice. ‘Who is it, Kidlat?’
A string yanked at Sol’s insides. She had never heard Mr Rey’s first name, and until this moment had never cared. But now it all revealed itself, sure and bright as daylight.
Mr Rey shrank back into the room, and a moment later the mistress appeared in the doorway, the quietening baby on her hip, light hair dishevelled. From behind Ami, Sol saw her pale eyes widen as her expression shifted into disbelief. She held a gloved hand up to her mouth.
The two women looked at each other, the clock ticking into the stilled moment. Then, Mistress gently passed the baby to Mr Rey, who took her, cooing softly. Finally, Ami slid the mistress’ glove off her hand, and Sol saw that it was small and nubbed.
‘Hello, Mari,’ said the butterfly zookeeper.
Sol saw what would follow, with the shining clearness of a sky after rain: the life Mari had talked about one night on Culion Island, all those years ago. Somewhere with trees, and flowers, and fruit and a river. A house with Ami, in the heart of a forest, its walls alive and blazing with butterflies.