Tags:
Fiction,
General,
People & Places,
Horror,
Paranormal,
Juvenile Fiction,
Fantasy & Magic,
supernatural,
Canada,
Depressions,
Missing Children,
Depressions - 1929,
Saskatchewan,
Saskatchewan - History - 20th Century,
Canada - History - 20th Century,
Droughts,
Dust Bowl Era; 1931-1939
hands that blistered easily.
"If you rub off the scales, the wings become transparent as a fly's."
Abram gently raised his hand, and the butterfly floated up and skimmed above the students' heads. He laughed, and Mrs. Juskin giggled sharply. It was obvious she wanted to impress Abram.
"Butterflies live in every corner of the world," he went on to explain. Then he lifted the lid of the box again and two more butterflies joined their brother, one light green, the other red as fire. They fluttered in circles, playing near the ceiling. If they could laugh, Robert thought, they would be laughing now.
"Colonial Americans were convinced the butterflies were beautiful witches who changed to this shape to steal butter. The Blackfoot believed that butterflies brought dreams to sleeping people. And the medieval Europeans thought they carried souls." Abram spread his fingers and the butterflies landed gently in his palms. He lowered them into the box.
"An interesting trick, eh?" he said. "Taught to me by a Goajiro of Columbia, a native shaman." He showed the class his empty hand. "I put nectar in the palm of my glove and they smelled it with their antennae."
He removed the lid from the larger box now. A blue light glowed inside. He reached in, whispering and coaxing softly. Then he brought out a giant blue butterfly, holding it in both palms. Its wingspan was at least a foot. The wings opened and closed. Robert was sure he felt a slight breeze.
"I have to be very careful with Queen Alexandra's Birdwing, that's Ornithoptera alexandrae if you're keeping track of proper names. This is Kachina. She is from a distant place, maybe even another world where she ruled over the butterfly kingdom for a thousand years. She once whispered her name to me in the deepest heart of a New Guinea rain forest. It will echo there forever."
Kachina lifted her wings and slowly pushed herself into the air. The eyes of the students followed her smooth, graceful flight. Time seemed to slow down. She glided over the classroom, her wings wide, a trail of glittering blue dust drifting down from her onto all the children. She glowed so brightly that a picture of her burned in the back of Robert's mind. He thought he might never again see anything as beautiful. Tears welled in his eyes.
Then Kachina, the queen, landed gently on Abram's palms and was lowered into her box. Each child sighed sadly.
"Don't be too shy to ask me a question, any time. If you see me downtown, pull on my shirt and say, 'Hey, Mr. Harsich, why do butterflies have spots?' I'll answer, 'Because, they look like eyes and frighten birds.' Or maybe you'll ask why they don't make noise, and I'll say, 'Butterflies used to sing, but birds said it was unfair that they were beautiful and could sing, so the Creator silenced the butterflies.'"
Abram grinned, looking from child to child. "That last one is a myth. A story. A legend told from man to child for generations. But there might be truth in it somewhere. Please, never hesitate to ask me anything."
He packed up his boxes and strode toward the door. Mrs. Juskin jerked to life, clapping her hands. The students applauded. Robert joined in, unable to stop himself. Abram turned, bowed, and left.
At recess, the pupils stood outside, staring north past the elevators, toward the rainmill, unmoving. The warm wind teased their hair. Robert joined them, breathing slowly. No one spoke about what they had seen, and he was glad. He just wanted to stand there, dreaming on his feet. When recess was over Mrs. Juskin marched them all back into the school and had them work on addition and subtraction.
Later Robert rode home with the Vaganskis, their neighbors. The trip in the wagon was a blur, rocking him deeper into the trance. Susan Vaganski, who was three years younger, usually chattered all the way back—talking about her dogs, her kittens, or dresses in the Eaton's catalog—but today she remained silent, her eyes vacant. Once home, Robert mumbled
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