Butterfly Island

by Corina Bomann

  Not only was she hoping for information about the palm leaf, but she also found herself really looking forward to seeing Jonathan Singh again.

  Going over their conversation in her head the previous night, she had thought that he was a very engaging man with a great sense of humour. And she recalled his eyes, which she found beautiful. Absurdly, she tried to imagine how those eyes would view a variety of situations.

  Back at the hotel, after a shower and a few moments of relaxation, she was standing at a loss in front of her mirror, thoroughly convinced that she had not brought enough clothes. She wanted to make the best possible impression on Mr. Singh—even if he was probably only interested in her palm leaf.

  She finally went for a knee-length, flowing white skirt, with floral embroidery around the hem, and a short-sleeved black blouse.

  She had found out from Mr. Suma that T-shirts were tolerated, but only really considered appropriate clothing for children. As they were going to be leaving the hotel, she had no intention of attracting the wrong kind of attention with a sloppy choice of clothes.

  After dabbing on a subtle perfume and stowing the photos of the leaf and a notebook into her bag, she went down to the lobby, where a group of tourists had just arrived. She craned her neck, but couldn’t see Jonathan. Her eyes wandered to the clock above the reception desk. Five to eight. He probably likes to arrive on the dot. Or he could be a little late, which would be no surprise given his profession.

  Realising she was attracting a few male glances from the tourist party, she went over to the seats, which, like many other features, were in the late-Victorian colonial style. She was no more able to shut out the murmur of voices than to keep her nerves under control.

  What was she expecting from this evening?

  “Diana?”

  Diana looked up in surprise. Jonathan Singh had appeared by her as if he’d suddenly sprung up from the ground.

  “Oh, hello!” she replied a little embarrassed, rising and offering her hand for him to shake. “It’s lovely to see you.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

  “Only a few minutes.” Diana laughed self-consciously. “You must know all about German punctuality.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she wanted to slap herself. It was bad enough that the old cliché was still doing the rounds. But Jonathan merely grinned.

  “How do you fancy going to Pettah? You’ll soon see that the city’s fairly quiet at night, but the huge bazaar in Pettah comes to life in the evening.”

  “That sounds excellent.”

  They left the hotel and walked through the city.

  The traffic on the streets had got a little quieter. There were also fewer pedestrians at large, so she had a better view of the streets, where fruit lay rotting and small dogs snuffled about in search of food. A few of the numerous potholes were so deep that she was amazed they didn’t cause major accidents. But everything seemed somehow more friendly than a quiet German street, where houses looked down with empty eyes on the impeccably maintained asphalt.

  “How did the meeting with your publisher go?” Diana asked once they had left the hotel.

  “Better than I expected. He’s very interested, and is hoping for a good response—abroad, too. I think that’s probably even more important since, apart from tea, tourism is a major source of income for our country. Many people were concerned after the attack at the airport.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “There are no longer warnings against travel, but tourists are still being told to take care. I’m sure that must have been the case with you, too?”

  “Yes, but I only skimmed through the leaflets. I’d rather make my own mind up and assess the risks for myself.”

  “Many people don’t think like that. I’d like to help tourists to understand the situation and the risks for themselves.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be grateful to you. As will the whole country.”

  Jonathan shrugged modestly. “We’ll see.”

  After a while they reached Colombo’s seafront promenade, which Jonathan called Galle Face Green. Lemonade stands sprouted like mushrooms after a shower of rain. The view of the sea and sky, separated by a strip of gold, was amazing.

  “This isn’t a bazaar,” Diana said with a smile.

  “No, but it’s one of the most beautiful views the city has to offer. If you come here in the morning, after it’s been raining, you see people appearing out of the mist like fairy-tale characters.”

  They walked on until they finally turned into a street along which oil lamps flickered in the light autumn breeze. A street grill was filling the air with a heavenly aroma underlain with wood smoke.

  After a while they reached a large covered hall that was teeming with life.

  “Is this the bazaar?”

  “It certainly is, or part of it,” Jonathan said. “This is the fabric market. If you want to have a genuine sari cut to length, this is the place to come. It’s well worth it.”

  Diana could believe it, as the stalls were piled high with brightly coloured fabrics. Maybe she would buy something here—after she had solved the mystery of her family.

  Jonathan led her past intoxicating spice stalls and jewellers, until they finally found a small restaurant where there wasn’t a tourist to be seen.

  “This is the ultimate in insider tips,” Jonathan said as they waited in front of the small counter to be shown to a table. “For now, at least. The owners of the tea houses and restaurants change all the time, so it’s not out of the question that this restaurant might be gone in a couple of years or so.”

  “I can’t imagine that, given the number of customers.”

  “The restaurants are subject to a unique set of laws. The in place of the moment could go down only a few months later. We should make the most of what we’re given here today.”

  As they waited for service, Diana took the opportunity to look around. Some of the women were dressed in saris, while the men mainly wore dark trousers and plain shirts. The walls were decorated with pictures of the gods and masks; a large framed photo showed a colourfully dressed dancer. Frangipani flowers were piled beneath a small altar dedicated to the god Shiva. Incense sticks sent sweet clouds of smoke into the air.

  Over everything drifted a babble of conversation and subtle music. Diana drank in all these impressions so she would later have something to take back with her to Germany, which seemed colourless in comparison.

  A table became free, and a young man soon appeared. As a waitress swiftly cleared the table in the background, he had a brief word with Jonathan. A little later they were seated at the table, which had been wiped clean of every crumb and set with fresh palm-leaf place mats.

  “So, what’s the story with your palm leaf?” Jonathan asked, after the slick waiter had brought them menus printed on thick paper like elephant skin, covered in strange-looking letters and numbers.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to help me here. I don’t understand a word on this menu.”

  Jonathan laughed softly. “Don’t worry. Just leave it to me. Have you brought the photos?”

  Diana nodded and briefly rummaged in her bag. Trying to maintain the correct sequence, she spread the pictures out on the table. Michael’s photos were so pin-sharp that even the finest fibres were clearly shown. The writing on the palm leaf looked as clear as a pattern burned into wood by a pyrographer.

  Before Jonathan could begin to look at the photos, the slick waiter appeared again. If he was surprised at the photos lying on the table, he didn’t say anything.

  Jonathan said something to him in Tamil, and the young man vanished.

  “What have you ordered for us?” Diana asked.

  “You’ll see,” he replied with a mysterious smile.

  “Aren’t you going to give me a clue?”

  “It’s something you’ll like—trust me. Tamil food is delicious, especially if you don’t mind hot spices.”


  “Any time, provided there’s a large bucket of water to hand.”

  “Water only has a momentary effect on hotness. But I’ve taken care of it anyway.”

  Smiling again, Jonathan picked up one of the photos and looked at it closely. As she watched him, Diana chewed her bottom lip tensely. Would he be able to read it? He frowned suddenly—not a good sign.

  “That’s Old Tamil,” he said finally. “As I expected.”

  “So you can’t read it?”

  “The Tamil script has changed a lot over the centuries. Ola leaves like this one are more than a thousand years old.” Jonathan set the photos to one side. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find a Nadi reader, someone who still knows this language.”

  “And I’ll only find one of those in the libraries?”

  “Or in one of the villages on the outskirts of Colombo. Did you say you want to give this leaf back to the library it came from?”

  Diana nodded. “Yes, that’s still my plan.”

  “Then I’d advise you to have it read by an independent source first. That might give you some indication of the library it came from.”

  “Can that be found out from the text?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Who knows? It would be worth a try, don’t you think?”

  Diana nodded, and Jonathan looked at her for a while.

  “What’s the story behind your trip? What’s your motivation?” he asked eventually.

  Diana took out the photo showing the white-clad woman against the mountain landscape—the photo that Jonathan had saved her from losing. His smile indicated that he remembered it.

  “I assume that this is my great-great-grandmother. I can’t say for sure, unfortunately, because my grandmother was a refugee during the war and so all her documents, including any other photos, were lost. There’s also an old pack of tea, and beneath the name of the producer is the word Vannattuppūcci. I’m not sure if that’s the name of the plantation or the place where it was located.”

  “Butterfly,” Jonathan said with a smile.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Butterfly. Vannattuppūcci means ‘butterfly’ in Tamil. Your ancestors must have had a poetic streak.”

  Diana had nothing to say to that, but she suddenly remembered her dream. The butterfly that had awakened the angel to life. Had that been a premonition?

  “I’d guess it was the name of the plantation. The English usually gave their estates names.”

  “I can hardly believe that my ancestors would have had the delicacy to give their plantation a name like that. The typical English colonists of that period tended to hide their feelings.”

  “I’m sure they must have had a reason.”

  Jonathan looked at the photo again, then sighed.

  “You’ve got a whole lot of work ahead of you.”

  “I was so fond of my aunt Emily. She was like a grandmother to me. It’s a matter of honour for me to fulfil her wishes, especially since . . .”

  No, that’s going too far, she thought. I can’t tell him the story of my messed-up marriage. He’s a helpful stranger, nothing more.

  Faced with her silence, Jonathan looked at her questioningly. Diana searched desperately for words to begin anew.

  “In any case, I have to know what lies behind the curtain between my grandmother and previous generations. If you know what I mean.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Yes, I think I do.” His expression became pensive, then he shook his head lightly. “It’s very strange. While they’re alive our ancestors try and keep any stains on their past hidden. And then they ask us, their descendants, to find them because they want to rid themselves of the burden, but don’t themselves have the strength to reveal them.”

  Diana was amazed at the wisdom of his words. At the same time, she wondered whether her family’s secret was such a big stain that Emily was ashamed of it.

  “We should see this as doing our duty for those who come after us, shouldn’t we?” Jonathan looked at her with a strange expression, as though he had suddenly become aware of some stain on his own past. “Get to the bottom of the past ourselves, to save our children the trouble of having to do so.”

  “I don’t consider it trouble,” Diana replied, slightly uneasy. “On the contrary. As a child I always liked to imagine what my ancestors’ lives were like. A lot got lost during the Second World War. My grandmother, who could have told me so much, died giving birth to my mother. And Aunt Emily was always so silent on the matter. Maybe she wanted to suppress her own memories . . .”

  “I’m sure that’s the case,” Jonathan said, now looking a little more relaxed. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have asked you. Perhaps she believed that you would understand better if you worked out the past for yourself rather than simply hearing a story.”

  Silence followed. After thinking briefly, Diana could only agree that he was right. Before they could continue their conversation, the waiter appeared with some steaming bowls that gave off a wonderful aroma.

  Diana saw some little savoury cakes, a variety of chutneys, and something that looked like the red curry that was also served in Thai restaurants.

  The waiter said something in rapid Tamil, then withdrew. Diana gazed at the food in amazement and breathed in the various aromas deeply.

  “This is just wonderful! What is it?”

  “A cross-section of Tamil cuisine.” Jonathan pointed to the dishes one after the other. “Idli and vadai, our name for steamed or fried little cakes of black gram and rice; chutney; rasam, a thin peppered soup; and a red curry. Then there’s cool yoghurt for afterwards.”

  “If I have any room left for afterwards!” Diana replied with a smile, trying to make sure her mouth wasn’t watering too much.

  “We traditionally eat with our fingers from a banana leaf,” Jonathan said, showing her how to hold the stiff green leaf. “You can also eat it with cutlery, but this way is more authentic.” As his hand brushed against hers, they looked briefly into one another’s eyes. The amber of his looked darker now, almost brown, and Diana suddenly felt as though she could lose herself in them. But no sooner had she felt the sensation than she got a grip of herself, and as she took the first bite her confusion faded before her pleasure in the food, the like of which her tongue had never tasted before.

  As she returned to the hotel a little after midnight, Diana felt strange. It was nothing to do with the excellent food, nor with Jonathan, who had come across the whole time as a friendly, helpful travel guide. The fact that she had opened up to him, hinted at the secret to him, made her feel as though she saw a few things more clearly, even though she actually knew no more than before.

  Jonathan had promised her that he would make a few enquiries about Nadi readers the following day. Diana could hardly wait to hear what he found out.

  After they’d exchanged email addresses, he walked her back to the hotel. They crossed the city in silence, each sunk in their own thoughts. But Diana’s gaze kept stealing across to Jonathan. Absurd questions like Does he go to the gym? What’s his shoe size? What does his apartment look like? kept going through her head, and she had almost felt transported back to her school days, when all the girls dreamed of the older boy who already rode a moped and who won at all the sports.

  And now, with the warm water of the shower running over her skin, she couldn’t get him out of her head. When did you last think about a man so much? It occurred to her that she hadn’t given Philipp a second thought since she’d arrived in Colombo. She scolded herself for allowing him in now.

  As she slipped between the light sheets and turned her gaze to the lights of the harbour, she was overcome by a deep longing. How long was it since she and Philipp had slept together? In recent months, sex had become something of a duty to be fitted in between business appointments and daily cares. Until the moment she had discovered Philipp’s infidelity, it hadn’t really bothered her, and after that she had been so distracted by finding him out and Emily’s illness that she hadn’t been aware of he
r own body for a single moment.

  But here, far from home—surrounded by exotic smells and a quality of air that made her feel as though she could float off, to be borne by the wind far away above the palm groves—her self-awareness returned. She felt the blood pulsing through her limbs, her heart beating regularly beneath her breast, a quiver of excitement in her belly, when she thought of this man, who in reality was no more than a chance acquaintance. That evening alone, which had not involved the slightest commitment on the part of either of them, had given her more than she had ever got from the last few months of her life with Philipp. And she was secretly looking forward to her next meeting with Jonathan Singh, however much she might tell herself that he was just friendly and willing to help and she would probably never see him again after she had finished what she was doing here on the island.

  She woke at around ten o’clock with bright morning sunshine on her face. The air had warmed up, the deep notes of a tanker’s horn sounded across the harbour, and a few dust particles danced like tiny glow-worms in the sunlight that poured in through the window. Diana rose with a smile and immediately felt a pang of anticipation in her stomach. Had he written to her yet?

  It took an effort of will not to go straight over to her laptop and check her emails. He won’t have written yet. He’s bound to have to work.

  After a refreshing shower and a good breakfast, Diana decided to go for a walk on the promenade.

  “Mrs. Wagenbach?”

  On her way out, Diana stopped and turned to see the receptionist giving her a friendly smile. “Excuse me. A letter was handed in for you a short while ago. I called up to your room, but you weren’t there.”

  A letter for me? Diana thought with amazement. Has Mr. Green written to me?

  As she approached the desk, the receptionist handed her a large envelope inscribed with the hotel’s logo and tied with a cord. It contained a smaller, cream-coloured envelope stuffed to capacity. There was no airmail sticker.

  After thanking the receptionist, she took the letter upstairs and set it down on the desk, her heart thumping. Her name was written on the envelope in neat but elegant handwriting—and nothing else.