One day I heard them argue.
“You have to stop making her believe in fairy tales!” I heard my dad say. He didn’t like her magical stories or that every night we waved goodnight to the stars.
“Just because you don’t believe in it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” she replied. I remember the frustration in her voice.
“I only believe what I see,” my dad responded.
“And some things you have to believe to see,” my mother replied.
Sometimes, I could see a sadness in her eyes. I never knew where the sadness came from, and I never dared to ask.
The happiest days of my childhood were the days when Mom and I had picnics with sandwiches and lemonade in our garden.
Afterward, we’d lie on our backs, my head resting in the softness between her breast and her shoulder. Looking up at the sky, we talked about everything between heaven and earth, discussing the funny shapes of the clouds in the daytime and gazing at the stars at night.
Whenever we saw a shooting star, Mom would whisper, “Make a wish, make a wish.” I always made the same one: that Mom and I would be happy and together forever.
One day when I was playing alone in the garden, I saw a beautiful butterfly sitting on the grass. I managed to capture it in a small glass jar and ran proudly into the house to show it to Mom.
I remember being startled by her reaction.
“Poor little thing!” she exclaimed. She quickly took the glass jar from me, ran out in the garden, and opened the lid. Her movements were tense and hurried, as if every second mattered.
“Butterflies need to be free to fly, Maya,” she said, as we watched the butterfly fly back to its freedom. Then she took both my hands in hers and looked me in the eyes. She was smiling, but her voice was serious.
“All life is precious, my dear. But a butterfly’s life is not only precious; it is also very short. Only a few days ago, maybe a week, that beautiful butterfly was just a caterpillar. And, in a few weeks, her life may already be over. Between now and then, all she wants is to be happy and free, to dance and to enjoy every moment she has. We don’t want to take that away from her, do we?”
I shook my head and looked sadly into my mom’s eyes. I knew I would never capture a butterfly again.
To lighten the mood, Mom started tickling me.
“Let’s pretend we are happy butterflies, too,” she laughed, then started running around in the garden with her arms out, pretending she had wings.
Soon I was doing the same.
“We are butterflies! We are butterflies!” We laughed and danced around the garden. And then she lifted me high up in the air, so I could feel what it was like, to be free to fly.
…
I don’t know when I first started noticing that something was wrong with Mom. Maybe it was when she canceled our visits to the cinema because she needed to sleep. Or when I saw more of the sadness in her eyes, even when she was painting.
Maybe it was when I started noticing that her clothes were too big for her. Or the whispered conversations between her and my dad and the looks they gave each other when they thought I didn’t notice. Never had I seen their eyes so sad.
A few months before my eleventh birthday, my parents told me that Mom was very sick. I don’t remember much from the time that followed. Mom got smaller and weaker by the day, and one day I overheard the doctor telling my dad that it had spread much faster than they’d expected.
One night when I was lying beside her in bed, almost afraid to touch her because she was so small and fragile, Mom stroked my hair and whispered: “Don’t be afraid, my darling Maya. I will never leave your side. I will live inside your heart. I will wave to you from the stars, and dance around you like a butterfly. Remember that even though you won’t see me, I will still be there.”
She was exhausted after speaking, and I thought she had fallen asleep, when she opened her eyes again. Her eyes were shining and sparkling, like the stars in the sky, when she looked me in the eyes and whispered: “My only wish is that you live a happy life and enjoy your time on earth, until we meet again among the stars. I love you so much, Maya. Go fly, my little butterfly girl.”
One week after my eleventh birthday, Mom took her last breath. And life as I knew it ended.
I don’t remember much about the time that followed, except my dad’s stone face on the day Mom was buried, and the sound of my cries as her coffin hit the ground.
The only thing that prevented me from jumping into the grave with her was Lisa’s firm little hand holding mine tightly, and the words she whispered in my ear. “Your mom’s not there, Maya. Remember, she is among the stars.”
That night, alone in the garden, I looked up and for the briefest of moments, I saw a star expand into a giant light, only to disappear and leave no trace on the deep, blue sky.
…
I had fallen asleep in my seat and woke up confused. My throat had dried out, and for a moment I panicked and gasped for air.
“It’s OK, doll. Just take some deep breaths. Everything will be just fine. You are safe.”
Betsy spoke to me with a soft and calm voice. I took some deep breaths and a sip of water and felt the panic slowly fade away. I gave her an embarrassed smile and leaned back into my seat.
I glanced at my watch. Eight more hours to go.
The picture of South Pacific was still on my screen. I reached over and put on my headphones. Why not? It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.
Watching South Pacific was like being pulled back in time again, back into the cinema, with my little hand in Mom’s. And when the Bali Ha’i song started playing, I could feel the same longing in my heart as I remembered feeling all those years ago.
Bali Ha’i will whisper
On the wind of the sea
“Here am I, your special island!
Come to me, come to me.”
Tears were running down my cheeks and a paper towel was handed to me from my right side.
“Bali Ha’i always makes me cry too,” Betsy said and smiled warmly.
I paused the movie and thanked her as I dried my eyes and blew my nose.
For someone like me, who was neither used to, nor comfortable with, public display of emotions, this had turned out to be a highly disturbing flight.
I didn’t understand what was happening to me.
“Isn’t South Pacific just the most wonderful movie ever made?” she said with a dreamy voice. I stared at her, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Are you going there?” she asked.
“Going where?” I asked, confused.
“To Bali Ha’i!” she said.
I still didn’t understand what she was talking about and suddenly she burst out laughing, started clapping her hands, and jumped up and down in her seat, causing the entire row to shake.
“Oh, my goodness, you don’t know, do you? South Pacific was filmed on Kaua’i! Up on the North Shore of the island. And Bali Ha’i exists. It’s called Mount Makana. I’ve seen it myself!”
She was unstoppable now. And I was too shocked to speak.
“Years ago, Engelbert and I went to Kaua’i and attended a South Pacific tour that took us to all the beautiful sites where the movie had been filmed. That was something, I’ll tell you!”
Betsy was nearly jumping out of her seat from the excitement.
“I sang and danced for one week straight. Even Engelbert was tired of me after a while,” she giggled.
I had to smile.
“You only live once, right?” She laughed. “It was one of the best experiences of my life.”
Betsy told me that she and Engelbert couldn’t afford to go back to Kaua’i for all these years, and how they couldn’t believe their luck when a company invited them and offered to pay for their plane tickets and hotel.
She talked and talked, but I only half-listened to what she said. My head was still spinning as I processed the information.
South Pacific was filmed on Kaua’i? Bali Ha’i was a pl
ace I could go? What a strange and funny coincidence! Maybe I should go there and take a look. Just for the fun of it.
Then, I realized the ridiculousness of it all. I was there to do a job, not to relive some silly childhood fantasy.
I gratefully accepted the coffee the cabin attendant handed me and hoped it would help clear my head. As I sipped my coffee, I opened my laptop and reviewed the speaker notes from Alistair’s presentation. In forty-eight hours, I would be finished, and on my way back to New York and my new executive life.
I couldn’t wait.
THE CONFERENCE
I had dressed to impress and felt good in my tailored Armani jacket and pencil skirt, wearing my highest heels, which made me about six feet tall.
I was prepared.
I’d spent half the night and most of the morning practicing my speech. As always, I was leaving nothing to chance.
As I left the hotel room, I decided to leave my cell phone behind. I needed my mind to stay laser-sharp and focused. Besides, I would be back in the room in less than an hour—with mission accomplished. I couldn’t wait.
When I entered the large conference hall, located on the ground floor of the hotel, I noticed that the room was packed with people.
I walked over to the technician’s table and got mic’d up, and ten minutes later the voice on the loudspeaker called out my name.
“You can do this, Maya,” I told myself. Of course I could! After all, I was a pro.
I calmly and confidently stepped up onstage.
The room was dark and the spotlight strong. I could only see the people in the first few rows. They were mostly men, and they all looked like they’d come directly from Wall Street.
In their dark suits and white shirts, they stood in stark contrast to the colorfully dressed tourists I had met on my way from my hotel room.
The room was quiet, and I started to speak.
It started out well. I knew all the slides by heart and had practiced exactly what to say and how to say it. I’d already detached myself from the actual content. I was like an actor onstage, playing the part I’d been told to play.
I was pleased with my ability to elegantly serve one lie after the other without even blinking.
I realized I didn’t mind it as much as I thought I would. After all, the women and men in the room were all financial analysts and professional investors, dealing with other people’s money. They knew what they were doing and had enough experience and critical judgment to make whatever investment decision they believed in. If they were unlucky with one investment, they would have another good investment to even it out. It was all a big money game, and I was just playing my part in it.
Halfway through the presentation, my mouth started to dry out, so I went to the left side of the stage to drink some water from the glass I had left on a table. My eyes had finally adjusted to the spotlight, and I could see the people farther back in the room now.
Suddenly, something surprising caught my eye. In the middle of all the black suits, there was an island of color. When I looked closer, I noticed that most of these people had gray hair. Some were even wearing hats.
A hand went up, and somebody in the middle of the colorful crowd was eagerly waving to me. What? Was that Betsy from the flight? With her sleeping husband, Engelbert, beside her? I was confused. What the hell were they doing here? And who were all their friends?
Then, as if hit by lightning from above, I suddenly understood. It was something Betsy had said on the plane, about being invited by some company. While I had only partially listened to her, I now understood what kind of company had invited them.
A number of financial investment companies specialized in bringing elderly people to holiday retreats, pampering them, and making them feel special. In return, the seniors had to show up at these kinds of meetings, where the goal was to trick them into investing their hard-earned savings in company shares, with no other guarantee than the indecently high commissions the so-called financial advisors would walk away with.
The dark-suited financial people suddenly all looked like sharks to me. Greedy, mean sharks, fooling senior citizens, with no concern as to whether their investments would be good or not, as long as the commissions paid for their own high-flying lifestyles.
How could they do this to these old, innocent people?
And how could I?
I realized, as I was standing up there, that I was no better than they were. I was telling lies to these elderly people, giving them false information to get them to invest in our company, even though I knew that their money could be gone within seconds, should the truth about TechnoGuard come out.
My mind was racing.
What should I do?
I started speaking again, surprised to hear myself continue. It felt like I had been standing there, silent, for several minutes, but it had probably been just a few seconds.
No one seemed to have noticed.
“As I said, the company has never been in better shape,” I said, even though I saw images inside my mind of TechnoGuard going bankrupt, and all these old people losing their savings, living the rest of their lives in poverty. And me, living with the knowledge that I could have prevented it.
How could I do that to Betsy and Engelbert and all those other people who had no idea that they were being tricked into something they might regret for the rest of their lives?
While all these thoughts spun around in my mind, an angry, agitated voice began shouting inside my head:
“Stop this nonsense, Maya! You’re just doing your job. Finish the job you came here to do. It’s not personal. It’s only business.”
The voice in my head grew louder and tried to squelch my doubt and hesitation.
“Remember what’s at stake here. Everything you have ever wanted and dreamed of. Who cares about some old people? An executive vice president title and a corner office. That is what you care about. Look after yourself. That is all that counts. Eat or be eaten, remember?”
All of a sudden, I felt ashamed. I had been taught and trained to become a shark. But was I really like them? I looked at the people in suits and then back at the colorful island of gray-haired people.
Then, as the yelling voice inside my head took a break to draw its breath, I heard another voice softly whisper: “Who do you want to be, Maya? Who do you want to be?”
And suddenly, I just knew.
I turned off the presentation and cleared my throat.
“The business world is a tricky place,” I said and looked out over the crowd.
I let my eyes rest on Betsy and the group surrounding her.
“PowerPoint presentations aren’t always consistent with reality. And reality is an ever-changing thing. The presentation I just shared with you is based on the way we would like things to be, and how they might have been, if it hadn’t been for a number of unfortunate events as of late. Now, I could just stand here and pretend that those things never happened, and that everything is as great as this presentation is trying to tell you. I could do that, but I won’t. Because I simply wouldn’t be telling the truth.”
The room went dead quiet. It felt as if everyone was holding their breath.
“But this is the truth.” I took a deep breath.
“Every morning at TechnoGuard, we go to work, driven by our mission to keep our customers’ data safe. We have been providing cybersecurity solutions to millions of users over the last twenty years, and we intend to continue doing so. But if you choose to trust us with your money, I think you should know what you are investing in. You should expect honesty, transparency, and trustworthiness in all your interactions and transactions with us. And that is what I intend to give you.”
I walked over to the side of the stage, picked up the glass of water, and took a few more sips. I studied the audience as I walked back to the podium. All eyes were on me. My voice was surprisingly calm, and so was I.
“I want to inform you that TechnoGuard has detected a bug in one of our cyber
security systems that we have not been able to resolve yet. Our brilliant engineers are working around the clock to fix it, but until they do, we simply cannot guarantee 100 percent security for our clients.” I could see people were sitting on the edges of their seats now, and some of the people in suits were picking up their phones.
“I am sharing this with you so you can make an informed decision. I assure you we are doing everything we can to remedy this matter as quickly as possible. However, until this is resolved, you might want to wait on investing your hard-earned money in TechnoGuard.”
I looked directly at Betsy when I said this. Her eyes were shining stronger than the spotlights.
I took another deep breath and looked over at the crowd again. I decided to leave things there.
“Good luck with your investments, everyone! Thank you.”
The room was quiet for a few seconds before it exploded with analysts shouting into their phones, “Sell! Sell! Sell!”
I slowly removed the microphone, walked off the stage and down the aisle, toward the big doors at the back of the room.
“Keep on walking, keep on walking,” the soft voice whispered.
I could feel my legs turning into jelly. My heart pounded so hard that I was afraid it would jump right out of my chest. As I opened the doors leading to a big green lawn, the shock of the sunlight nearly knocked me to the ground.
All I could think was, “What have I done? What have I done?”
And then I just kept on walking.
THE BEACH
I walked across the lawn, passing a large swimming pool surrounded by palm trees, sunbeds, parasols, sunbathers, and children playing in the water with their inflatable toys.
I felt dizzy and strange but kept walking until I found myself on a beach. The sunlight hurt my eyes, so I covered them with my hands, kicked off my shoes, and continued all the way down to the water.
The sand was intensely white and the ocean crystal blue. Everything looked and felt as unreal as the whole situation I was in.
Fly, Butterfly Page 4