Julie's Butterfly

by Greta Milán

  A short time later, armed with a carefully chosen pile of specialist medical journals, Bastian rang the bell of Elena and Felix’s cozy apartment. He followed Elena into the kitchen, where she was preparing supper, and threw the journals down on the sideboard. Then he rummaged for a suitable cup and switched on the coffee machine.

  “How is he?” Bastian asked, his folded arms exposing his tension. Bastian and Elena occasionally slipped into the roles of concerned parents.

  “Oh, you know Felix,” she replied despondently as she began to peel some carrots. “He never complains, but I can see he’s suffering.”

  “Is there any inflammation?”

  It was not unusual for such wounds to get infected. Felix had sustained several sizable wounds to his back, elbows, and legs when he’d slipped in the tub the night before. Any areas subjected to warmth and sweating had a good chance of getting inflamed no matter how carefully Bastian and Elena cleaned and bandaged them.

  “The back of his knee and the wound under his left arm are red and swollen,” said Elena. “I drained them both again this morning, but I’m worried that he’s developed a resistance to the antibiotic ointment we’re using. It hardly did any good.”

  “Has he got a temperature?”

  “Fortunately not.”

  “If it gets any worse, I’ll drive him over to the doctor,” offered Bastian.

  “That would be good.”

  The coffee was ready, and Bastian poured himself a cup. He looked at Elena. “Coffee?”

  She shook her head with a joyless laugh. “I’ve had enough already for one day.”

  For the first time since he arrived, Bastian noticed how exhausted she looked. The knife she was using to peel the carrots was held limply in her hand, and she was staring blankly into space as she scraped it over the vegetables. She only ever let Bastian see her feelings. Whenever she was around Felix, she assumed a cheerful smile. After all, it wouldn’t do anyone any good if she gave in to her helplessness and moped all the time. Felix needed her, and she was able to help him, so she had to stay strong, both physically and mentally.

  But even Elena had her limits.

  “How are you holding up?” asked Bastian.

  “I hate to hurt him,” she whispered, her agitation visible in her glazed eyes.

  “Elena, you’re causing him no more pain than he has to bear anyway,” said Bastian.

  She nodded silently and pressed her lips together. But a tear leaked from her eye and rolled slowly down her cheek.

  “Come on now.” Bastian laid an awkward hand on her shoulder. “If you didn’t see to his wounds, he’d suffer a great deal more.”

  “I know,” she said shakily and sniffed. “It’s just so frustrating.”

  Bastian didn’t know what to say. She was right, of course. It was frustrating and depressing and totally disheartening.

  It was a constant battle.

  As he himself knew too well.

  Elena threw him a furtive glance. “Sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “Here I am complaining your ears off.”

  “There’s no need to apologize.”

  Elena swallowed hard. “Do you want to eat with us?” she asked, trying to regain her composure as she turned on the stove.

  “What’s on the menu?”

  “Grilled monkfish with mashed potatoes and carrots.”

  “Sounds great.” Bastian wasn’t hungry, but he didn’t want to be rude, and he hadn’t eaten for hours. Trying to suppress the memory of Julie’s face over lunch earlier that day, he picked up his coffee cup and the journals. “I’ll go and see him.”

  “Call me if you need anything.” Elena gave Bastian a small smile. Her eyes were still moist with unshed tears.

  “Are you OK?”

  “I’ll manage,” she said bravely and busied herself looking for something on the shelves. Bastian understood. She wanted to be alone.

  He turned away and went to Felix’s room. The sound of noisy punk music got louder as he approached. Bastian leaned against the door frame and studied his friend. Felix was sitting up in bed, his attention focused on three monitors to his left, which were affixed to the wall and connected to a new computer. Felix affectionately called this impressive setup his window on the world, which, to a certain extent, it really was.

  Bastian had tried to persuade Felix to get a hospital bed through his health insurance, but Felix had adamantly refused to pollute his home with a hospital-like atmosphere. Though a hospital bed would have been a more comfortable alternative to his adjustable bed set to its highest setting, Bastian could fully understand Felix’s aversion.

  Felix had propped a number of pillows behind his back so that he could sit up more comfortably, and his bandaged fingers were hammering at the wireless keyboard on his lap. Blood-encrusted scabs, which he had probably caused by scratching without thinking, were visible on his bald head and right cheek. His intelligent blue eyes were framed by fashionable horn-rimmed glasses. His lanky body was clothed in a simple gray T-shirt and black sweatpants, and his feet were wrapped in several layers of bandages. His stiff posture told Bastian that Felix was in pain, but his friend nonetheless gave him a delighted grin when he noticed Bastian standing there.

  Bastian entered the room and sat down in a chair by the bed. He set his cup and the pile of journals down on the bedside table, next to a bowl of soft, ripe fruit that Elena had placed there.

  Felix whistled softly. “You look lousy,” he observed.

  Bastian grinned. “Thanks. Same to you.”

  Felix settled back a little more comfortably against the pillows. His movements were painstaking and meticulous.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Bastian.

  Felix frowned. “Never better.” His eyes fell to Bastian’s gloves and he sighed theatrically. “When are you finally going to leave those things at home?”

  “When are you finally going to stop asking me that?”

  “I’m coming to the conclusion that you’ve developed a bit of a fetish there,” remarked Felix with feigned concern.

  Bastian rolled his eyes. He’d had enough excitement over his gloves for one day. “How’s your work coming along?” he asked.

  Felix’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. He typed some commands into the computer as quickly as he could despite his unwieldy bandages. His hands were so badly damaged that they were at high risk of growing together, so each finger was bandaged separately, making fluent movements almost impossible. Felix had developed a unique method of working his way around the keyboard, primarily using his index fingers for inputting text and the balls of his thumbs for controlling the mouse.

  Felix had studied computer science, then specialized in coming up with ways to use it for medical purposes. He was currently working on his dissertation, which involved writing a program that could be used to catalogue their complicated skin disorder worldwide. His aim was to compile a comprehensive database of meaningful information that would enable him to study everything from its demographics to specific symptoms.

  “The databases are now fully interconnected,” he said with satisfaction. “I’ve input a few test cases from different sources. All the specialist centers around the country are now interconnected and should be able to communicate with each other without any trouble.”

  “That’s great.”

  Felix frowned pensively. “The problem is that global standards vary so widely. I’ve still got to find a way to transmit the data in a consistent form.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work.”

  “It is,” he said, sounding undeterred. “And once the primary data set is up and running, I’ll have to expand it by adding all the possible treatment options. Imagine being able to call up all the successful treatments for a particular set of symptoms, along with all the ones that didn’t work, all at the touch of a button.”


  “It’s going to drastically reduce the need for experimental medicine,” agreed Bastian. Felix’s idea had potential. Doctors currently had trouble treating the more severe forms of the disease, as they lacked experience. Even the few who specialized in the disorder had no choice but to try a range of different treatment options before they achieved sustainable palliative care for their patients.

  “Information on new treatments could be transmitted much more quickly,” said Felix as he reached for a slice of pear and pushed it awkwardly into his mouth. “Do you remember Paul from New York? I was chatting with him this morning and told him that my antibiotic ointments were becoming ineffective. He told me about a new medication that’s not widely commercially available yet that’s supposed to work wonders.”

  “If you want to try it out, I can take you to the pharmacist,” offered Bastian.

  Felix shook his head. “Thanks, but there’s no need. Paul’s sending me a sample.” He stretched as well as his bandages allowed. “But I would like a shower,” he said. “Unfortunately, I didn’t quite get around to it yesterday.”

  Bastian stood. “Are you sure?”

  Felix gave a crooked grin. “I am, if you’d be so kind.”

  Felix shifted his legs off the edge of the bed, gasping in pain when his shaky feet touched the ground. A pair of foam-padded crutches leaned against the wall next to the bed. Although Felix avoided them whenever he could, he had agreed—after lengthy persuasion—to use them to take some of the weight off his feet and legs.

  Bastian laid Felix’s arm gently across his shoulders and pulled him slowly to his feet. Felix groaned from a mixture of pain and relief. He leaned his full weight on Bastian, who guided him into the bathroom and set him down slowly on a padded chair in the wide shower stall.

  He then helped Felix undress.

  “Did you see the race last night?” asked Felix as he began to undo his bandages. “I’m afraid I was a little indisposed.”

  “You didn’t miss much.” He helped Felix in the places he couldn’t reach himself. Although he was taking the greatest care, Felix flinched hard twice.

  “Damn,” murmured Bastian as he tried to loosen the bandage under Felix’s arm. “It’s stuck fast. You’ll need to soften it up a bit first.”

  He set the shower to a pleasant temperature and handed Felix the specially adapted low-pressure showerhead. Bastian then gathered up the used bandages that Felix had heaped at his feet and withdrew to give him his privacy.

  Over the noise of the shower, Bastian reported on the previous night’s Formula 1 race in South Korea. They debated knowledgeably about the various teams’ latest technical accomplishments and worked out who, and under what conditions, was likely to win the season.

  When Felix had finished washing, Bastian helped him into his bathrobe and back to his room.

  “There you are,” said Elena cheerfully, not revealing a trace of her earlier worries. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

  She had already laid out fresh clothes for Felix on the bed, but his wounds had to be bandaged before he could put them on. Elena pulled out all the necessary equipment from a special cupboard stuffed with bandages and medications.

  Felix sank onto an armchair, and Bastian helped by passing them whatever they needed. Elena and Felix were so in tune with each other that few words were needed.

  First they loosened the softened bandage and thoroughly disinfected the affected area. Newly formed blisters were pricked with sterile needles and drained. They then applied various creams and covered them with clean nonstick bandages. Felix’s skin was so fragile that adhesive dressings caused new blisters to form, so they affixed everything with gauze and tubular bandages. The wounds on his back and under his arm looked better than they had the previous evening, but they would have to keep an eye on the back of his knee.

  Once they had finished, Bastian helped Felix into his clothes, while Elena fetched two plates of food and set them down on the table.

  “I’ll go get a chair,” said Bastian. “You take the armchair.”

  “No need.” Elena waved him away.

  “Aren’t you eating with us?” asked Felix in surprise.

  “Well, seeing as you’ve got company, I’m going to have a relaxing bath and do something for my wrinkles,” she said, disappearing out the door before Felix could think of a suitably witty response.

  “The next thing I know, she’ll be telling me what face mask she likes best,” said Felix, wrinkling his nose. “She really needs a girlfriend.”

  Bastian laughed and sat down in the armchair opposite Felix. Felix’s food was thoroughly puréed and mixed with added minerals. Since sufferers’ mucous membranes were often affected too, Felix had to be careful what he ate to protect himself from internal injuries.

  He reached for his fork, clumsily scooped a portion of mashed potatoes onto it, and began to eat. He looked at Bastian critically.

  “Are you going to tell me about her?” he asked eventually. There was no need for him to say who he meant.

  Bastian gave an anguished sigh. “Sounds like Elena’s been talking.”

  “She hasn’t said much,” said Felix. “Only that there was a pretty brunette at the opening and that you never took your eyes off her.”

  “Julietta,” said Bastian in a raw voice.

  “Unusual name.”

  “Not half as unusual as she is.”

  “Will you be seeing her again?” Felix grinned.

  “I already have.”

  Felix raised an eyebrow.

  “The graphics agency instructed me to take some pictures for a catalogue, a motley selection of collector’s items. She turned out to be the client’s daughter and was with me in the warehouse, ostensibly to oversee my work,” explained Bastian.

  “Would you believe it?” said Felix with a shake of his head. He looked at Bastian inquisitively. “And?”

  “And nothing,” replied Bastian.

  Felix sighed. “What have you gone and done?”

  Bastian was not the least bit surprised by his friend’s question; Felix could read him like a book. “She asked me to take my gloves off,” he said hesitantly. The memory of it sent a shudder down his spine.

  “Smart girl,” said Felix. “Did you?”

  Bastian frowned, which was confirmation enough for Felix.

  “How did she react?”

  “She wasn’t as shocked as I’d expected, but she could hardly conceal her pity.”

  Felix stared bleakly at him. “You freaked out again.”

  “You should have seen her face,” said Bastian, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I ran full tilt out of the building,” he admitted.

  “She showed you sympathy and you panicked.”

  “I don’t want anyone’s sympathy,” muttered Bastian bitterly. “Least of all hers.”

  “If you want her to think of you as a strong man, you have to act like one, buddy.”

  “I know that. But it makes no difference anyhow, because I won’t be seeing her again.”

  “Why don’t you call her?”

  “I don’t have her number.”

  “And in this age of communication, it’s impossible to track it down,” said Felix.

  “She wouldn’t be interested in an explanation anyway, not after I behaved like such an idiot.”

  “So you’re going to give up without even trying?”

  Bastian was silent.

  Felix ate a few mouthfuls of his supper before giving Bastian a searching look. “Elena’s sure to be able to get her number from Isabelle. What do you say?”

  “I say it’s a bad idea.”

  “Not for you,” grinned Felix. “For me.”

  Bastian frowned at him.

  “Well, if you don’t want her . . . ,” said Felix lightly. “I’ll take what I can g
et.” He pointed his fork in Bastian’s direction. “If you’re telling me there’s a lovely brunette out there who’d look at my situation with more sympathy than revulsion, then I’d certainly like to meet her.”

  “You really do have a sick sense of humor.”

  “That was no joke,” said Felix seriously. “There’s a reason we never talk about women. And it’s not because—unlike you—I don’t want a partner.”

  Felix watched Bastian’s face grow pale as he scraped the last forkful of mashed potato into his mouth.

  “I can’t even scratch my head without hurting myself,” said Felix flatly. “So if there really was a woman who had no fear of touching a butterfly child, then just give me her number.”

  “Go on then if you insist.” Bastian made a self-conscious effort to appear unconcerned by leaning back and folding his arms.

  Felix smiled dreamily. “Nothing could be as comforting as the gentle embrace of a lovely woman. I have to admit I prefer blondes, but when it comes down to it, I’m really not fussy.”

  Bastian set his jaw and gave his friend a dark look.

  Felix lay back and called out, “Elena!”

  “Coming,” replied his sister.

  “All right,” said Bastian, acknowledging defeat with a sigh. “You’ve made your point. I’ll get in touch with her and explain. But I’ll do it my own way.”

  Elena appeared in the doorway and gave Felix an inquiring look. “Do you need something?”

  A satisfied smile spread across Felix’s face as he looked over at his sister. “Is there any more mashed potato?”

  CHAPTER 11

  Around noon on Saturday, Bastian was staring out his living room window, watching the birds swooping through the sunny spring air.

  He had promised Felix that he would explain his situation to Julie, and—totally incidentally—he felt compelled to not leave things hanging with her. But he had no idea how to carry out this intention. He could hardly call her up and tell her on the phone why he had freaked out like that the day before. Besides, he felt an indefinable longing to see her again, however unwise that may be.