The Butterfly Child

Chapter Three

There has always been a pattern to my daily routine; Wake up, help mama in the kitchen, serve everyone their meal, wash the clothes, the plates and then go to the stream. Whenever the sun was really hot, I'd go through the back and stop just under the red tree. Annie often got there before me. Sometimes I'd meet her laughing with the butterflies or dancing, or simply lying amidst the red leaves that had fallen from the tree, while listening to Bubba hum. There was a certain tranquility that came with Annie. Deep green eyes, lovely bright smile and a sense of excitement. Annie was enthusiastic about everything. She said 'Wow' too much, smiles at every little things and giggled at amusing things. After a few weeks of being her friend, I already wanted to be like her; laugh like her, act like her. She crossed her legs whenever she sat at the bottom of the tree. She walked with her shoulders straightened. She covered her mouth when she laughed too loud and sometimes apologizes, calling it 'unladylike', and she went about teaching me new stuffs.

It was Thursday and I hadn't gone to the tree for about 2 days now. I was held up at home by my father— who was also home because he was ill. By the time he finally released me at noon, I was tired and exhausted. I fell asleep while contemplating on the easiest way to go about the rest of my day. I knew I was supposed to go see Annie and the butterflies, but I my legs and head ached badly from the stress of helping my father. The sun was scorching hot but I really didn't mind. 'It is worth it' – I thought as laid in bed, reminiscing on the days I would meet Annie dancing around the butterflies. They were blissful experience, and they made me smile as I dozed off.

Why did he hit me? Something petty now that I think of it. Something that happened just because he wanted to beat me. And not because I had made a very regular mistake. Mama handed me a washing hand basin filled with water and asked me to deliver it to Baba. On getting there, he was already sitting on the wooden table, his hands rubbing against each other, as hot steam from the meal prepared for him collided with his hands above. I meant to place the water on the table so he'd wash his hands as he pleased. But he'd asked me to hold it. So I did, I held the water firmly, while he washed. It seemed to have been going on fine till I felt a sharp sting on my ankle. I was holding the water and staring as his hands swam into the water, rubbing against each other, washing the dirt off his hands. The soldier had made its way to my while I stood in front of my father. It attacked when I adjusted my pose to be more comfortable. I gasped suddenly, hitting my leg repeatedly on the floor, to get rid of the ant. It was supposed to be over as I stepped on the ant which had already fallen from my ankle but then, the spot began to itch. My hands still gripped the basin. Baba still washing, and ignoring what had just happened. I really felt like screaming, but Baba had been washing for a very long time. When my ankles itched more, leaving me with a longing to scratch it, the other ankle on her right leg also got stung. I dropped the bowl and screamed. There had been more soldier ants under the stool beside which I stood. The bowl of water dropped on the floor in a loud thud, the dirty water in the bowl splashed around. Some spilled on the floor, while the others spilled on my legs and Baba's. I was too busy jumping about, itching my ankles when baba slowly stood up and kicked his chair backed. As I looked up at him, I swallowed — hard. As though I knew what was to come (which I knew) I went on my knees, hands still grazing my ankles, and began to beg him.

"I'm sorry Baba. I'm sorry. It was the soldier ant." I moved sideways to scratch my ankles properly, I was still not satisfied by the little I had done. And I was sure even at that moment that my legs would be red.

My father jerked me up by the collar of my pink gown. His eyes burned into mine and I quivered in fear. "What is your problem Nella?"

"It was a mistake Baba!"

"A mistake you say?! You make too much mistakes. And when a child does so, she should be punished so the mistake never repeats itself again." He snarled.