He leans across the table. His breath is so warm against my face. ‘Insanity.’
24
TheBlue
Then
Over the next few days, he asks me to try netting again and again, he says I am too hard on myself, I just need practice. But I can’t muster up the courage. The Blues are too fragile, too delicate; they deserve him not me.
This afternoon feels different, though. The sun has been blazing on the hillside for hours and now, as it sets, it turns the sky rose, the sea violet. The scent of thyme has deepened with the heat and, above the flowers, there are so many Blues.
‘Come on,’ he says, ‘botanists can catch butterflies too,’ and despite my reluctance, I want even less to spoil the sultry beauty of this afternoon. I take the net.
‘Swing firmly so it doesn’t fly out but not so hard that it jams in the back.’
My first few attempts are half-hearted, he knows it, he watches me in silence. But the fourth time, it is so easy, I catch one against the ground.
‘That’s it!’ he shouts. He is beside me in the thyme. ‘Press the whole ring down. Good. Now, lift the net bag.’
I do as he says. The butterfly flies instinctively up. In one deft movement, he twists the net around it, flips the frame and hands it back to me. ‘Are you going to get her out?’ he asks.
I stare at the Blue darting manically in the black.
‘You can do it. She’s safe with you.’
I shake my head.
‘Grasp the forewings together above the head, that’s where they’re the thickest.’
‘I’ll rub off her scales.’
‘Not if you’re gentle. I’ll hold the frame.’
My heart is pounding. With one hand, from the outside, I locate the section of the bag where she is, with the other, I make my way into the net. I am touching her.
‘Astonishing, isn’t it?’
I cannot speak. He has converted me, him and the warm air and the life fluttering against my fingers, he has baptised me in this little Blue’s flight.
‘Now, ease her out.’
I know what to do, I’ve seen him do it hundreds of times, I wait for her to still before I take hold of her wings but whenever I move, she starts flapping, one wrong move and I will squash her head, snap her antennae. ‘I’m going to hurt her.’
‘You won’t.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can.’
‘Help me.’
He puts his hand into the net. As he does so, his knuckles skim the length of my arm.
Later, I will think there were many reasons I felt the way I felt. I’d never been touched by a man. I’d wanted him for months. Or perhaps it was simpler than all of that – a question of anatomy, the science of skin against skin. But in this moment, I do not think any of these things. There is no thinking at all, only feeling. And the feeling is electric.
I shiver against him.
He freezes.