Butterfly
written by: Jim Wilson-Storey
“You out there, Butterfly?” Archie called out.
Pausing, waiting a reply, he delayed shutting the French windows and gazed across the bone-dry walled garden to the last remaining rose bed. Despite the extreme sunbaked conditions, Archie had kept the small kaleidoscope of summer color alive by recycling buckets of grey water from his two-minute, self-regulated, daily shower.
“Beautiful,” he thought, with more than a touch of pride.
“Why are you calling me?” Butterfly asked, from the shadows of the darkened room, “You know I don’t go outside,” she added.
Turning, Archie peered into the dimness of the large family room. Relieved, he smiled and straightened. Even after thirty years of ebb and flow of life and death, she still had the whereabouts to waken the rakish side in him.
“I couldn’t find you,” his voice betraying a mix of love and mild annoyance.
Butterfly stood studying Archie, “You seem restless, are you?”
“Not at all,” he refuted, “Well, no more than usual.”
Having put ice cubes into a crystal glass, he poured himself a large whiskey, his preferred tipple, from a crystal decanter, he dropped into his well-worn green leather chair and sipped the aged liquor.
“You know, you are drinking too much,” Butterfly commented.
“Drinking too much! That is a spurious suggestion,” he joshed. “Drinking too much does not apply when referring to a good quality whiskey.”
Picking up his I-Pad, he checked out the news headlines.
“It seems the situation is getting worse,” he declared.
“What situation is that?” Butterfly asked, as she mused over an old photograph of herself as a young woman sitting on a beach reading a book. “Happy days,” she said quietly.
“Oh, do keep up, Butterfly! The global situation, it’s getting out of hand.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” she replied, “Do you believe there is a solution?”
Archie gave a withering half-smile, before replying,
“There’s always a solution, but I’ll be damned if I can think of one! Neither has anybody else; well, not one that isn’t half-baked. In the meantime, people complain, protest and riot! Bloody inconsiderate, I call it. Then, there’s the senate, which is about as useful as a chocolate coffeepot. Those dummies stick their heads up their backsides and blame China for everything. Ironic really, I think the Chinese are worse off than us.”
Archie relaxed his head back against the chair’s headrest and tried to relax. Taking a long swig of his whiskey, he added,
“You know, half the globe is bone dry, the rest, well, it’s toast. Drinking water is as expensive as whiskey! And now some dumb-ass ecologist has gone public in the New York Times, claiming that further human progress is in doubt. Can you believe an educated expert saying something so diabolically stupid, like that? Garbage, I call it! The media and the lefties had a field day with that one!”
Butterfly looked at Archie and sighed,
“Ah yes, human progress. The result of the so-called golden age of enlightenment; raping the environment, the right to bear arms, consumerism, individual freedoms without responsibility, corrupt elites.”
Archie looked at Butterfly and gave her a wilting smile, before asking sarcastically,
“And the point you’re making, is?”
“Archie, the situation is self-inflicted. The earth is being managed nationally, not rationally. The political elite are the equivalent of an asteroid hitting the earth. Their behavior is condemning the planet to extinction.”
Irritated at what he thought was an unwarranted attack on him, Archie rolled his eyes dramatically, before snapping back,
“I’d agree with you, but then, we’d both be wrong.”
Archie smirked.
Butterfly ignored Archie’s smart-aleck comment until she casually remarked,
“Most humans are preoccupied with their own entitlement, while abusing the environment.”
“I assume when you say, humans, you mean those of us still pumping out carbon dioxide?” Archie barked back.
“Are there any other kind?” Butterfly quizzed gently.
“Interesting question,” Archie said. “I mean, do you consider yourself human these days? Or, are you some other entity, someone further along the evolutionary ladder: ghost, spirit, phantom, poltergeist, ‘Spook?’”
Butterfly looked at Archie and gave him a poised smile, “We are all of the same origin.”
Still ruffled, Archie leaned forward, and attempted to make a serious point,
“Then, don’t take the damned moral high ground! We’ve all had a hand in creating this bloody-awful mess.”
Not waiting a response, Archie sat back, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply, before sipping the last of his whiskey. He did not need to open his eyes to know Butterfly had left, he just knew it, he always knew it.
“Damned woman: beautiful, but bloody irritating.” He grunted.
Sitting alone, his mind flittered to the good times, their honeymoon in Greece, the children’s birthday parties, and family Christmas gatherings. It was the sound of the internal phone buzzing that interrupted Archie’s daydreams. Reluctantly, he reached over and pressed the flashing button.
“What is it, George?”
“They’re ready for you, Mr. President.”
A few minutes later, Archie stood looking out, at the congregated press, technicians, and security people. He felt comfortable at the podium, and why not, he thought, he had had quite a few successes standing in this very spot over the years. Then, he chortled to himself, remembering the gaffes he had also made, like the time he’d said,
“If we ignore the crime statistics, we’d have the lowest crime rates in a decade.”
Or the occasion when he had to apologize, following comments about a senior opposition party member’s level of education,
“He’s only got two books, and one he’s still coloring in.”
It was the sight of the TV producer, fingers aloft, silently mouthing,
“Five… four… three… two… one,” which pulled Archie’s thoughts together.
Looking directly into the camera, come auto-cue, Archie smiled confidently, the smile of a four-time President, wanting to reassure the millions tuned in. He was not about to lie; he had learned from his advisors, lying too often can come back to bite you in the ass. Neither was Archie reckless enough to tell his audience the full extent of the situation, well, not until forced to.
“My fellow citizens, tonight I speak to you with a heavy heart. For most of human history, our species has struggled against the most powerful natural forces, to forge our rightful destiny.”
His mind momentarily drifted, remembering the time he and Butterfly had taken a last-minute holiday in Almond Sands, Florida, a town now submerged beneath the ever-rising ocean. It was the mumblings of the immediate congregation and the TV producer, off-screen, waving her arms to get his attention, which finally got the President back on track.
“Eh…yes, sorry, where was I? Oh yes, unfortunately, in past decades, that struggle has been shaped by the uncontrolled effects of global, eh, global, warming. This has created continuous and increasing environmental issues the world over. Global temperatures have risen four degrees in just the last five, I mean, fifty years. We have lost fertile land to rising sea levels, as in North Carolina and now also in New Mexico. Other states, have become scorched dust bowls. Southern Californians, have been forced into mass migration north.”
Losing his concentration a further time, the President, paused, and looked around the room, at the agitated and embarrassed faces. Trying again, he continued,
“Modern technologies have adapted to this new situation and food shortages have, under my administration, been reduced. But, the impact of continuing environmental challenges, highlight our current and future vulnerabilities.”
Nine minutes and twenty-six seconds later, Archie wound up his rambling speech, with,
“I have seen, many times, the ingenuity and creative solutions you, the, the American, people have applied, when confronted with adverse situations. It is these developments that ensures I remain optimistic for a brighter future. May your paths be filled with, eh, positivity and, eh, success.”
When Archie returned to his living quarters, he was oblivious to the disquiet his semi-drunken speech had been received, Butterfly was there, looking out of the French windows. Filling his glass with whiskey, he sat down in his familiar green leather chair.
“Hello,” he said, speaking to Butterfly, “Did you take in my speech? I thought it went rather well.”
Butterfly continued looking out of the French window,
“Archie, I have a message for you.”
“A message?” he queried, “Oh yes, who from?”
“It would perhaps be helpful if I first explain something about myself, or should I say, what I have become.”
“I’m intrigued,” Archie replied, raising an eyebrow, “I thought I knew all there was to know about you.”
“Not everything.” She said calmly, “When you and I speak, you are not, as you may imagine, conversing with the person you once knew as your life partner. When I passed, I began a journey. That journey has resulted in my transition to a universal spirit. It is that entity that reaches out to you now.”
“And here’s me thinking you were a figment of my crazy imagination,” Archie joked in an off-hand way.
“Archie, don’t be flippant,” Butterfly responded, mildly rebuking him.
Just then, the internal phone rang. Archie quickly pressed the button, interrupting the buzzing,
“Not now!” he insisted, firmly, putting the receiver down.
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“Archie, there is no going back to what you refer to as the golden age, not now, not ever. The earth is beyond repair; it will continue to erode until it is uninhabitable for humans. Its demise can be counted, at most, in two, perhaps three decades.”
“That’s a bit pessimistic,” Archie interrupted, “You’re dismissing human gumption? We have the means to solve our problems; we always do.”
“Archie, you are wrong,” Butterfly insisted.
Archie stood and poured himself another whiskey. Turning, he staggered, but managed to regain his balance. Looking directly at Butterfly, he then said, assertively,
“No! It’s you, who’s wrong! Earth can prevail, human life can and will go on! It’s, our destiny!”
“Archie, your world is dying. Humans are not the solution they are the problem. They have brought the world to an abyss. There are now only two scenarios, painful, chaotic oblivion, or…” Butterfly paused.
“Or what, Butterfly?” Archie snapped back. “Or what?”
Looking deep into Archie’s eyes, she smiled and calmly added, “Or an orderly, peaceful, evolutionary transformation of the whole global population, to a spirit-form.”
Archie scoffed, “What the hell! You do know how crazy that sounds?”
Butterfly looked at Archie and nodded gently, “Yes, I do. I also know it will take time for you to absorb.”
Archie shook his head. “Is it possible for spirits to be insane?”
Archie stared intensely at Butterfly, waiting for a response, but she remained silent. She knew Archie had more to say.
“You know, I’ve met with a crazy number of scientists and politicians these past few years. Every one of them offered solutions of sorts. Some were more bizarre than others, but I tell you, not one of them ever came close to your crazy, deranged idea!”
“Finding the idea alien is to be expected,” Butterfly replied.
“Alien! You’re one hundred percent right there,” Archie mocked, loudly. “Are you unhinged?” His arms flailing, emphasizing his agitation. “With all your so-called enlightenment, is that the best mumbo-jumbo you can come up with? Why would anybody want to commit Hari, frigging, Kari?”
“Is the idea so repugnant?” Butterfly asked calmly, contrasting Archie’s demeanor. “Archie, the human population is being offered a simultaneous and final peaceful evolutionary step. An assisted passage to a new dimension; one that offers all humans a new awakening. It would be a rebirth, free from an oppressive environment, where everyone can exist equally, in peace. It was done once before, by the Mayan population, a thousand years ago.”
As Butterfly spoke, her voice became soft. Archie remembered the tone all too well. Whenever she wanted something and thought he might resist, her voice would become serene, irresistibly seductive. Moving closer and sitting on the edge of Archie’s chair, Butterfly asked,
“Isn’t there something in the Christian’s Bible about a great man leading his people out of the Valley of Death?”
Archie looked down into his empty glass, his dismissive behavior replaced by a multitude of thoughts, each linked to just one compelling question: how would he be viewed if he was to go public with such an idea? He rapidly concluded, President or not, ridicule—or worse—would be his fate. Yet, deep in the darkest recesses of his mind, almost hidden, a thought pulsated,
“What if, as Butterfly suggested, he was to lead humanity to its ultimate destination? What would that make him?”
It was the empty glass toppling from his hand and bouncing off the carpeted floor, which brought him back from his drunken stupor. Archie did not know how long he’d been contemplating Butterfly’s proposal.
Looking down at the empty glass lying on the carpet, he hoped Butterfly might still be there, although he knew she wasn’t. For several moments, he sat, wondering why, just when he needed his late wife’s presence, she had left. Pushing himself up from the chair, he mumbled,
“Damned woman!” He yelled out loud. “Where the hell are you?”
Over the ensuing days, Archie’s discussions with Butterfly became more and more intense, irritable, and sometimes angry, made worse by his continual drinking bouts. Then, in the middle of a drunken spat with his deceased wife, there was a knock at the door.
“Piss off!” Archie angrily shouted.
To his annoyance, the door opened, and the vice president walked in, followed by four cabinet members.
“Didn’t you fucking hear me!” Archie screamed, before hurling his whiskey glass at the intruders. The vice president ducked and avoided the glass, before nervously informing the president the house and senate had had no option but to vote to remove him from his official position and duties, with immediate effect.
Archie felt a wave of shock and disbelief wash over him. He had been ousted from power by his own political colleagues; most likely at the behest of his wealthy donors. He wondered if they knew about Butterfly, or if they had been influenced by some other force. He looked around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of his late wife, but she was nowhere to be seen, leaving Archie feeling alone, fearful, abandoned.
As he was assisted out of the darkened residency, he left behind his shattered whiskey glass and his broken dream of finally being united with his beautiful, albeit argumentative, late wife.
