Sound of Butterflies, The (22 page)

Santos introduced them by name, while the woman’s headdress — a tall feather, which reminded Thomas of the horses that had brought them — waved about above her. When she spoke she revealed large pointed teeth, but when she smiled, she kept her lips tightly clamped over them.

‘Would you like me to send some of my girls over for the company of the gentlemen?’

‘Why not?’ said Santos. ‘Ask Ana and Maria to join us.’

Senhora da Silva rose again with more rustling, gave a courteous nod with closed eyes and walked away, noisy skirts trailing.

Thomas found that his hands trembled and he asked Santos if he had a cigarette; he had left his back at the house.

‘Well, Mr Edgar, I do have a cigarette, but it is perhaps not the kind of cigarette you are used to. It is a local one, made from a different kind of tobacco. It is from the dried bark of the ayahuasca vine. Would you care to try it?’

Thomas nodded. He could see the women — Ana and Maria, he presumed — approaching the table. Santos reached into his jacket and pulled out the cigarette; Thomas took it quickly and lit it. The first inhalation scorched his lungs and he coughed. The woody smell was unusual, like the smoke of a log fire.

Santos laughed. ‘Yes, it takes some getting used to, I’m afraid. There is ordinary tobacco in there as well. You’ll soon like it.’ He winked.

Thomas had no chance to answer, as the young ladies were upon them. Santos welcomed them and they squeezed into the booth, one next to George, as Santos had let Maria in before he sat back down again, and the other next to John. Thomas sat between George and John.

The girls spoke no English, so conversation was stilted, and Santos soon ignored them and instead questioned George about his life in London. George did most of his work for the Natural History Museum, but Santos was also jealous of the full life he led in London society.

‘Do you see much opera, sir?’ he asked.

‘Yes, some,’ George replied. ‘I prefer the theatre, but opera can be just as good. I saw a performance of Puccini’s
Tosca
not long before we set out here. It was superb.’ Maria sat very close to George and stared up into his face as he spoke. Her little round face wore a rapt expression, as if she couldn’t wait to hear what he said next. Thomas thought she could only be faking it; she couldn’t possibly understand him. George noticed her looking at him and leaned his face away slightly, bending his body like a spoon.

‘Puccini!’ exclaimed Santos. ‘How wonderful! You know we have an opera house here in Manaus, Mr Sebel?’

‘I have heard of it, yes. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to come here. I understand it’s magnificent.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Santos glowed. ‘You know I had some hand in the building of it myself. I am one of its patrons.’

‘How often do you have performances?’

‘Alas, not as much as we would like. Some of the performers have died from yellow fever, and it has been difficult getting really talented singers from Europe to agree to come.’

‘That’s terrible,’ murmured George, with one eye on Maria, who was now leaning into him — the gesture could more accurately be described as
snuggling
— and trying to drink from his glass.

Thomas finished the cigarette. Ana, who sat next to John, gave him a shy smile as he reached for his glass and he returned it. He surprised himself by feeling genuine warmth towards her. John was talking softly to her in Portuguese, but her body language was not as forward as Maria’s — if anything, there was more of a father–daughter aspect to their interaction; there were easily enough years between them for it to be so. Her eyes were now downcast, and John appeared to be gently admonishing her. He patted her hands, covering both of hers with one of his. His knuckles were as big as acorns over her delicate pink gloves. He turned heavy eyes to Santos.

‘If you please, sir, I think I should like to go home now. I’m very tired, and I have some work I would like to do before I go to sleep. I thank you for your incredibly kind hospitality.’

‘Mr Gitchens, you disappoint me. You and Ana seem to be getting on tremendously. But very well, I will not come between a man and his work. My driver is outside — he will take you.’

George jumped to his feet, startling Maria, who gave a squeak.

‘I’ll come with you, John.’

‘Mr Sebel as well! You haven’t even had a turn at one of the tables. Oh, you do disappoint me, sirs.’

Thomas would have liked to leave at that point, too — he was beginning to feel most peculiar — but it was now his duty not to disappoint their host further.

‘I hope we have not offended you, Mr Santos,’ said George, glowering at John for getting in his request to leave early. Clearly George had been planning it for some time, hoping to slip away quietly, unnoticed.

‘No, Mr Sebel, you have not offended me.’ Santos gave him a huge smile to prove it and clapped him on the back. ‘You have had a long day; there will be plenty more opportunities for us to enjoy ourselves while you are here.’

George’s jaw visibly tightened at this prospect but he managed a weak smile. ‘Thank you for being so understanding.’ As he spoke he removed his glasses, which had become misted, and wiped them on his handkerchief before wrapping the wires around his ears and returning them to his nose.

‘Thank you for this.’ John dropped the rolled-up money onto the table in front of Santos, who accepted it with a nod. George’s hand went slowly to his breast pocket to draw out his own money. He looked at it for a moment as if it might beg to be kept, before laying it reluctantly on the table.

After their departure, Santos dismissed the two girls as well, and Thomas found himself alone for the first time with their host.

‘How are you feeling, Mr Edgar?’

‘Very well, thank you, sir.’

Santos leaned forward and looking intensely into his eyes. ‘Are you sure? Would you like another cigarette?’

Thomas felt that he couldn’t refuse under the circumstances, that to reject any more of the man’s hospitality would be rude. In truth he wasn’t feeling very well at all. His head had become light, as if it might float upwards and become detached from his shoulders. The sounds of the room startled him at intervals; he heard another glass smash next to his ear, but when he snapped his head around, found that the commotion was on the other side of the room. His sensory perception seemed warped. It was time to stop drinking — he didn’t want to lose control of himself, not in a place such as this.

‘Another cigarette. Yes please.’ He pushed his half-full glass to one side and accepted the offering. ‘And might I have some water?’

‘Will you not have a flutter? Your friends have left, but there is no reason why you should not have a good time. I have been watching Dr Harris — he seems to be enjoying himself.’

Thomas shifted uncomfortably. He flicked the end of his cigarette into an ashtray, and went on flicking when there was nothing left to shift.

‘Mr Santos …’ He took a deep breath. ‘Sir, I mean you no offence, but I made a promise to my father at an early age that I would never gamble.’

Santos nodded, but leaned forward and prodded Thomas’s arm. ‘Come now, Mr Edgar. We won’t tell on you. Who will know?’

Thomas smiled. Very quietly, he said, ‘God will know, sir.’ He pulled the roll of money from his pocket and placed it in front of Santos, who pushed it back to him.

‘No, you keep it. I admire a man who sticks to his principles. Please use it to buy something nice for your children. Do you have children?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Ah, you will soon be blessed, I’m sure. There is nothing more important in this world than producing children. I predict you will have many. For your lovely wife, then. I’m sure she is lovely, and that she misses you. Buy something for her. Promise me.’

‘I will, sir.’ He could not refuse. ‘I thank you.’

Before he received a reply, a large shape, all arms and legs, stumbled out of the crowd and banged into the table. Ernie Harris stood before them, his arms wrapped around a woman in a blue dress, with startling red hair. He had lost his jacket and patches of yellow moisture spread over his white shirt from under his arms. Sweat beaded his forehead and large red splotches flamed under the skin of his cheeks. His moustache, which had previously been waxed in a miniature imitation of his host, had wilted over his wet lips.

‘I say,’ he wheezed, ‘look who I found.’

The woman in his arms — trying to disentangle herself and regain some of the composure that had been stolen from her — was Lillie, the woman from the ship that had dropped them off in Santarém. Her dress shone with beads, and a diamond necklace clasped her white throat. It was mesmerising; Thomas stared into it until he heard her speak.

‘Good evening, Mr Edgar. Nice to see you again.’ She extended her hand and he grasped the end of her fingers through her pristine white gloves.

‘Sir,’ said Ernie to Santos, ‘may I introduce to you Miss Lillie. She’s French.’ He bumped down into the seat next to Thomas, uninvited. Lillie remained standing, waiting.

‘Enchanté, mademoiselle,’ said Santos as he stood and planted a kiss on her hand. ‘Please, join us.’ He kept hold of her hand and moved over so she had to sit next to him.

‘I am having a top night, thank you, sir.’ Ernie fanned himself with an imaginary fan. ‘But damned if I haven’t lost all of your money.’ His eyes drooped.

‘Do not concern yourself, Dr Harris. It was yours for the evening to do with as you wished.’

Ernie took Thomas’s cigarette from between his fingers and took a puff. His face screwed up and he coughed. ‘Christ! What’s this you’re smoking?’

‘Shh, Ernie,’ said Thomas, but Mr Santos was deep in conversation, in French, with Lillie. ‘It’s a local tobacco. Mr Santos gave it to me. You can finish it if you want. I’m not feeling so well.’

‘No stamina, that’s your problem, Tom.’ Ernie tried the cigarette again, and examined the end of it as he exhaled.

Lillie sat with one hand resting on her breastbone, nodding vigorously. She looked utterly transfixed. Santos leaned in close to her and touched her often — her shoulder, her arm, even her face on one occasion. His finger, with its perfect nails, lingered on her cheek for a moment and traced a tiny circle before he withdrew it. Thomas didn’t understand what he said to her, but she looked down, a smile on her face, and nodded again, harder than ever.

The room suddenly became unbearable. Thomas clapped his hands over his ears, but this made the noises around him seem louder. Ernie was uncomfortably close. He was speaking, but Thomas couldn’t understand what he was saying. His face was huge and shiny, and his eyes popped with veins, as if he were being strangled.

‘Are you all right, Mr Edgar?’ came a voice, seemingly from inside a cathedral; it echoed and bounced around his head. Santos had turned his attention from Lillie, and they both looked at him with concern.

‘Just … need some air.’ Thomas stood. He lost his balance and clung to the table. ‘Going for a walk.’

Santos didn’t protest; instead, he pointed to a door on the other side of the room, which he said would take Thomas to an alleyway. ‘Be careful,’ he added. ‘Stay on the streets that are lit well. Stay where there are other people.’

Thomas nodded and lurched towards the door. He dodged fat men in tailcoats standing about boasting to one another over the din. One man, with a wide, red forehead, caught his eye as he stumbled past. He was lighting a cigar with a banknote and winked at him. The conversations were in Portuguese, but as Thomas caught snippets, he understood as perfectly as if it were English.

‘My wife ordered a grand piano from France and she hasn’t touched it since it arrived. She just stares at it all day long.’

‘I have two of the things. So elegant.’

‘I’ve imported two lions from Africa. They are tame as long as I keep them well fed.’

Beyond the knot of men a crowd was gathered around a bathtub, in which sat two young women in extravagant jewels and nothing else. Two men — all the men in the room looked the same — were emptying huge bottles of champagne into the bath while the women squealed. One of the women looked directly at Thomas and he found that he had stopped to stare. Her small breasts shone with moisture and she smiled at him. He heard a voice in his head: ‘Come closer, Senhor Edgar.’ He gasped and took a step back, but the woman had looked away again, and her lips had not moved.

This is a pit of sin, he thought. Sweat ran into his eyes and blinded him momentarily. He tasted it on his lips as he licked his tongue over them, polishing them. He didn’t know how long he had stood there, but his whole body willed him to leave. With a final heave he reached the door and tumbled outside onto the street.

A cool breeze carried with it the sandy smell of the river and the forest. He could make out hundreds of different senses: the sharp musk of monkeys, the rustle of palms, the calling of dolphins, the smell of decaying fish, the sulphur odour of the male
Morpho rhetenor
. He stood and allowed the wind to cool the sweat on his face. It stroked him and calmed him. His breathing softened.

He stood beneath a single gas lamp in a narrow alley, not far from the main street. Wafts of music carried back and forth on the wind, getting louder by the second. Now that he was alone, he felt better: warm water trickled through his veins, and the backs of his arms tingled. He inhaled deeply, imagining he was breathing in the music.

He crunched down the alley and out into the street. Below the music he detected a commotion coming from around the corner. He glided towards it, his feet light. Rounding the corner, he burst onto a scene of exploding colour and vibrations, music and dancing figures. It was some kind of carnival or street party, with masked men and women cavorting to music that emanated from a band of musicians dressed in coloured rags. Thomas laughed as the crowd enclosed him; hands fluttered, ribbons waved, flags and confetti filled the air. He had an overwhelming urge to move his feet in time to the music; when he closed his eyes it entered his body and took hold of his limbs. Here were hands reaching out to touch him, and he let them. Masked faces laughed with him. He was in heaven, surely.