Yellow butterflies

Maybe the old legends imprinted in their conscience of a past that never existed or the shadows of the trees over the road and the dense vegetation of the forest, were the reasons why the youngsters had not anticipated the risks —even at that moment in which the spirits of the mountains warned of the dangers of the death that was waiting with its blood–thirsty demons— and decided to not cut short their journey to the radar at the end of the road. Their fatal destiny, however, was already decided, told me Alberto emphatically, with anguish.

Alberto had never forgotten that day, even when more than thirty years had gone by since the murders. At least, not the night that I met him at the Templo de Jesús, a ruinous bar in El Barrio, where all the guys used to go, especially every Friday, to have some drinks and talk until being unconscious. Alberto never reached that point. From my part… Well, I must admit to my excesses.

Deep inside, our intention, at least my intention, was not to kill them, he told me that hot and humid Friday evening. Our plan was to perform the arrests, nothing else. But a weird frenzy took control of our minds, sir, and after the first shot, we all entered a state of fear mixed with hate and, I think, with our need to get rid of our deep frustrations, to such a point that we ended up murdering them. You know, sir? Sometimes I ask myself why did they not return to where they came from, after all the signs and messages of the mountain.

It was evident to me that the murder of the kids didn’t have any possible justification. Although I was beginning to feel sick because of Alberto’s story, my curiosity moved me to let him go on with it.

The real cause of those killings was the yellow butterflies, sir. I looked at him totally surprised. You see, those yellow butterflies live in the forest and appear and disappear as the spirits of the mountain mandate them to. It is true that the spectral forces of the death were already growing slowly within us. But, had the yellow butterflies appeared, chances are that our minds would have been directed to their beauty and their almost musical buzzing. That is a fact that nobody wants to believe, but is real. You must be at the mountain to understand it. I looked at him really shocked and confused by his capability to justify those cold blood killings.

Those butterflies are in some way like the rivers in the valleys of this island, sir, he insisted. If those rivers come together, no forces of death are capable to prevail and bring sorrow to people. But they are distant from each other, and will probably be for many years to come, sir. 

I listened with attention since it was the first time that a killer had spoken to me and, as a matter of fact, he did so in a way that I didn’t understand entirely. What’s your name, sir? Joseph, I told him with some suspicion. But his question was fair, I thought, after being talking for such a long time. Mine is Alberto. I appreciate your attention to me. I know that the guys here think I’m crazy, he told me after our late introduction to each other. But anyone who went to the radar mountain would understand what I am talking about, sir.

After about two weeks I was surprised by the news. The man with whom I was talking at the Templo de Jesús had been found dead at the mountain of the radar. The local witnesses had told to the police and the journalists that they had advised the man to not continue to the top. However, he had not paid attention to them. One of the witnesses said that, at the radar zone, at the top of the mountain, he had seen a man carrying a machete, but that he didn't see the man who was killed. After several inquiries and the completion of the investigation, it was discovered that the man killed was Joseph. Also, the locals insist on a fact that they considered very important, and that I told Joseph when we met. The day he went to the mountain there were not yellow butterflies, sir. By the way, mi name is Alberto. What’s yours?

Notes:
1. Thanks to my dear friend TFT for editing this text. Again: ¡Gracias!

2. On the previous versions of this text, were not integrated all the changes suggested by my friend and editor, TFT. I extend my excuses to my readers and also to my patient and generous friend.
3. Image from “the neny fragments” 

Eric Alvarez © 2012. All rights reserved.