The Butterfly
Published in Issue #35 Translated from Yiddish by Rachel Mines subscribe to unlock the full storyThe young couple stood leaning against the boardwalk’s railing, gazing out over the beach. The sea was calm, its dull green waves sluggish. The tide was coming in. Breaking waves sprayed, foamed, flowed up the damp sand, and attempted to carry away the seashells and other flotsam washed up on the shore. An October sun shed warmth and October breezes blew.
The man was tall and thin, with broad, stooped shoulders, curly auburn hair, and a shy, self-effacing look in his eyes. The woman – slight, with pale blonde hair and small hands and feet – looked somewhere between an overgrown child and an adolescent girl.
“Chayale, look, way out there – can you see the masts? I wish I was on one of those ships!” the young man sighed.
“Look, Tsemekh! See the pretty white shell next to that post? I want it so much!” The fair-haired girl tugged at her husband’s sleeve, pointing at a pile of shells with her thin finger. “I could use it as a soapdish.”
But Tsemekh’s eye was caught by a butterfly that had fluttered weakly onto the damp sand where it sat struggling, unable to fly, laboriously opening and closing its red-brown wings. Clearly they had gotten wet. A breaker advanced relentlessly, foaming closer and closer.
Chayale gave a little scream. Before the sound could die away, Tsemekh was in motion. He leaped over the railing, hung for an instant like an orangutan, dropped down to the sand, snatched up the butterfly, and ran up the staircase...
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