Butterfly Winter. W. Kinsella P.

decorations.

      ‘I am humbled by your generosity,’ said the Wizard, shaking yellow dust from his caftan. ‘I have been a party to one of the more remarkable occurrences in a land of remarkable occurrences: babies that played catch in their mother’s womb. Babies that even now, at the tender age of two weeks play catch in their crib.’

      The Wizard stopped and eyed the mouth-watering food.

      The Old Dictator nodded for him to help himself.

      The Wizard, rather than spoon out a dish for himself, pulled a full crystal bowl to the edge of the table and began to eat with the service spoon.

      ‘Why exactly are you here? What do you hope to accomplish, other than a free breakfast?’ the Old Dictator asked.

      ‘Not a thing,’ said the Wizard between mouthfuls. ‘I have seen something miraculous, and as someone who has always supported you over General Bravura, I decided that you should be appraised of the situation. You are so much more astute than your enemy, I know you, in your infinite wisdom, will know what should be done to make the most of the situation.’

      ‘You are a today of the first ilk,’ the Old Dictator said with a smile.

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘What percentage do you want?’

      ‘What is it we are planning to do?’

      ‘That remains to be seen. First the business arrangements.’

      ‘A what is it they call it, a finder’s fee, perhaps. Say, 40 percent.’

      ‘I would not even allow my banker 40 percent. You look like a charlatan, and a not very successful one. Five percent, take it or leave it.’

      ‘With all due respect, I will leave it. I am necessary because I have complete access to the remarkable and marketable twins. Their father is a close friend and confidant. Their mother is like a sister to me. Thirty percent, not a guilermo less.’

      ‘If I were not an honorable man I would send Dr Noir and his secret police to pick up the twins and deliver them to me. I assure you that Dr Noir, who is more of a today than you will ever be, would be certain there would be no survivors, that the parents, and anyone associated with the family, I assume that would include you, would disappear forever. As a benevolent head of state I would personally adopt the orphaned twins. Now, I’m sure you wouldn’t want that to happen. Fortunately, I am able to keep Dr Noir’s basest instincts under control. Ten percent.’

      They eventually settled on a fifteen percent share for the Wizard, of whatever might develop. After many hours of tossing ideas about it was agreed that the whole family would be moved to San Barnabas and set up in a fine home where tours would be held at least twice a day, possibly three, maybe even four times. The babies would be observed playing catch, and as their skills increased they would put on longer and longer displays. In return their family would be cut in for a percentage of the take, they would be fed, housed, and supplied with nurses and a personal physician.

      Fernandella refused outright.

      ‘I will raise my own children without the help of the state. How come a state that never helped me or even knew of my existence now wants to shower me with treasures all because my sons are unique?’

      Hector Pimental lurked by the stream. A massive home in San Barnabas, good clothes, perhaps a car. His mouth watered at the prospect.

      ‘We must work slowly,’ he told the Wizard. ‘We will make changes so gradually that Fernandella will hardly notice, and when she does, the changes will be so beneficial she will not reject them. My influence will cost you 10 guilermos per day.’

      The Wizard delivered the 10 guilermos which Hector immediately bet with him on losing baseball teams.

      So as not to make Fernandella suspicious, Hector claimed to have been been wildly successful with his betting.

      ‘With my winnings I am going to show my love of family by replacing the tin roof which attracts heat for a much cooler wooden one. Also the walls, and I will fill them with insulation to keep out the heat.’

      Though mistrustful, Fernandella allowed the remodeling.

      ‘Next a nursery for the twins,’ proclaimed Hector, a few weeks later, flashing a wad of guilermos such as Fernandella had never seen.

      The nursery was built, then a couple more rooms were added. Finally the grounds were landscaped, the brush and refuse cleared away; a low chain-link fence created a large front yard, with a sidewalk where passers-by could stare at the twins as they played by the miniature plate and pitcher’s rubber that had been surreptitiously installed.

      ‘The ticket booth will be at the foot of the hill where Fernandella will not even notice it,’ Hector told the Wizard who passed the information to the Old Dictator.

      By the time Fernandella realized that people were paying for the privilege of watching her babies play catch, she was lulled by the comfort of her home, the fine clothes that had been provided, the abundance and variety of food, the new furniture.

      ‘How are we being compensated?’ she demanded of the Wizard, who now lived in a small home at the bottom of the hill, where from his window he could watch the tickets being sold and calculate his percentage of the take. He hired a housekeeper for himself, one who had formerly worked as a dancer at Miss Kitty’s Bar and Pleasure Palace on the seamier side of San Cristobel.

      ‘The profits are mainly being held in trust for the twins,’ replied the Wizard. ‘They will be very rich young men when they come of age. In the meantime your needs are being taken care of, are they not? You have to do nothing but put the twins on display three times per day. I myself receive a small fee for inaugurating the idea. The Old Dictator takes a percentage, for it is the Government of Courteguay that advertises the unique and stupendous Baseball Playing Babies, live and in color without commercial interruption. The Old Dictator also oversees the fees paid by foreign media for the privilege of photographing your beautiful sons.’

      Fernandella was suspicious but she was dealing with powers far beyond her.

      Julio was walking by seven months, however Esteban remained stable in the catcher’s crouch until he was nearly three. Esteban stared straight ahead, apparently concentrating on his pitching twin. He paid no attention to the throngs of people, many from the United States (the baseball-playing twins increased tourism to Courteguay by nearly a thousand percent), who pushed against the fence, their cameras snapping photos constantly, clicking like cicadas. Julio often dazzled the tourists with a smile. The women immediately fell in love with him. He would stare arrogantly at the prettiest female in the audience, tug suggestively at his diaper, then unleash a wild pitch into the crowd, aimed, usually with great accuracy, at the stuffiest looking male present.

       TWELVE

       The Gringo Journalist

      I have more in common with the Wizard than I ever suspected. I often feel like the Wizard skulking in the underbrush witnessing events I was not meant to see. I am collecting material for my book on the history of Courteguay, incorporating my series of articles and features; to my knowledge no such compilation has ever been published. But I am coming to realize there is good reason for that because the history of Courteguay, such as it is, is so ephemeral as to crumble like pastry when put to any kind of test, to turn from a dew-studded spider web sparkling in the dawn to a useless daub of wet, black nothingness, only to reappear as a mysterious bright object visible only to certain birds …

      As he grew older, Julio was able to remember the batters he had faced in the womb. He recalled them as being grey and spectral, faceless as fog.

      When Julio began pitching in the Major Leagues, he treated all batters as if seen in the translucent memory of his mother’s womb. When reporters