The train rattled along the rails, cutting through the grey rain. Outside, drops slowly trickled down the glass, blurring the outlines of wet fields and sparse plantings. The compartment was warm, almost stuffy from the humidity brought in from the street by the passengers.
Parvis sat by the window. There were no more than twenty minutes left until his station, so he did not take off his hat. White, with a narrow brim, it completed the image, like the last point in a carefully calibrated ensemble. A snow-white jacket without a single crease, a fresh shirt, a blue waistcoat and a narrow tie - everything sat perfectly on the figure. Glasses in a thin metal frame emphasized the features of the face and hid the gaze in which, on closer inspection, one could see traces of tears.
He held a book in his hands: “The Good Mother” by Sue Miller. It had been sitting in the bookstore window for a long time, labeled “best novel of the year”. Critics had praised it, the cover was laconic and clean, almost sterile. Parvis picked it up not out of habit, but out of curiosity - he had rarely read in recent months, but this particular book had somehow immediately caught his attention.
Now he read it, leaning his elbow on the armrest, holding the open page with his other hand. The story was heavy. Anna Dunlop was a mother, loving, calm, deprived of custody of her daughter after a divorce. She was convicted not for her actions, but for her freedom - for trying to live outside the mold. Without scandal, without catastrophe, simply because the court saw in her something it shouldn't. The book didn't scream, didn't press, but each paragraph hit home.
A tear ran down his cheek. Parvis didn't blink. He didn't wipe it away, he just sat there motionless, as if that was how it was supposed to be.
He was going to her, to his fiancée. And to her brother Walton, his friend from university. They had shared many things with Walton. Conversations until dawn, arguments about things that no one discussed anymore, trust that arose without explanation. He missed them both, although he did not show it outwardly. Everything was going as it should. Everything was as it should.
The train slowed. There was a stop ahead. Parvis kept his eyes on the book, although his thoughts were increasingly leading him away. He did not turn the page for a long time, as if wanting to savor what was written. He sat silently, in his hat, like a frozen figure against the rain.
And suddenly, a light rustling sound was heard behind the door. Not the creak of footsteps, not a voice, but a rustling sound – barely perceptible, as if someone were sliding their hand along the wall or making their way, trying not to give themselves away. Parvis looked up.
The compartment door quietly opened, and a man carefully poked his head through the crack – a young man, about twenty-five, maybe younger. He was dressed simply: a white shirt without a jacket, unbuttoned at the throat, gray fabric trousers. No luggage. No umbrella, no coat. He moved quietly, almost on tiptoe, reservedly, as if afraid of scaring away someone's shadow.
The man raised his finger to his lips - a "shut up" gesture - and immediately, without asking, sat down opposite Parvis. His movements were quick, polished, but at the same time devoid of rudeness. He did not smile, did not say a word.
Parvis froze. He looked at the stranger with undisguised amazement, even the book on his lap shifted slightly to the side. His heart slightly accelerated, but he did not move. On his face - the same external imperturbability, although in his eyes flashed: what was that?
The stranger, as if nothing had happened, turned to the window. His face expressed curiosity, like a child who saw rain through glass for the first time. As if he had come here not with intent, but by chance. Or along some internal route that had nothing to do with the train schedule.
The man did not take his eyes off the rainy window. For a few seconds there was complete silence in the compartment, then he said calmly, almost in a whisper:
“Lepidoptera, Pieridae. It calls us.”
Parvis frowned, looking up from his book in confusion.
“It's about time, mister”, the man said with a slight solemnity, without turning his head.
Parvis didn't know what to say. He looked at him as if he were seeing him for the first time. His throat was dry. After a few moments, all he could manage was:
The stranger continued speaking, measuredly, with an even intonation:
“They will still study it, they will think about us and argue about us. Of course”, he paused, as if formulating the phrase in advance, “various opinions will arise, but in the majority of cases, future young people, I hope, will treat us with sympathy.”
He finally turned to Parvis, looking straight ahead and serious:
Parvis, still stunned, straightened up and, without realizing what he was saying, muttered:
Suddenly, hurried, heavy steps were heard outside the compartment door. Someone was quickly approaching along the corridor, and the next second a loud, sharp th-th-th-th! was heard - someone began to knock on the door with a force that left no room for doubt.
Parvis turned his head sharply, the book almost slipped out of his hands. He even stopped breathing, his heart jumped. The man opposite him, on the contrary, remained calm - as if he had been expecting this.
He stood up, straightened up and, with a completely different, almost theatrical voice, loudly said:
“What's the matter, gentlemen?”
A firm, harsh voice came from outside:
“Checking documents! Open up!”
Not a second passed before the man replied with cold politeness:
“Let the lady get dressed.”
Parvis froze, his eyes widened. He stared at his interlocutor in complete bewilderment. What lady? What was he talking about? Everything that was happening seemed suddenly absurd.
The man turned to him, smiled slightly - almost sympathetically - and said quietly, in a soft tone:
“Calm down. Don't worry.”
Then he went to the window and, acting quickly but without fuss, began to open the casement. The handle creaked. The rain was pouring outside, but that didn’t stop him. His actions were precise, confident – as if he knew what he was doing.
The window was already slightly open, and cold, damp air from the street immediately rushed into the compartment. Rain dripped inside, leaving dark spots on the upholstery. The man stood by the window, holding onto the frame, and spoke almost calmly, as if continuing a conversation he had started:
“Let's not hide the fact that there were mistakes. Who can argue with that?”
He turned half-way to Parvis, looking intently:
“You don't argue with that, do you?”
Parvis took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He realized that something was expected of him – and decided to play along:
“I don’t argue. There were mistakes,” he said clearly, as if at a rehearsal.
The man nodded, as if satisfied. Then, putting his foot on the windowsill, he began to rise, while continuing more sharply, with a hint of tension in his voice:
“So, making noise, taking risks, jumping out of windows, you must agree, is reckless.”
He turned around one last time, his eyes glittering in the rain.
“But we simply had no choice! I have the honor”, he said and jumped out with force, disappearing into the gray wall of rain.
At exactly the same second, the door swung open with a bang - the lock couldn't withstand the impact. Two men in uniform tumbled into the compartment. They quickly looked around the compartment, breathing heavily, as if they had run half the train.
One of them - the older one, in a white jacket with stripes - took a step forward and glanced at Parvis. He was still sitting, motionless, in his impeccable clothes, with a book on his knees and slightly disheveled chestnut hair. The hat remained in place.
"Where is your lady?" one of the men asked sternly.
Parvis slowly turned to those who had entered, paused, and said with an imperturbable face:
The words sounded calm, almost casual, as if he was answering a question about where the guide was.
The officer in the uniform straightened up, stepped closer, and frowned:
Parvis looked out the window, his gaze becoming dreamy, as if he were plunging into some distant memory or vision. He
“Lepidoptera, Pieridae”, he said with a slight hint of thought.
And he didn't add anything else.
A Deer Decides to Become a Lion
After the train stopped and Parvis stepped out onto the platform, he was in no hurry to go straight to his fiancée. Instead, the young man headed for the phone booth, trying to ignore the rain that still hadn't stopped. He went inside, smelling the distinctive scent of old wood and the faint smell of coins. He closed the door and dialed the number, replaying the latest events in his head and anticipating the meeting.
The phone rang several times, and soon the sleepy voice of Walton, his fiancee's older brother, was heard on the line.
“Hello?” the voice sounded tired, like a person who had just woken up.
Parvis, with a cheerful and slightly sparkling expression on his face, did not delay:
“How is she? And how is my aunt?”
Walton paused for a moment, apparently aware of who was on the other end of the line, and then responded with a hint of irritation, but also a hint of tired sarcasm:
“Why did you send her to us? Because of her, my mother is constantly having some kind of fights. I can't talk to her calmly, everything about you and your position as a candidate for my sister's groom. She's very worried.”
Parvis, without changing his intonation, let out a joke to the side:
“It doesn't matter, Walton. It's all nonsense. The main thing is, get ready for the park, I'll be waiting for you there.”
There was a slight breath on the other side, perhaps a tired "eh" from the conversation being over, but Parvis didn't let the pause drag on. He ended the conversation instantly:
“Well, don't be late. See you later!”
He hung up the phone with a small smile on his face and walked slowly out of the station, drowning in the city, overflowing with people. The clothes that seemed to him ideal for any occasion, with its immaculate white jacket and blue waistcoat, did not stand out at all among the bright outfits of those walking around. But despite the noisy city and the bustle, his thoughts were focused on something else.
He turned into the park, and when he reached the alley, he decided to rest a little. The park was full of people, among whom Parvis noticed several gendarmes - perhaps some kind of celebration or festival was taking place. They stood guard, as expected, maintaining order on this day of fun. But he did not care about the crowd, nor did he care about the bright atmosphere around him. He was already getting used to the fact that the world around him was moving, not noticing what was hidden under the surface.
Parvis walked over to a bench under one of the trees, where he leaned back, taking a copy of Sue Miller's “The Good Mother” out of his pocket. He grinned, knowing that it wasn't just a book for solitary reading. Hidden within the pages of the novel was something much more important - several documents, carefully folded and encrypted, that he could deliver to the right people. But for now, all was well. The documents were hidden between the pages, and the book itself was just another novel that no one would bother to check.
Buying this bestseller seemed like a coincidence, but it was actually part of a plan. While he was in the bookstore, looking at the options, he realized that this particular book would be the one that no one would pay attention to. A novel about family relationships - who would bother checking the contents? It was the perfect cover to hide what was important.
Once he was at the station, Parvis carefully placed the documents between the pages and, enjoying the moment, walked out into the street with them.
“No one will notice”, he thought. “The gendarmes? They are just waiting for someone to disturb the order, and a book that contains something so important will be absolutely innocent to everyone”.
He looked around the park, noticing how people passed by, alone and in groups, oblivious to his presence. That was fine with him: he was just another in the crowd, holding a book like everyone else. But in his case, it wasn't just a book. There were pages with something more hidden within them.
He opened it, listening to the rustling around him, and continued reading, although his eyes did not show the same lively interest that a normal reader would have. In fact, his thoughts were occupied with something completely different: What if someone suddenly decided to find out what was hidden between these pages?
But he immediately pushed those thoughts away. There were too many people around, and they were all busy with their own affairs. Parvis smiled quietly and decided that for now everything would be fine. Everything was going according to plan.
Parvis sat on the bench, still reading The Good Mother, lost in thought. His eyes wandered from page to page, but his attention was less on the book than on what lay between its leaves. All was quiet, and he was almost at ease when Walton came up from behind a tree.
Walton was somewhat sloppy, hatless and unshaven, which certainly did not add to his attractiveness in comparison with the perfectly groomed Parvis. His sad eyes and slightly rumpled appearance seemed a contrast to his friend's impeccable appearance.
“Hello”, Parvis said with a warm smile, standing up and offering his hand.
Walton, however, did not respond to the greeting with his former energy. His face remained thoughtful and slightly sullen.
"Sit down", Parvis invited, sitting down on the bench again.
He moved over to make room and opened the book to the very page where the hidden documents lay neatly.
Walton glanced at the pages and, seeing what he needed, couldn't help but smile. He relaxed slightly, though his gaze remained heavy.
But Parvis noticed something alarming at that moment. One of the gendarmes standing nearby cast a sideways glance at them. His eyes lingered for a moment on the two friends, and for a moment there was a feeling that their conversation had become too noticeable.
Without hesitation, Parvis quickly closed the book, no longer seeming interested in what was in it. He straightened up and said with a slight smile:
“Well, will everything work out now?”
Walton, catching his friend's eye, also nodded slightly and answered with some relief:
Parvis took a deep breath, feeling confident again that their plan was still safe. But still, the gendarme's eyes remained in his memory, like a small shadow of doubt. Everything had to go smoothly.
At that moment, when the tension eased slightly and they both remained sitting in the light shade of the tree, a loud, almost deafening cry suddenly rang out:
“Ice cream! Ice cream! A refreshing dessert for true connoisseurs!”
It was the ice cream man, standing at the edge of the park with a brightly colored van, a full box of ice and colorful boxes. He was shouting so loudly and joyfully that he could not help but attract attention. Parvis, noticing him, suddenly seemed to return to childhood.
“I want ice cream”, he said, and there was a strange, almost childish desire in his voice.
Although he was already 27 years old, which did not at all correspond to his usually reserved appearance and manners, he suddenly felt how the sweet chill of ice cream could become the only salvation from all this hidden tension that they had been enduring for so long.
He immediately stood up from the bench, quickly placing the book on the seat, as if he had forgotten what he was holding in his hands. Without hesitation, taking Walton's hand, he pulled him towards the ice cream man.
"Hey, we're not little boys!" Walton grumbled, clearly displeased, but he followed his friend. His smile was barely noticeable, but it was clear that he couldn't resist a touch of irony when it came to such naive joy.
“Oh, come on”, Parvis replied with a light laugh, “isn’t ice cream for people your age?”
And although Walton continued to grumble and try to disown this “boyish fun,” he still gave in and followed Parvis, to this unexpected exciting moment that seemed so simple and trivial, but at the same time was a pleasant echo of carefree times.
Inside Parvis, despite his age and all his responsibilities, there was already something more that asked for a break from the weight of the world and responsibility. And ice cream was the perfect way to forget about everything for a little while.
When they had finished their ice cream, Parvis let out a loud sigh, as if he had momentarily forgotten why he had come. But as he walked alongside Walton along the park's central alley, he spoke, bowing his head slightly.
“Listen… how is she?” His voice was deliberately cheerful, almost boyish, but his gaze was attentive, tenacious. “Is everything okay? Is she not sad? How is the bride's mood?”
He smiled, and there was an almost genuine excitement in his eyes. It was clear that he was not just asking - he really cared how his bride was feeling. But Walton did not share this mood.
“When we get there, you can ask as many questions as you want”, he muttered tiredly, without even looking at Parvis. “And I still need to hand over a report, remember?”
Parvis slowed his pace a little. Of course he remembered. He had given Sue Miller's book to Walton not so that he could read the novel, but so that he could pass on documents through him, as a trusted college friend. Documents that would have been impossible to pass in plain sight: they had been carefully tucked between the pages of a bestseller, naively designed as light reading for a sentimental young man. No one would have suspected such a volume.
Parvis instantly became more serious. The cheerfulness disappeared. He turned sharply from the alley towards the exit of the park.
“Okay”, he said quietly, “let’s go.”
They came out onto a noisy street. It was crowded, festive, as if there was a festival going on in the city, and only the two of them moved through the crowd with a different mood. Parvis raised his hand, calling a taxi. A yellow car with a flag on its antenna stopped at the curb. He opened the door and, letting Walton go first, got in himself, giving the driver the address where Walton lived with his sister and mother. Everything that had happened today - the meeting, the book, the plan - was secondary. One thing was primary: to come to her. Everything else was a tribute to friendship. Old, proven, but not the main one.
The taxi pulled up smoothly to a house with weathered shutters and a carved porch. Walton, without waiting for the driver, opened the door and, as if guided by a dream, stepped outside. He walked toward the house with uncertain, heavy steps, like a man who has nothing to say but needs to hear everything.
On the porch, in wicker chairs under a striped awning, sat two women. His mother, stern, nervously rubbing her fingers, her gaze piercing the space in front of her. Next to her was Parvis’ aunt, tall, broad-shouldered, in a cream dress, with a slight mockery in her gaze and a half-empty cup in her hands.
"Here he is", Walton's mother whispered, barely audibly, nodding in his direction. "Your nephew. Oh, I prayed that he would have an accident on the way here, but he still came. My poor girl…"
“Oh, come on”, aunt interrupted with a soft smile. “My hero has arrived. Not a groom, but a fashion magazine. Well, let them look.”
At that very moment, as if in response to these words, Parvis stepped out of the car. His white suit had not lost a drop of cleanliness, his hat sat perfectly, and even his tie seemed to have just been tied. He walked forward, easily and confidently, as if on a red carpet. His face shone with calm and brilliance, which reflected an unshakable belief in his own charm.
He walked up to the porch, noticing out of the corner of his eye how the bride’s mother immediately turned away and adjusted the edge of the blanket, and his aunt stood up and said with slight pride:
“And here's our man. Well, finally. Everything is as I said. Look at the guy's back.”
Parvis inclined his head slightly in greeting, casting a quick glance at Walton and the women. He knew he had not spoken for the last time—but now, before a word was spoken in his direction, he had won. Or at least looked as if he were about to win.
The door of the house opened, and she came out onto the porch – Parvis’s bride. In a white, light dress that emphasized the slenderness of her figure, and in an elegant white hat with wide brims, she looked as if she had stepped out of a summer ballet poster. The light fell softly on her, scattering over her shoulders, and for a moment everything around her seemed to freeze.
Walton, hearing the footsteps, turned around, met his sister's gaze, and without saying a word, walked past her and disappeared through the door, leaving her alone under the appraising glances of guests and relatives.
Parvis, on the contrary, became animated. His face lit up with genuine joy, and, coming closer, he bowed with theatrical ease, raising his hat.
“Oh, my precious lady”, he said with a light, playful intonation, “if you have decided to go out in such favorable weather, let me implore you: take a net. I beg you, I implore you! It is simply necessary!”
He leaned forward slightly and, half-turning, nodded towards the green clearing behind the garden, where large day butterflies were already fluttering in the air.
“There”, he continued enthusiastically, “is a whole kingdom of white butterflies. It's simply unbearable to miss such an opportunity! You won't leave me alone with this task, will you?”
He extended his hand, smiling slightly, but without mockery. In his gaze was that same old, good-natured cunning with which he was able to overcome the silence and cold without crossing the line of what was permitted.
Parvis's fiancée, noticing his sincere impulse, could not help but laugh. Her eyes sparkled, and her lips twitched slightly in a smile, when she, raising her hat with her hand, answered:
“Oh, you really think I'm going to catch butterflies? Well, I can't refuse! But only if you catch them with me.”
Parvis happily picked up her joke, unable to hold back a smile:
“Of course! Just be careful not to catch a whole kingdom in the net - I want to keep at least one as a souvenir too!”
With these words he gently beckoned her to follow him, and they walked along the path, gradually moving away from the house. At first their steps were wide, but unhurried - they talked among themselves, parried jokes, discussed how not to miss the moment, so that everything would be perfect.
But as they passed out of sight of Aunt Parvis and the bride's mother, whose conversations grew louder, their steps quickened. The women's whispers became barely audible against the background of everything that was happening:
“Well, it’s begun… Your nephew, Don Juan, I don’t understand what he’ll do with her…” the bride’s mother said worriedly, looking at those who had disappeared into the field.
“What are you afraid of? Everything will be fine. Your daughter is a good match”. Aunt answered with a slight reproach, but with noticeable concern in her voice.
Meanwhile, in the clearing, under the shady trees, Parvis and his bride, laughing, took each other's hands and, unable to contain their joy, rushed forward. Their steps became a run, and soon they, shouting joyfully to each other, rushed through the flowering grass, past the butterflies that spread their wings in the air. Everything around them became eclipsed: as Parvis had promised, they were catching not only butterflies, but also their own freedom, their first real moment of happiness, which could no longer be lost.
They raced across the clearing, their steps growing faster, and around them, as if in response to their joy, butterflies fluttered through the air, disappearing into the greenery and bright flowers. The flowering grasses brushed softly against their feet, and everything else—the world they were in—seemed insignificant. When they finally reached the very end of the field, where the flowers stood tall and butterflies flew in droves, Parvis suddenly slowed down.
Stopping, he inhaled the fresh air, which smelled of wild herbs, and, catching her gaze, began to speak with a light, almost theatrical accent:
“…Today you glided like a swan so fair,
A noble lady with a regal air.
I never thought you'd be a different way,
And missed the tender touch of dawn's first ray…”
He paused, then continued, clearly immersed in the poem he knew by heart. His voice deepened slightly, and he seemed to enter the rhythm of the words, experiencing each line.
“…Do you recall, a mermaid on the shore,
With arms outstretched, a spirit to adore?
Chasing joy in a tempest wild and free,
And sparring with the shepherds by the sea?
They ran in haste, in confusion's flight,
And mocked you with the cry: "A mermaid, right!"
A poor example for the village girls,
Who dream of spindles, not the ocean’s pearls.
For it was you who sat upon the field,
With threads that danced beneath the starry veil.
It was you, whose beauty sought to be sealed,
Like honeyed summer winds in softest sail.
Together we sat on the golden hay,
No "yes" was spoken, nor a word to say.
What was has gone, what will be, unknown,
While Mother washed the linens in the glow.
Do you recall, as queen in native guise,
Your eyes alight with wisdom’s endless skies?
And your braids fell, like doves in twilight’s grace,
Upon your dark shoulder, in the fading place?”
Parvis thought for a moment, and then, having finished reading, said with a smile:
“Well, what do you think?”
The bride standing nearby shook her head with a smile and asked:
Parvis, without taking his eyes off, answered with pride:
“Yes, Velimir! The great poet of the coming utopia!”
The bride couldn't help but laugh, and her laughter sounded like the light ringing of bells, gentle and free. She laughed at the unusual line, and then, unable to contain her mirth, looked at him.
Parvis, as if sensing her joy, took her hand and with a slight movement pulled her towards him.
“Well, enough philosophizing”, he said, smiling. “It’s time to go back, otherwise Auntie will start worrying again!”
They rushed forward again, without fatigue or unnecessary words. On the way home they laughed and ran, feeling once again at the height of happiness. Their steps echoed in the air, as if invisible threads connected them to each other, and they forgot about everything in the world except this moment.
As they approached the house, Parvis suddenly stopped. His steps slowed and he froze, listening to the sounds that were beginning to come from the street. Police sirens began to shrill in the air, their roar growing louder and closer.
The bride, sensing the change in his mood, became wary. She slowed her pace and turned to him, her face distorted with alarm.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice betraying her confusion.
Parvis, trying to regain his confidence, said, avoiding panic in his voice:
“Let's go and see. Everything will be fine.”
They headed toward the house, but with every step the sirens grew louder, and the air around them seemed to grow heavier. The bride looked back more and more often, her steps became faster, more nervous. But Parvis walked calmly, with an easy determination, as if he knew in advance what awaited them.
When they stepped out onto the porch, the scene they saw was something they hadn't expected. Several gendarmes, guns in hand, were escorting Walton out of the house. His hands were cuffed, and his face expressed not only confusion but also fortitude, as if he was ready to face whatever was coming his way with indifference to fate.
The bride could not contain her emotions. With a cry, she rushed back to the clearing, as if hoping to find shelter there from what was happening. Her face turned pale, and her steps, full of desperate anxiety, carried her away at the moment when Parvis remained standing.
He stood frozen, unable to move. The whole world around him seemed alien and lifeless now. Walton's look, thrown over his shoulder, pierced Parvis. It was a look that was filled with something deeper than mere disappointment or despair. It was a look that said that everything they had believed in was destroyed, that their efforts had been in vain.
At that moment, Parvis felt a chill that penetrated his heart, and his mind, as if having lost its bearings, froze in anticipation of further events. That look from Walton was like the final chord, after which there was no way back.
Suddenly he became aware of a conversation going on nearby. It was between his aunt and the bride's mother, their voices lacking restraint.
“My daughter will not marry him,” the bride's mother said, her voice full of determination. “How can you trust someone who set up her brother?”
Aunt Parvis, as if not understanding the seriousness of the situation, responded indignantly:
“Set him up? How do you mean set him up?”
The bride's mother, without showing the slightest hesitation, replied:
“Well, how is it? He left the book on the bench. That's where it all started.”
Parvis froze. The words struck him like lightning, making him clench his fists. He instinctively clutched his face, his breathing became ragged, and his heart began to beat faster, as if with each beat it gave out another flash of terror.
“A book on the bench…” he repeated to himself, as if trying to believe what he heard.
It was the book, the Sue Miller novel, that he had used to hide the documents. It was the book he had forgotten in the park when he had gone out to get ice cream, dragging Walton along with him. How could he have forgotten? How could he have left it there, on the bench, among people who would surely have noticed it?
“If it weren't for your forgetful nephew”, Parvis's bride's mother continued, more bitterly and accusatorily, “my son would be free. All because he naively left that book on the bench. Who would have thought that it would lead to such consequences?”
Aunt of Parvis, although she tried to remain calm, could not hide the slight despair in her voice.
“I don’t know anything”, she began, trying to protect her nephew, but after a short pause, her voice became quieter. “My nephew is a saint. He could do nothing wrong. But…” she sighed, her words becoming less confident, “what’s going on? Shame on our heads…”
Every word his aunt said sounded like a sentence, and it pierced Parvis. He could no longer stand, could not calmly listen to this situation, which seemed increasingly hopeless. He knew that his forgetfulness had been a fatal mistake. If he had not left that book, if he had not gotten carried away with ice cream, if… But now it was too late.
Parvis took a deep breath, coming to his senses from the words of his mother and aunt, his heart pounding with unusual force. Without waiting for the end of the conversation, he suddenly turned sharply and rushed to the clearing where he had just been with his bride. He knew that he had to catch up with her.
“Lady!” he shouted, but his voice barely penetrated the empty silence that reigned around him.
The bride might already be far away, and every step Parvis took was filled with despair. His feet barely touched the ground, he was striving towards her, hoping that he would make it in time, that not all was lost.
Parvis quickly caught up with the bride when he saw her figure, hurriedly and almost desperately walking towards the forest. He felt his heart squeeze, and, without losing time, approached her.
“Lady”, he began, his voice full of excitement, “will you marry me?”
The bride did not stop, not even looking at him. Her steps were quick but confident. She finally exhaled, and her words sounded cold as ice.
“I won't go, Mr. Parvis.”
These words struck him like a bolt of lightning. Parvis froze for a moment, and then asked the question that seemed to be the most important to him.
She, without turning around, answered with such coldness that these words pierced him straight:
“Such questions are not answered.”
Parvis felt his pride breaking, as if it were being torn apart, and, unable to remain indifferent, he asked:
She turned around. There was not only despair in her eyes, but also malice. She spoke, and her words were sharp as a knife blade.
These words pierced him to the very heart. Parvis swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling his world crumbling. He wanted to object, wanted to justify himself somehow, but instead he blurted out:
“Tell me something more offensive.”
She looked at him with a heavy expression and seemed to notice how he was suffering. But her face remained cold and impassive.
“Walton is facing political prison, and you…” her voice became quieter, but the words still sounded like a sting, like a knife in the soul.
Parvis could not remain silent any longer. He interrupted her, which was the last spurt of his emotional resistance:
“But your brother didn’t tell you anything about himself!”
She looked at him, and a spark of what had been in their relationship before flashed in her eyes. But her gaze became cold again, and she answered, not hiding her bitterness:
“So he didn't trust you.”
She paused, as if considering what else to say, and added:
“When a person studies insects with such lust, then…”
She didn't finish her sentence, but there was so much hidden meaning in her words that Parvis felt more vulnerable than ever. But before he could respond, she turned again and walked further into the forest, ignoring his excuses.
Parvis stood there, unable to move. Her words continued to echo in his head, and he felt himself gradually losing everything that had once seemed important and right to him.
Parvis felt his mind begin to slip away, and his head began to spin with disordered thoughts. His feelings, filling his heart with melancholy and despair, did not allow him to think clearly. The words of his bride, her refusal and cold alienation - all this was tearing into his consciousness, breaking the last certainty.
In desperation, not understanding what he was doing, he rushed toward the house. His steps were unconscious, as if he had no control over his body. When he reached the porch, he did not notice his aunt and the bride's mother sitting there. He walked past them, went up to the porch and, without looking at anyone, went straight to the corner where the butterfly collection usually lay.
It was right there on the porch, neatly laid out. These butterflies, collected on previous visits, were stored here, and they had become more than just a collection to him - a symbol of his previous relationship with this house. Without thinking, he grabbed the collection and lifted it from the floor.
For a moment his gaze rested on the butterflies. He stared at them for a long moment, as if trying to comprehend their significance, but suddenly, overcome by rage and senseless despair, he threw the collection abruptly to the floor. There was a thud on the ground, a noise as the butterflies scattered and broke, and silence fell on the porch.
At that moment, the sharp cries of crows were heard from the trees growing near the house. Flocks of crows, as if sensing something was wrong, flew up into the sky, and their black silhouettes obscured the light, like harbingers of trouble. The cries of the crows were muffled and ominous, like an alarm signal that did not bode well.
The bride's aunt and mother, sitting nearby, screamed in horror when they saw what had happened. At that moment, amid the sounds of wings flying apart and glass fragments shattering, Parvis stood there in a daze, not understanding what he had done. Everything around him seemed alien, and he felt as if the world was collapsing.
Parvis, entering the house, stepped barely audibly on the floor, as if trying not to disturb the silence that reigned within these walls. He was focused, determined, and his entire gaze was directed in only one direction - to the bride's room. His plan was clear. Without giving himself the slightest chance to hesitate, he went to the door of her room and opened it, as if there was no obstacle in the form of desperate love and regrets for him.
He entered the room, and his gaze immediately fell on the desk, on which lay objects that always reminded him of the invisible boundary between light and shadow. Quickly and confidently, he approached the desk, opened one of the drawers and took out a lady's revolver. He froze for a moment, glancing slightly at the cold metal in his hand. But the moment was brief. Parvis put the revolver in his pocket and, without thinking, placed a sheet of paper in front of him.
The pen in his hand felt heavier than ever. He began to write, but despite his decision, his thoughts were racing. He knew that every letter, every stroke was important, because the letter was not just an apology – it was a justification for his actions.
“Let me refute your words about me not being a man and only interested in butterflies. My actions were aimed at correcting the mistake I myself made. I took your revolver, and at the moment this action may seem ridiculous, but I am sure that the end justifies the means. I do this because I want your brother back, and not for selfish reasons.”
Parvis paused for a moment, looking at the paper. He remembered meeting a mysterious man on the train, who, being pursued by gendarmes, accidentally entered his compartment. He said a few words that now seemed to echo in his thoughts: "I have the honor." These words sounded like a key, like a spell, which was now intertwined with Parvis's plan itself.
“I have the honor,” he wrote at the bottom of the letter.
Parvis slowly put down his pen, examining what he had written. His thoughts became clear, and his steps inevitable. With each movement, he increasingly felt that this moment was the beginning of something important, something he could no longer stop.
