Sound of Butterflies, The Read Online Free PDF

and they think nothing of the expense of sending it away. Decadent, certainly, but also very patient, I’d say! Captain Tilly says we will have to see Manaus with our own eyes to believe it. The city is completely isolated, with no roads leading to it, but it has a complete tram system within it. They recently built an opera house and they have extravagant parties to celebrate everything. The people who live there have grown very rich from the rubber boom and they have more money than they know what to do with. Fortunately for us, Mr Santos has decided to use some of his to further British science and to cement his British interests. They say he is the one of the richest of them all, with a rubber plantation far up the Amazon that is thousands of square miles in area.
    After we arrived in our lodgings, and had settled in somewhat, we ventured into the forest a little way after John, but we didn’t find him, and he returned a long time after we did. Santos’s man came with us, to make sure that we didn’t get lost on our first outing. The road from our lodgings continued on only a few yards before we seemed to be deep in the forest. Almost immediately I saw several different morphos (do you remember the beautiful blues I showed you in the museum that day?) high up in the trees, and a few other species of butterfly that I could not identify offhand. You can imagine how this set my heart racing — already within minutes of arriving there were exciting new discoveries for me! I have a very good feeling about finding my butterfly.
    We had just made it back to the house when the heavens opened and it poured with rain. I couldn’t believe it — it happened so quickly that I hadn’t even seen the clouds gathering. In many ways it was a welcome respite from the heat — indeed, while we had been walking, our guide informed us that he would normally be sleeping away the hottest part of the day. We noticed several of our neighbours from afar, slung in hammocks on their verandas.
    Well, my little Sophie, my candle is burning down and my hand is aching with the writing. I promise I will write to you as often as I can. You can send letters to me care of the agent Ridewell, whose address you have, as he will be forwarding everything to me on a regular basis. The night is hot here, but it is cold without you, my sugarplum.
     
    Your loving husband, Thomas
     
    Thomas sealed the letter and tied it up with string for extra protection. Ernie was already asleep, on his back with his mouth open under his moustache, a loud popping sound coming from the back of his throat every time he breathed out. Thomas had written by candlelight out of respect for his roommate. The room was sparsely furnished. Hammocks hung on either side, with small desks next to them for each man. Makeshift shelves waited in the corner for books to be unpacked and for specimens to be collected.
    He peeled his shirt off slowly. Every fibre stuck to him with layers of sweat. He put on his nightshirt, which was crisp on his skin for a moment before it, too, was swallowed in dampness. He knelt for a brief prayer on the hard tiled floor, and climbed into his hammock. This he accomplished with some difficulty: he tried to go in with his knees first, but the wretched thing kept spinning around and throwing him out. Finally he backed in, sat down and gingerly lay back with his feet on the ground. Then he swung his legs up, and found that he was most comfortable. It was certainly a welcome relief after the hard berth on the ship.
    After four weeks on the sea, Thomas’s legs had taken some adjusting to dry land. As he had walked through town, the buildings about him seemed to undulate. But for the first time since they had set out, his stomach felt calm — apart from the excitement gnawing at it from the inside — and he felt the stirrings of the appetite that had well and truly deserted him somewhere in the Atlantic. He had eaten ravenously at dinner, when the deluge was