Cassandra Passarelli

How to Preserve a Butterfly to Keep it Bright and Beautiful Forever

1. After netting a butterfly, the best way to kill it is to carefully hold the specimen between your thumb and forefinger. Gently squeeze the thorax; the wings should separate slightly. To prevent it from drying out, a relaxing chamber can be made from a jar with a damp piece of paper inside.

A box of glass Christmas balls.

Circa second half of the 1960s, dissected to the core, dredged with sandpaper-rough frost.

Eight gold and red spidery foil fronds that tremble.

Three green crêpe paper honeycomb bells.

An orange, manic-eyed, Lucite Bambi manacled to twin miniature hinds.

Five balls covered in satin thread: three pine-green, one holly-red, one snow-white.

A polystyrene Cardinal with real crimson feathers.

A green wire of plastic flowers that won’t light if a single bulb blows.

One midnight-blue tree-topper, resembling a flagpole spear, still in its paper box, labelled ‘The Unbreakable Kind’.

The foil tree was stored in the attic for decades but, like my butterfly collection, must have been thrown out. A real tree would have dropped its needles onto the moss-green wall-to-wall carpet, so we had a fake one. Despite our parents’ oft-avowed atheism, Norman and Nina set great store on the arrival of cards, arranged on the mantlepiece over the gas fire between the book alcoves. Drinks were the big event of December. I prefer lepidoptera over chattering people. The Termagant nicknamed me Butterfly-Boy but, even still, pressies were Meccano until I could insist on a microscope or nets.

2. From the top, insert a pin through the centre of the thorax. Affix the specimen by pinioning it onto the spreading board’s centre groove and pushing the pin ½” deep. Slide the butterfly up or down the pin until the bottom of the wings are even with the top surface of the board (Figure 4).

One wooden chest of Meccano.

‘The world’s mechanical wonders in your home.’ The set bought the year I was born, with black and white instructions, was supplemented by later versions in aluminium, zinc and plastic, accompanied by colour manuals. Sets nine and ten appeared beneath the tree with my name on them, but they were really for Norman. We called our parents Norman and Nina, it was our mother’s idea, ‘to dissolve barriers’. A Scotsman, everything about Norman said ‘stay calm and keep your blockades firmly in place’. Now Nate, what about the Eiffel Tower? Staunchly Labour, Norman never forgave Nina for voting for Thatcher. Norman blamed the Tories when Airfix gave its eight-hundred workers forty minutes’ notice and shut its factory gates. Meccano’s closure marked the demise of the Baby Boomers and rise of Generation X. But at least I got nets that Christmas.

A lanky teenager, with down on his lip, “Butterfly-Boy” transferred his obsession with butterflies to girls. Kim, Rhonda and Cindy: I couldn’t think of anything else. The Termagant’s once-androgynous friends now teased me with their kohl-eyed looks and swelling cambers. Around me, they giggled, forgetting what it was they wanted to say. Norman continued to spend evenings prone on the kitchen floor, building Meccano bridges to nowhere. 

3. Cut several strips of wax, tracing, or plain white paper about 1½” wide and 6” long. You will use these strips to hold the wings in place and keep them from curling as they dry.

My LP collection and the Ferguson’s Radiogram.

The turntable stood in the sitting room. When friends came over, Nina discreetly disappeared into the basement kitchen. Not The Termagant or her friends. Genesis. Tangerine Dream. Pink Floyd. Black Sabbath. Deep Purple. Led Zeppelin. Steve Hackett. Fleetwood Mac. Nina snuck me extra pocket money for gigs at the Hammersmith Palais. We shook our greasy locks and punched our fists in the air. Later, Nina bought me a Schneider portable for my room so I could return her discretion, leaving her and my geography teacher nestling on the sofa with a bottle of Mateus Rosé.

Norman stayed later and later at the office. He installed a folding bed behind a filing cabinet and camped, moving there permanently when Nina’s new flame showed up. She loaned him money (which she didn’t have) and let him stay over. If Norman minded, he never let on. I know, Nate, a road surfacer! My focus briefly shifted from Cindy to Nina’s lover. For teasingly brief moments, he reciprocated.

4. Gently insert a sharp pin between the veins on the front edge of the left forewing and pull it into place. Place a strip of paper over the left wing as shown in Figure 5 and insert pins around the forewings to secure them.

Nina’s Goblin Teasmade.

Norman would never have addressed something as vexing as privacy. But Nina persuaded him to build a partition to divide the kids’ bedroom: cheap-as-chips, industrial grade hardboard over a frame. The Termagant could still hear everything through paper walls when her mates slept in my room. She kept the Teasmade. Which was when she earned her nickname, the Termagant, that delicious Shakespearian slur.

The Teasmade, Nina’s since childhood, was an encoded talisman from mother to daughter. Despite my resembling Nina more, their bond was tighter. Meccano was Norman’s talisman. Even though I’d lost interest. Even though I was sleeping with my sister’s best friend. Even though I was smoking dope. What about a cargo ship, Nathanial? Even when Nina went abroad (something Norman had never done) with us. Without him. Or was having an affair. Even when she was diagnosed with cancer. Or losing her wispy blond curls. And the breast that lay over her heart. Even when she began to die. Was dying. Had died.

5. Now do the same with the hindwings. Use a pin inserted at the vein at the base of the hind-wing or use spade-tipped forceps to properly position the hindwings. Affix pins around each hindwing to hold them in place (Figure 6).

Nina’s charcoal of me on cotton rag.

Running, butterfly net aloft, sketched one summer in Hereford. The fibres impregnated with the scent of wildflowers and grasses, the violent purple of foxgloves and ochre of poppies, the throb of bees and glimmer of dragonfly gauze. Nina curled over her sketchbook, sunshine smothering us. Norman reading, a shadow in the cottage gloom. Not speaking to her. Nor to us. Did he have an internal dialogue? What would it have looked like? Did he stutter and raise his imperious dark eyebrows? Would it have all made sense in his head? Let’s save for the locomotive next, Nathanial.

We could only guess at the Norman narrative. Of raising himself up by his bootstraps. Constructing Meccano high-rises alone in his bedroom, a precursor to studying engineering. Of the first university degree in his family. Courting the tiny artist with sparrow-song for a voice. Moving down south. Fathering superfluous children: Norman just needed Nina. Setting up the partnership. The distance settling in. The differences. Stop. The loneliness. What about the twin-cylinder motor cycle engine, Nathanial? Nate, are you listening? He had lost Nina. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Stop. The kids had turned against him. Stop. Why didn’t he do something? Speak up? Tell her how much he loved her. Or hated her. Something. She was dying, for fuck’s sake. Stop.

6. Cross two pins over each other to set the antennae in a “V” position. Also insert two crossed pins to hold the end of the butterfly’s body up in its natural position if necessary (Figure 7).

An inventory of objects invested with me-ness.

With Nina-ness and Norman-ness.

And Termagant-ness.

Though I’d prefer The Termagant scratched off.

I’m entitled to this list of childhood mementos: proof that those halcyon days existed. Carefree and beloved once, I traipsed through wild grass, net in hand, capturing fluttering beauty, binding it to foam. Norman never noticed the carpet beetles in the attic that devoured my specimens. My precious hairstreaks, fritillaries, skippers, brown arguses, silver studded blues, marbled whites and large heaths laid waste. The rarer brimstones, tortoise shells and commas, painted ladies and emperors ravaged by a common carpet beetle.

Norman’s corduroy jackets were too broad in the shoulder, his leather lace-ups too wide, his stamp collection too dull. I wonder if not writing a will was intentional. Ah, we haven’t made the coal-tipper yet, Nate. Nate? His deliberate deadly time-bomb that would unravel the affections of the children that felt none for him. Norman’s last laugh. 

7. Allow the specimen to dry for 1-2 days, or until the wings will stay flat when the pins are removed. Very carefully remove the pins and paper strips and transfer the specimen to the display case. The specimen will be fragile as it has already begun to harden again. 

The Termagant’s house.

My lawyer says I’ve rights to the heirlooms and the house, at its current value, taken from me, just as Nina and Norman were. We never discussed inheritance; she paid the death duties and moved in. Nina always said, ‘Look after Ness, she’s your little sister,’ though The Termagant took care of me at first.

There are moments, (in a lecture or dropping off to sleep) when memories plague me. Ness sobbing, stung after knocking a bee I’d trapped from its jam jar. Ness, a little older, having a nightmare and crawling into my bed. Ness boiling pasta the night of the funeral when we realised Norman wasn’t going to make dinner. Reminders of intimacy. Other families hold together, why not ours?

8. Remove the glass cover from the case and set it aside. Position your insect specimens in any arrangement desired. Start with the largest insects first, leaving adequate space between each specimen. Push each pin securely into the foam in the bottom of the case.

Ness, my cherubic, tough and funny sister with bangs and shrill voice, was only fourteen when Nina died. Her constitution was stronger than mine but still… There was no counselling back then. No family support. Just Norman, with the emotional empathy of a digestive biscuit. He couldn’t take care of himself, let alone us. He moved back after the funeral but withdrew further, his silences deepening till he disappeared from our lives, as if he’d died when Nina had. We scrimmaged through but simply put, Ness and I were orphaned.

University was a relief. I buried myself in books and boys. Ness’s tinpot hobbies prospered, grew from a viable concern to a solid enterprise. She moved from digs to the family house. Her boyfriend solidified into a husband. Children followed. I became a tiresome uncle, invited to gatherings as an afterthought. Where did Norman’s negligence end and ours begin? How much do The Termagant and I own? Are the little girl and boy who ran hand in hand chasing butterflies the same grown-ups who, unable to face each another, sat either side of a third room, our mediators relaying demands and counter-demands? An inventory of shabby relics, all that remains of Norman and Nina. Of Ness and Nate. Of decades of affection and altercation. After half a century we formally concluded our relationship with the division of goods.

Norman’s Seiko chronograph.

Norman bequeathed it: Take it, Nate, I’ve no use for it now. Forgotten in a kitchen drawer at home, it’s the deal-breaker. The house, the decorations, the Meccano, the record player and LPs, the Teasmade and the charcoal. The chronograph is the cherry on the cake. Now, when time-keeping is futile. To mark minutes without parents. Without a sister. With no son to build bridges to nowhere with. No daughter to pour Teasmade cuppas. Parts of me erased; moments void of history, wafers of soul, shreds of heart, specks of DNA. Some mornings, before I leave, I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror; Norman’s empty gaze returns my stare.

9. Be careful handling the specimens as they are fragile. Pay special attention to butterflies and moths, as the fine scales of their wings can be easily rubbed off, destroying their colour and beauty.

Washed-up on a Greek island, Cassandra Passarelli’s wandered between the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. She has just completed a PhD at Exeter where she taught creative writing. Cassandra has stories published in Cold Mountain Review, Ambit, Chicago Quarterly Review, The Cost of Paper, Exclamat!on, Riptide and Five by Five. Find her at @casspassarelli on Twitter.