"Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you."
-Nathaniel Hawthorne
They were called Nozomi butterflies because they were wishing butterflies. The golden stripes on their wings were said to hold the wishes which they would carry to Heaven. In the summertime, when they descended upon the valley, children who were usually loud and rambunctious would become quiet and still as they tried to entice the butterflies into landing upon their hands with little cups of sugar-water, held out like offerings in exchange for a wish. The legend told that each person ought to make only one wish in their lifetime, for the strength of the wish would be diluted with each additional wish that was made. Children chose very carefully the single wish that they would make, before raising up their tiny hands and sending the butterflies back to Heaven. At night, they dreamed of their wishes rising up like golden dust inside each of the butterflies' vibrant stripes, crowning above the clouds, becoming light that would fall back down on them and make their wishes come true.
In the middle of the summertime of that year the butterflies returned, as they always did. They descended upon the town like a cloud, and the eyes of everyone who stepped outside were struck by constant flashes of golden wings. The butterflies clustered together, usually around still water or on the leaves of bushes. Nobody minded their presence, even though they had to walk more carefully in the streets and listen to the beating of tiny wings in the middle of the night. The Nozomi butterflies were not going to stay. They were just passing through. In a few days, they would gather themselves into a cloud again and rise up out of the town, heading for the green hills of the further countryside. The whole town would step out of doors to watch the gigantic blanket of butterflies form above the houses as all around them, more and more of the little creatures left their temporary resting places and drifted upward to join the flock. They looked like human souls flying up to Heaven. The air would actually hum with the beating of wings, a hum that sounded like the beginning of a song. How beautiful, people would say. How beautiful. And the hearts of all those in the town would feel a little melancholy after the butterflies had gone.
The blanket of butterflies fell upon the hilltops outside the town first, as these were closer to the open air. People lived on the slopes of these hills, their houses tucked into the thrushes of forest all around them. In the middle of a summer afternoon, these green and brown spaces were suddenly filled with gold, and cries of excitement could be heard from almost every house. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the wave of gold collide with the earth. After this, it was quiet. No one wanted to scare the butterflies away. The only sound that could be heard was the beating of wings.
In a clearing that overlooked the town, a little girl was playing with her brand-new brother. She had carried him here through the drifting cascades of gold, his first time ever seeing the butterflies. It felt like her first time as well. She was six years old, but all the years before this seemed to be lost in the fog of early childhood, a time before concrete memory. This year, though, it was different. She had a feeling that she was going to remember the butterflies' visit this year. It was like walking through a firestorm that didn't burn, or seeing stars falling in the middle of the day. It made her heart burn with a fiery kind of gladness to be alive.
Shono was lying upon his blanket in the grass, laughing and reaching for the butterflies. His older sister was watching vigilantly to make sure that he did not actually grab one out of the air. Shono was only two months old, and he did not understand just how gently a butterfly needed to be handled. They were so fragile. The little girl was gazing out at the village and pondering this when suddenly, a piece of golden sunlight dropped straight into her lap. She glanced down and beheld the creature as it flapped around a little, coming to rest upon her right knee and draping its wings on either side of its tiny abdomen. She couldn't remember if a butterfly had ever landed on her before. She was almost afraid to move. Very slowly, she reached into her shoulder bag and drew out a bottle of water into which she had stirred some sugar before leaving the house. Even more carefully, she poured a small amount into the bottle's cap and held it near the butterfly. She looked up as Shono began to gurgle in excitement, and smiled indulgently at him. When she looked back down again, the butterfly had climbed onto her hand and was uncurling a tiny, straw-like appendage from below its black eyes. It was so light that she couldn't even feel it. Slowly, she lifted her hand nearer to her face, examining her guest from all angles as it began to drink the sugar-water. Its golden stripes were surrounded by black, which made them stand out all the more. Its legs were positively infinitesimal. It was like gossamer that had been made (just barely) solid. The girl noticed that one of its wings had a slight nick out of the tip, apparently nothing which prevented it from flying. She grinned in pleasurable delight as the butterfly continued to indulge itself in the sugar-water, fanning its wings lazily. She was glad that it trusted her enough to perch on her hand. From far away, she heard the sound of wind chimes ringing, intermingling with the humming of thousands and thousands of wings of tiny creatures that could fly.
The girl did not make a wish. She did not know that her small visitor was a wishing butterfly. She had always lived outside of town, in the hill community, and as such, the stories which she'd learned about the world were not exactly the same as those told to the town children. Even if she had known, there wasn't anything that she needed to wish for. She was young and happy and strong. She had never known sickness or death in her short life. She had a mother, a father, and a new baby brother. She lived in a stable home, filled with plants and bread and surrounded by the homes of friends and affable neighbors. She had whole acres of forest in which to spend her childhood playing and exploring. She was a little poor, but she did not know this. To her, work was simply a natural part of life that offered more opportunities to explore. She liked running around the woods in search of kindling for her mother's bread ovens, and trekking into town to deliver the loaves to her mother's customers. The unexpected visit of the butterfly was just one more blessing in her charmed life. She needed nothing.
The butterfly stayed on her hand after it had finished drinking, sunning itself atop her knuckles. She held her hand very still so as not to disturb it, quietly admiring the tenacious beauty of the fragile creature. Eventually, a rush of butterflies emerged from the woods behind her and began to drift downward toward the town. She could see the people on the streets below, staring into the sky and waiting for their arrival. Her butterfly visitor roused itself, apparently intending to join its friends. The little girl lifted her hand up to the sky and watched as the creature launched itself from her finger and soared into the crowd of its fellows. She soon lost sight of it amidst the flashing stripes of gold as they descended toward the houses and shops below. She waved enthusiastically as they went. It was someone else's turn to enjoy the presence of the pretty butterfly. Even so, she would remember this summer day as her own.
Down in the town, the arrival of the butterflies delighted every child except one. A little boy was sitting on the edge of his back porch, staring gloomily at the beating golden wings of the butterflies dancing over his small artisan's pond. His legs were curled up to his chest. For him, the melancholy had already arrived. A slight sound on the porch behind him belied the arrival of his mother. The soft-faced young woman pushed open the sliding door with care, coming to sit beside her young son on the wooden edge. Her face was full of maternal compassion and understanding. "What's wrong, little dove? Aren't you happy that the butterflies are here?"
The boy sighed, kicking his legs back and fourth languidly. "Don't call me little dove, Mom. I'm not a dove. My hair is black. And no, I'm not happy. It's not fun even with the butterflies, because the other kids won't play with me again."
"Why won't they?"
"I don't know. They just won't. I even said that they could pick the game this time, but they said no. And then they went off to play without me." He curled his knees up tighter to his chest and squeezed them with his little hands, his face a mark of childish distress. The woman laid a hand upon his back comfortingly. This had been a reoccurring problem with her youngest son ever since he had grown old enough to socialize with children his own age. He was not a bad child. He did not hit the other children, or steal their toys, or whine constantly. He was simply his father in miniature. He was intense and passionate, and the other children didn't know how to deal with him. He didn't like to compromise, and he had an aggressive side, although it was not rooted in mean-spiritedness. However, children at this age really couldn't tell the difference. She did her best to instruct him in social mannerisms, but she couldn't change his core nature, and incidents like this were all too common. It pulled at her heart, because she knew that her son really didn't understand why he was constantly ostracized by his peers. His older brother spent time with him when he could, but he was busy- becoming a man all too quickly. At some point, her little boys' lives seemed to have flown right out of her hands.
The woman patted the child's head and offered little platitudes of comfort, to which he nodded but did not believe. He didn't understand what was wrong with him that he couldn't play with the others. Whatever it was, it shamed him, but he had long since made up his mind that he would never cry. Unexpectedly, the front bell rang. He bit his lip as his mother stood up and disappeared back through the sliding door to answer it. The voice of his older neighbor wafted down the front hall. Not wanting to be seen sitting here alone, the little boy stepped off the porch and slouched over to a bush beside the pond, resuming his folded-up position on the ground. The butterflies were all fluttering around in groups of two or three, merrily chasing each other as they skimmed over the water's surface. Even the butterflies had companions. The little boy turned his head away and closed his eyes, reducing his world to darkness and silence. After a while, he cracked them open again, and was surprised to find a single butterfly hanging on to a leaf near his face, like a golden drop of sun. He stared hard at it- it looked like the others in every way, except that this one had a tiny piece missing from one of its wings. He had never had a butterfly come this close to him before. Suddenly an idea bloomed in his young mind. Bringing his hand up underneath the butterfly, he gently separated it from the leaf and balanced it upon his hand, barely breathing. Curiously, he eyed the stripes that were supposed to contain the wishes which the butterfly would carry back to Heaven. Could there be room for one more? Blushing, he glanced around shyly- he didn't want anyone to know he was doing this, not even his mother. Then he leaned his face in very close to the butterfly's ponderous black eyes, and whispered intensely, "I want a friend. That's my wish. A real friend. A good friend. Can you give me that?"
The butterfly didn't answer, only fanning its wings out lazily in the breeze. The little boy bit his lip. "Please," he added for good measure, not sure if politeness would increase his chances of having his wish come true. From across the yard, he heard his mother calling his name. He started upward and signaled for her to be quiet. When he looked back down again, the butterfly was gone. He spotted it flying languidly away, flapping occasionally to keep itself airborne. He stared after it with wide eyes, wondering if he had done it right or if he ought to have done it at all. A friend was what he wanted more than anything in the world, but perhaps he should have offered the butterfly something in return- sugar-water, most likely. Regardless, it was too late now to change anything. You only got one wish. The little boy trudged over to his back porch, staring at the ground. His mother patted him on the head again.
"What were you doing, little dove?"
"Mom," he groaned. "Don't call me little dove. And I….I made a wish on a butterfly." He wasn't sure why he had told her. Probably simply for reassurance's sake. "Do you think it will come true?"
"I'm sure I don't know," she replied, smiling in endearment, "but it could."
"What should I do if it does?" he asked, the thought just now occurring to him.
The young woman laughed. "You should enjoy it, of course! And also, take care of it. That's the one rule about wishes. If you're lucky enough to have your wish come true, you have to show real appreciation for it. Otherwise it will go back up to Heaven."
"All right," he murmured, wondering how exactly this rule would apply in regards to his particular wish. He had essentially wished for a person. And a person couldn't just turn into wishing dust and float back up to Heaven. Still….
"I will. I will take care of it," he promised the air, and the butterfly, if it was listening. Slowly, he took his mother's hand and followed her back inside, hearing the beating of wings creating a great hum throughout the land all around him, like a thousand voices poised to begin a choral song. The entire land was listening to the butterflies sing.
Nozomi= wish/hope/desire