(2013) Looks Could Kill Read Free Page A

tree!” exclaimed Emma, bursting into tears.
    “There, there, Emma,” said Mrs Brown, reassuringly, “let’s go see how he is.”
    Mrs Brown discovered Danny lying on the ground, grimacing, and it was obvious he’d fractured his right arm.
    “She did it, Mrs Brown!” said Danny, angrily. “She made me fall.”
    “No, I didn’t, you pushed past me!” retorted Emma.
    Danny’s parents and an ambulance were called. It was all put down to an unfortunate accident and Mrs Brown assured Danny’s parents that she’d improve playground supervision. Danny quickly forgot the incident and let Emma write her name on his plaster cast.
    ***
    One day, in her second year at kindergarten, and for no particular reason, Emma timidly knocked on the door to Mrs Brown’s study whilst the rest of the class were playing outside. Not hearing anything, Emma opened the door and peered in. Mrs Brown had her back to Emma and seemed intent on something she was doing on a large table. Emma coughed and Mrs Brown turned around, appearing surprised by the intrusion.
    “Yes, Emma,” she said, somewhat irritated, “what can I do for you?”
    Emma noticed various intriguing items on the tables: a glass jar with something fluttering in it, a large wooden board with objects pinned to it and a collection of fragile looking things with iridescent colours, shimmering in the sunlight.  She was transfixed.
    “What’s that?” asked Emma.
    Mrs Brown wasn’t really sure what to say. Lepidoptery wasn’t exactly part of the curriculum. Still, Emma obviously had an inquiring mind and it was better to be truthful than to send her away to spread rumours of insects done to death. “Emma, this is my hobby, I collect butterflies,” she said.
    Emma looked closer. She saw butterflies with their wings spread out with pins fixing them to the board. “Have they gone to heaven?” she asked. “And what’s happening to the one in the jar?”
    “Yes, Emma, these butterflies are dead, and this one – she pointed at the jar – is about to go to heaven.”
    Emma looked surprised. “Did you kill the butterflies? How could you do that to something so beautiful?” She looked close to tears. Mrs Brown brought her closer to her and put her arm around her.
    “Sometimes, Emma, it’s better to put things to sleep to preserve their beauty rather than letting it fade away.”
    Emma nodded, not quite sure what to make of what she’d witnessed or what Mrs Brown had told her.
    “If you want, you can come back and have a look at my collection another time. Would you like that?” Mrs Brown asked.
    Emma nodded. Mrs Brown led her outside back to where the other children were playing.
    Emma couldn’t sleep that night and during the night left her room and got into bed with her parents.
    “What’s the matter?” said her father, sleepily.
    “Nothing,” said Emma. “Just a bad dream.”
    And Emma enjoyed her time with Mrs Brown outside kindergarten classes. She learnt to understand the beauty of butterflies and Mrs Brown taught her all their names.  She used to like reciting them to help her get to sleep. Mrs Brown showed her how to use the sleep jar to capture their beauty and eventually this seemed to Emma as natural as breathing.  Mrs Brown gave her a poster of butterflies which her father hung up on the wall at the bottom of her bed. Sometimes, Emma would go to sleep imagining a halo of butterflies above her head, their wings delicately fanning her and casting patterns on her face.
    Mrs Brown had taught Emma not to fear death and to appreciate that it could even be beautiful.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

August 1970
     
     
    Leaving Mrs Brown’s was difficult for Emma. She’d discovered so much about mixing with other children and her final report was full of glowing endorsements of her character, such as: “pleasant and helpful”; “friendly to other children”; etc. Emma thought the fact that they’d shared her secret of butterfly