Lepidoptery

The magistrate was having a smoke and pondering alternative careers when a flutter of blue tugged the corner of his eye; a young man was walking briskly down Marlborough Street, his trench coat untied and catching the wind like a wing. The fine poplin was dyed with dusky woad, but to the magistrate, it looked cut from a bolt of evening sky.

He stamped his cigarette and chased the young man, keeping just shy of a run. The young man’s brisk pace was offset by his strange trajectory, veering left and right, sometimes onto the front steps of an office, sometimes into the street, and so was easy to catch.

“Pardon,” said the magistrate nearly out of breath. The young man turned, his face white as parchment, his eyes large and almond-shaped. “Sorry to interrupt your errands,” he continued, “but can you give me the name of your coat maker? It’s quite a beautiful garment.”

The young man thought for a second as if he did not understand the question. “No one made this coat, Sir. It has always been in my possession ever since I was born.”

The magistrate laughed. “That’s an awfully big coat for a newborn. Although I supposed you may have been swaddled in it.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a coat at the time, Sir, and it certainly wasn’t this size. My mother tells me it began as a blue dot on my tongue which grew into a coil of ribbon I used as a pacifier. My earliest memory of it was a bow tie I wore as a child, then as a shirt I wore everyday at boarding school. And now…” The young man took hold of both flaps of his coat and spread them out like wings.

The boy is mad, thought the magistrate helplessly infatuated. “Are you busy? Join me for a cup of tea.”

“But teatime is nearly over. You must be due for the courts,” said the young man pedantically.

“Oh, I have just resigned. Come, let us celebrate,” said the very recently unemployed older man unable to tame his excitement.

The young man said nothing, he just nodded and smiled a smile that reminded the older man of those faces painted on the backs of tropical insects.