Butterfly Winter
The final novel from legendary Canadian author WP Kinsella.Butterfly Winter, W.P. Kinsella's first novel in 15 years, is the story of Julio and Esteban Pimental, twins born in the Caribbean country of Courteguay, an enchanted but impoverished enclave on the border between Haiti and the Dominican Republic where time moves at its own pace and reality is open to question.The brothers are born to play baseball, they even played catch in the womb, and at the age of ten they leave home for the American Major Leagues. Julio proves to be a winning pitcher who, much to the frustration of any team that signs him, will only throw to his catcher brother, who is a very weak hitter.
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W.P. KINSELLA
Butterfly Winter
For Barbara Lynn Turner Kinsella
Table of Contents
Chapter Nine: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Eleven: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Twelve: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Fourteen: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Fifteen: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Sixteen: Esteban Pimental
Chapter Seventeen: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Twenty-One: Hector Pimental
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Twenty-Five: Fernandella Pimental
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Wizard
Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Thirty: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Thirty-One: The Wizard
Chapter Thirty-Two: Julio Pimental
Chapter Thirty-Three: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Thirty-Four: The Wizard
Chapter Thirty-Five: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Thirty-Six: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Wizard
Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Wizard
Chapter Forty-Two: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Forty-Three: The Wizard
Chapter Forty-Four: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Forty-Five: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Forty-Seven: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Forty-Eight: The Wizard
Chapter Forty-Nine: An excerpt from a chapter of a novel written by the Wizard
Chapter Fifty: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Fifty-One: Milan Garza
Chapter Fifty-Two: Quita Garza
Chapter Fifty-Three: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Fifty-Four: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Fifty-Five: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Wizard
Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Wizard
Chapter Fifty-Nine: Dr Lucius Noir
Chapter Sixty: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Sixty-One: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Sixty-Two: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Sixty-Three: Julio Pimental
Chapter Sixty-Four: The Wizard
Chapter Sixty-Five: The Wizard
Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Wizard
Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Wizard
Chapter Seventy-One: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Seventy-Two: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Seventy-Three: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Seventy-Four: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Seventy-Five: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Seventy-Six: The Gringo Journalist
Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Gringo Journalist
‘The word chronological is not in the Courteguayan language, neither is sequence. Things happen. That is all there is to it. In most other places, time is like a long highway with you standing in the middle of a straightaway while the highway dissolves in the distance in both directions, past and future. In Courteguay, if you picture the same scene, time occasionally runs crossways so that something that will happen in the future might already be behind you, slowly receding, while something from the past may not yet have happened.’
—THE WIZARD
‘You appear to be a man in your late 60s,’ the Gringo Journalist says. ‘I have always been what I appear to be,’ replies the Wizard. ‘And,’ he adds, the words barely audible under his creaking breath, ‘I always tell people what they want to hear, whether it is truth or fiction.’
‘I am told that you move from place to place as if by magic,’ the Gringo Journalist continues.
‘There is no magic, there are no gods,’ says the Wizard.
‘You are currently referred to as a wizard, even by your enemies.’
‘It takes a wizard to know there are none,’ says the Wizard.
The Wizard lies in a high, white hospital bed. The room is banked with flowers, bouquets made up of various combinations of the eleven national flowers of Courteguay. The Wizard stares up at the Gringo Journalist, who is lean and blond, holding a sleek black tape recorder toward the Wizard as if he were offering a bite from a sandwich.
The Wizard, who has discarded his hospital garb, is wearing a midnight-blue caftan covered in mysterious silver symbols that look like what a comic strip artist might use to intimate curse words, and insists on being paid for the interview, not in Courteguayan guilermos, but in American dollars. He forces a smile for the Gringo Journalist, his gimlet eyes twinkling.
‘Interviews are so tiring. Even wizards die, did you know that?’
The morning air is cool and lustrous, rife with possibilities, silvered with deception, tasty as fresh lime.
