In the Time of the Butterflies

by Julia Alvarez

out. If you multiply by zero, you still get zero, and a thousand heartaches.

Most Dominicans at the time of the dictatorship, myself included, were raised Catholic and would have heard that familiar admonition that whatever we give will be multiplied a hundredfold. I do embrace living with generosity of spirit, but sometimes it’s time to turn off the self-abnegation faucet. Anyone who has been in a bad/abusive/unworkable relationship knows that sometimes no matter how much love and self-sacrifice you throw at it, the best thing you can do for yourself and each other is to move on—otherwise, you will both turn into the smaller versions of yourself. Certainly for Dedé’s mother (Mercedes/Doña Chea) this option was impossible. Divorce was unheard of, forbidden by the church. But she emotionally “divorced” the Enrique who was causing her and others so much grief. Dedé is able to make a different choice and divorce Jaimito. As someone with compromised math skills—my husband insists on being the one who reconciles our checkbook at the end of the month; otherwise, when I’m in charge, we often end up richer or poorer than our balance shows. And so, I feel a certain pride in being able to carry off a math metaphor. But I have so little confidence in my math abilities that I did run this passage by Bill. When he couldn’t believe I didn’t know something “this simple,” I remind him that I flunked every school through fifth grade and had to attend summer school to be passed on to the next grade. By the way, one of the things Dedé shared with me is that her father insisted she be the daughter who managed their country store. Minerva was the reader and poet; Patria the homemaker and caretaker; María Teresa the social butterfly and romantic; and Dedé was good with numbers and kept the books. Every family seems to divvy up roles that underscore each sibling’s strengths, but sometimes this profiling prevents us from exploring new skills. So, I’m throwing this back at my readers: what was your role in the family? And if you were an only child did you feel more leeway to diversify and not be a “monoculture”? Is there a skill or area of expertise you wish you had been encouraged to explore? Is it too late now? Harriet Doerr, whose first novel, Stones for Ibarra, is a favorite, started writing at age seventy-three. Grandma Moses, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Frank McCourt, Annie Proulx (another favorite). In other words, there’s still time!