Time Is A Tiger Made Of Dead Butterfly Wings

Zhao Qinglin likes to talk about butterflies.

In 2004, says Zhao Qinglin, I was working on a tree farm in Mentougou, and running a liquefied gas station. It was then that I became interested in butterflies. They are so beautiful, and bring so much joy. And yet their numbers are declining.

Arthur is less than fascinated. How long to recharge a phone?

So you breed them, says Arthur.

Yes, says Zhao Qinglin. My wife and I have a butterfly farm in Beijing. We come up here to collect larvae and eggs. It's not easy breeding butterflies. Just ask me.

Yes, just ask him, says Deng Xiumei. He is entirely self taught. He knows everything from his own observations. And he has had many disasters.

For example, says Zhao Qinglin, when I  tried to interbreed papilio maacki with papilio xuthus. Nothing doing. From then on I decided to stick to the norms.

Yes, says Arthur. It's wiser to stick to the norms.

Why did he say that? He never sticks to the norms.

He stares hard at the locator beacon, willing it to recharge his phone faster. But you can't hurry something like that.

Deng Xiumei looks at Arthur expectantly.

And you, says Arthur. Do you also breed butterflies?

I do, says Deng Xiumei, but I have another string to my bow. I make pictures with dead butterfly wings.

She is very talented, nods Zhao Qinglin. She is accomplished in the fine arts. Her pictures amaze everyone. Her best one is a tiger.

A tiger, says Arthur. I'd like to see that.

Would you? says Zhao Qinglin.

Yes, but I must go, says Arthur. I'm due back at the Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology and Paleoanthropology to return this bicycle.

Well, I don't have it with me, says Deng Xiumei. It's at our butterfly farm. Here's our address in Beijing.

Thank you, says Arthur, shoving the card in his pocket and retrieving his phone from the charge plug.

It rings straight away.

Arthur Rimbaud, says Arthur.

Arthur! says Gaius. At last! Where are you? I need you.

I'm at a locator beacon, says Arthur. Where are you?

The Summer Palace, says Gaius.  Near the big yellow duck. I have just freed my fingers by the unexpected means of plunging them into a black chicken stew. I want you to......

Bad reception, says Arthur. Can't hear you properly........

He ends the call.

His phone rings again. It's Sikong Shu.

Arthur! says Sikong Shu. You answered! Where are you? Oh wait, ..........I can see you!

Sikong Shu rides into the clearing, with Richie Porte close behind.

They skid to a halt beside the locator beacon, and feel in their pockets.

Richie takes out his notepad and pencil. Sikong Shu pulls out a pot of rose jam.

Time is a tiger, made of dead butterfly wings..