Translation: At the age of six his grandfather helped him to capture his first butterfly. At first it was him who had to pierce them with the pin. As a kid it gave him the creeps. At sixty-six he had them all, except for one. That one obsessed him. The most frustrating was to know that it lived in the area, just like the other ones that were now hanging on the walls of his home.

He had never left his country. He never wanted to. He was happy contemplating his butterflies. Also, if he managed to capture the missing one before dying, he was certain that he would be a satisfied man.

But when he encountered her during one of his walks, resting on a leaf, as if it would have been there waiting there for him all of its life, he did not stop. He took three steps back and sat down; close, but not far enough, not even daring to look at the butterfly.