National Geographic

diicult to escape the moment the blumei ceasedto move. It remained beautiful afterward, butin an instant all its fourth-dimensionality haddrained away. It had become a mere gemstoneor a splash of paint.More than for the butterfly, I feel sorrow forwhoever will eventually hang it on a wall or tiltit on a desk. That person will never know justhow exquisite it had been in life.``````OVER THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS at the hut,catchers bring Jasmin specimens for inspection.They come from all directions, sometimes in themorning, sometimes emerging from darkness.They bring butterflies, mostly, but a hand-ful of moths and other insects. One evening asthe sun sets, a few catchers sit talking on Jas-min’s high porch. Then suddenly one—an olderman—stands up, grabs his net, and leaps to theground below. The others cheer as he sprintsuphill, waving his net toward a dark, ghostlyshape in the air.He returns, and the men take turns exam iningfound on the wings of the Indonesian butterflyPapilio blumei.”All of that—the sputtering atomic beauty—is on display as the butterfly descends. It is, inshort, alive.As it moves toward its potential mate, Aris’snet shoots out and swallows it whole, like adiaphanous predator.It’s painful to see. I had forgotten, for amoment, about the net.Aris’s face is alight with joy. And of courseit is—with great patience and skill he has justcaptured a prize that will help provide food forhis wife and new baby. He reaches gently intothe net and takes it in his hands. With its wingspinned back between his thumb and forefinger,he uses the other hand to pinch its body for amoment, and it dies.He gathers up the decoy, puts it and the newspecimen into their little triangular wax paperenvelopes, and slips them into his box. As hewalks now, he whistles.As we descend the waterfalls, though, it’s126 NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC