THE GARDEN’S KEEPER SEES a flash of a silver-dotted under-wing, then another and another, as sun breaks through the ruined wall. The butterflies skim in, a drift of mirrors. Soon, as spring warms the Tuscan woods, more endangered ones will arrive, perhaps even a shimmering False Apollo such as last year was blown from distant shores to rest its frayed transparent wings in his sanctuary. But what is he to do with such a blow of beauty, so alone? The young man hungers to shelter something rarer still, culled from the halfremembered, the forgotten, what never was.