The History of Bees

Chapter 23 GEORGE

I left at first light. Took some sandwiches in a bag and a thermos full of coffee. Drove the whole way without stopping. Seven hours straight, without a single break. I hadn’t seen Emma at all. After I’d fixed the light, I passed out for a couple of hours on the couch. She was up in the bedroom, maybe she was sleeping, maybe not. I couldn’t bring myself to check. Didn’t have time. No… didn’t dare, to tell the truth.

My eyes itched, were slightly bloodshot, but I was nowhere close to falling asleep. It cost me nothing to drive all these miles. I was well over the speed limit the whole way, but there wasn’t much traffic and no speed traps. Would have been just perfect if my driving had cost me my license.

At exactly 12:25 p.m., according to the clock on the dashboard, I pulled up with a skid in front of the college. Parked in a space bearing the sign RESERVED FOR PROFESSOR STEPHENSON, but didn’t give a damn. Stephenson, whoever he might be, would have to find himself another space.

The college buildings were of red brick—of course they were, all schools are made of red brick—and even though the college wasn’t particularly old, it was built to seem venerable, tall and wide, paned windows with white frames, was probably supposed to remind you of Harvard, or one of those places. Command respect. But it didn’t scare me.

I hadn’t been to this place since we’d brought Tom here in the autumn of last year. Set him up in a tiny room he would share with a short, bespectacled Japanese boy. The room smelled of dirty socks and hormones. Poor guys, there wasn’t anywhere you could be alone. But that was apparently part of the deal.

I hurried in, passing a long row of brass plaques for the college’s benefactors. Green’s Apiaries luckily wasn’t among them. There were various display cases containing trophies the college’s students had won in various senseless competitions, along with portraits of bad-tempered college deans. Men, all of them. There weren’t that many—the college was built in the 1970s and couldn’t boast of a particularly long history.

I came out into a large round room with a marble floor against which the sound of my footsteps echoed from wall to wall. I started tiptoeing, but then stopped myself. I had nothing to apologize for. I paid Tom’s tuition, it wasn’t exactly as if I didn’t belong here. In a sense I was actually a co-owner of this college.

I asked for Tom. Loud and clear. Without any preamble. The guy at the counter was lean and had dreadlocks, sat with his head submerged in the computer screen. He checked a register without gracing me with so much as a glance.

“He has a free period now,” he said.

He continued tapping away on the computer, playing some game, probably, in the middle of the working day.

“It’s urgent,” I said.

He grunted. Doing his job was apparently not at the top of his list of priorities.

“Try the library.”

Tom sat bent over some books, speaking quietly with two others. A brunette, quite pretty, but wearing sad-looking clothes, and a guy with glasses. They were clearly deep in conversation, mumbling intensely, because he didn’t notice me until I was standing almost right on top of him.

“Dad?”

He said it softly, apparently here in knowledge’s stronghold using your voice was not allowed.

The other two also looked up. Both with expressions as if I were a buzzing fly that had flown in here by mistake.

I thought he’d be alone, for some reason, just sitting here and waiting for me, but he was living a life of his own, with people I knew nothing about.

I raised my hand in a feeble greeting.

“Howdy, partner.”

I kicked myself immediately. Howdy, partner? Nobody says that.

“You’re here?” he said.

“Darn tootin’.” This was just getting worse. Darn tootin’? I couldn’t think straight. Guess what I’d planned to say would have to wait.

“Is something wrong?” He jumped to his feet. “Is something wrong with Mom?”

“No, no. Mom is as fit as a fiddle. Ha-ha.”

Good Lord. I’d better just keep my mouth shut.

He took me outside into the sunshine. We sat on a bench. Spring was further along here than at home, the air was heavy and warm. There were young people around us everywhere. College kids. A lot of eyeglasses and leather satchels.

I noticed that he was looking at me, but suddenly I didn’t know where to begin.

“Have you driven all this way just to talk?”

“Seems so.”

“What about the farm? The bees?”

“They won’t go anywhere… I mean fly anywhere.”

I tried to laugh, but the laughter came out wrong and ended up like a cough.

We sat a little longer in silence. I pulled myself together, remembered what I’d actually planned to say.

“I’m going to Hancock County next week. Blue Hill.”

“Oh. Where’s that?”

“Maine. Just ten minutes from the ocean. Do you remember that you went there with me?”

“Yeah… I don’t know.”

“When you were five, before school. We went just the two of us. Slept in a tent, you know.”

“Oh yeah. That trip.”

“Yes, that trip.”

He fell silent.

“There were bears there,” he said finally.

“But it was fine,” I said, a little too loudly.

“Are there still?”

“What?”

“Bears?”

“No, not anymore.”

I suddenly remembered those big eyes of his. Round as saucers in the darkness. When we heard the sound of the bear through the tent canvas.

“They’re facing extinction, did you know?” he said suddenly, the swagger was back in his voice.

“They’re not alone.” I tried laughing again. “Your old man is, too.”

He didn’t laugh.

I drew a breath. Had to come out with it, now, that’s what I was here for.

“I’ve come to ask you to go to Maine with me,” I said.

“What?”

“Do you want me to say it one more time?”

“Now?”

“On Monday. Three trucks, one more than before.”

“That’s good. You’re expanding?”

“We’re expanding.”

“I can’t go with you, Dad. You know that.”

“There’s more work than before. About time you pitched in.”

“I have finals soon.”

“It doesn’t have to be for very many days.”

“I won’t get it approved.”

“One week, tops.”

“Dad.”

I swallowed. My speech had gone down the toilet. The speech with a capital S that I’d prepared the entire way here. All the big words I’d lined up, like brand-new tin soldiers, had turned to lead in my brain. Inheritance, I was going to say, this is your inheritance. This is who you are, Tom. The bees, I was going to say, with a telling pause, that’s where your future lies. Just give it a chance. Give them a chance.

But none of those words reached my mouth.

“I can get you the time off, say the family business needs you,” I tried.

“Nobody gets time off for stuff like that.”

“How many sick days have you had this year? None?”

“Two, maybe three.”

“You see? Almost none.”

“I don’t think that matters.”

“Well, then, God Almighty, say you’re sick. You can certainly do your studying anywhere.”

“It’s not just studying, Dad. We have to hand things in, papers.”

“Can’t you do that there?”

“No, I need books.”

“Take them with you.”

“Books from the library. Here.”

“It’s just one week, Tom. Just one week.”

“But Dad. I don’t want to!”

He’d raised his voice now. Two girls with short hair wearing outfits that should have been reserved for men, jeans and giant army boots, passed by us, staring in curiosity. “I don’t want to.” He said it more softly now. Looked at me with dog eyes, not all that different from Emma’s. A look I usually gave in to.

I stood up abruptly. Couldn’t sit still for one more second.

“It’s his fault, isn’t it?”

“What? Whose?”

I didn’t wait for the answer. Just stormed back towards the redbrick hell.

The faculty wing was located behind the reception.

“Hey, where are you going?”

I walked quickly past the dreadlocks, couldn’t be bothered to answer.

“Hello?” He got to his feet, but I was already a good stretch down the corridor, passed office after office, some with open doors. Professor Wilkinson, Clarke, Chang, Langsley. Caught glimpses of heavily laden bookshelves, deep window frames, thick drapes. Nothing personal, everything reeked of knowledge.

And Smith. There it was. A closed door with yet another brass plaque. Almost made me believe there was a future in brass. PROFESSOR JOHN SMITH.

The dreadlocks approached.

“It’s here,” I called to him, noticing that I was short of breath. “I found it.”

He nodded, stopped and stood there, maybe he wasn’t allowed to let strangers in, before he shrugged his shoulders and sauntered back to the reception.

Should I knock? Like some puny student with a textbook under my arm?

No. I would walk right in.

I stood up straight, swallowed hard. Put my hand on the handle and pushed down.

It was locked.

What the hell?

At that moment a young man came strolling down the corridor. Clean shaven, and with a new haircut, wearing a hoodie and Converse sneakers. A student.

“Can I help you?”

He smiled broadly. White teeth, adjusted into a straight line. Everyone got braces these days, looked exactly the same, all the charm of special teeth was gone.

“I’m looking for John Smith,” I said.

“That’s me.”

“You?” I was a little taken aback. He clearly wasn’t as I’d expected. Hard to make a scene with this guy. He looked downright innocent. Just a kid.

“And you are?” He smiled.

I lifted my head.

“I’m Tom’s father.”

“Right.” He kept smiling, reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I took his hand. Couldn’t exactly turn it down.

“Nice, yes. Very.”

“Shall we go in?” he said. “I expect you have something on your mind?”

“You bet I do.” It came out way too harsh.

“What?”

“Never mind.” I tried to smile it away.

“Never mind?”

“Yes. I mean… I have something on my mind.”

He unlocked the door and let me in. The sun greeted us, pouring in through the windows and painting clear stripes in the air, shining on framed pictures behind glass. Mostly posters. Movie posters. Back to the Future, E.T., Star Wars, the first movie: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

“Have a seat.” He pointed at an armchair.

I sat down. So did he. On his desk chair. It made me shorter than him, I wasn’t thrilled about that.

“Oh, sorry.”

He stood up again, sat instead in the other armchair. We were the same height. Sat in our respective chairs and all that was missing was a drink.

“There.” He smiled again. “Yes. What can I do for you? Tell me.”

I squirmed. Looked away.

“Nice poster.” I pointed my chin towards Star Wars. Tried to keep my voice calm.

“Isn’t it? Original.”

“You don’t say.”

“Bought it on eBay when I started working here.”

“I was about to say—are you old enough for that movie?”

He laughed. “I saw it on video.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But I had all the figures. The spaceship, too. Are you a fan?”

“Damn straight.” There I went again. Guess I’d have to watch my language.

He suddenly started singing the opening melody while he directed with one finger in the air. I had to chuckle.

He interrupted himself. “Movies will never be the same again.”

“You’re right about that.”

We sat in silence for a bit. He just looked at me. Waited.