The History of Bees

Chapter 36 WILLIAM

“But, where is he?”

Thilda and all the girls were lined up in front of me in the kitchen. Now they would finally see what I had been working on. I planned to lead them down to the hive, but keep them far enough away so they wouldn’t be stung. I would subsequently open it with care and explain it all to them. So that they, so that Edmund, would understand the kind of invention that would come to change our lives. That would bring us honor, put our name in the history books.

The sun was hovering just above the far edge of the fields behind the garden, where it fought with the horizon and a few gloomy clouds that had gathered in the west. Before long it would inexorably set, and perhaps it would rain tonight. I wanted to show my family the hive at this moment, as the sun was going down, because this was when the bees were gathered inside.

“He left word he wouldn’t be home for supper,” Thilda said.

“Well, then, why not?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“But you did tell him I had something to show you all today?”

“He’s a young man with his own life. Who knows where he might be.”

“He should be here!”

“He’s exhausted,” Thilda said. She talked about him as if he were still an infant, with a soft, whimpering voice, even though he wasn’t even present.

“And how will he manage in the autumn, do you think, if he’s unable to fulfill his obligations?”

She waited a long time before answering. Thinking, sniffling.

“Does he need to?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I think it’s sensible for him to wait another year. Live at home, have a proper rest.”

Her nostrils flared as she spoke; it nauseated me and I turned away.

“Find him,” I said, without looking at her.

Eight pairs of eyes stared at me, but none of the family members showed the slightest sign of moving an inch.

“Go find him!” Finally someone understood who the head of the family was. She took a step back towards the door and lifted her bonnet from a peg. “I’ll go.”

Charlotte.

We waited in the kitchen while the darkness spread from the corners and enveloped us. Nobody lit any lamps. Every time one of the young girls said something, Thilda hushed them. I caught a glimpse of the sky through a window. The clouds had long since crowded out the sun, but soon one would not even see them, because the darkness swallowed the outlines. Soon we were blinded by the night and it was too late to show them anything.

Where was he?

I walked outside, remained standing on the doorstep. A humid low-pressure system had descended upon the landscape. The air was sticky and close, without a single breath of wind. Everything was silent. The bees had retreated into the hive now, and I could no longer hear them.

Where was he all the time? What could be more important than what I was about to show him?

Thilda concealed a yawn when I came inside again. Georgiana had fallen asleep with her head in Dorothea’s lap; the twins leaned against one another, their eyelids drooping.

It was far too late for them. They should have been in bed a long time ago.

Suddenly I didn’t know what to do with myself and took two steps to the side. On the table was a mug; I picked it up and poured myself some water. I became aware of a hollow sensation in my abdomen, a faint rumbling accumulating. Quickly I pulled the chair away from the table, hoped the scraping sound would distract their attention from my stomach. Then I sat down, put both hands over my midriff, leaned a bit forward and the rumbling remained inside of me.

Suddenly the door opened.

I stood up quickly.

Charlotte came first. She stared at the floor.

And a dark figure followed behind her. Edmund. She had found him.

“But sweetheart!” Thilda quickly got to her feet.

He was dripping. He took a few unsteady steps across the floor. His hair and clothing were wet, but his trousers were dry, as if somebody had thrown water at him.

“Charlotte?” Thilda said.

“Edmund, he…”

“I fell into the brook,” Edmund said slowly.

Then he staggered past us.

I took a step forward and lay a hand on his shoulder, perhaps it was still not too late to take him with me outdoors, show him and make him understand.

But now I could feel how he was shaking beneath his wet clothes and noticed that his teeth were chattering in his mouth.

“Edmund?”

“I have to sleep,” he murmured without turning around.

Then he squirmed out of my grasp and with shuffling steps he walked towards the stairs to the second floor.

Thilda skipped after him; her feet sounded like hen’s claws against the floor, the chattering, like nervous clucking. “My dear boy. Come, I’ll help you. Look here, walk carefully. Your bed is turned down. Take my arm… like that, yes. Like that.”

His heavy back disappeared up the stairs. I looked down at my hand, it was still damp from having held on to him, and I rubbed it quickly against my trouser leg.

The melancholy that had attacked me so brutally, could it be that it also resided in my son? From my bloodstream to his? Hereditary? Perhaps that was why he never let me in?

My chest tightened. No, not him. Not Edmund.

All of a sudden I became aware of the children; the girls stood in a circle around me. Silent, swaying with drowsiness. Looking at me, awaiting my next move. All except for Charlotte. She did not meet my gaze, but she, too, was pale from lack of sleep.

I drew a breath. “Tomorrow,” I said to them softly. “It will have to wait until tomorrow.”