The History of Bees

Chapter 47 GEORGE

After the meeting at the stupid bank, I went out to the field by the Alabast River. It was empty now. Just a few hives were left in one corner near the end. There was still life in them, but I didn’t know for how long. There was nothing to set them apart from the others. There was no explanation for why they should survive.

I walked in a circle. The hives had left marks behind all over the grass. Flattened, dead grass. But between the dead blades of grass there were new shoots. Soon the marks would be gone and there would no longer be any trace of all the bee colonies that had lived here.

I walked closer to the buzzing. Suddenly I yearned to be stung. For the stinging pain. The swelling. An excuse to curse loudly and with a vengeance.

Once, just once, I’d been severely stung. I was eight years old. I remember I was sitting in the kitchen. My mother came home from the store. I don’t know why, but on this particular day she’d brought me something. Yes, actually, it was to cheer me up because I was going to be a big brother for the third time, and she obviously knew the news wouldn’t sit well with me. I never got toys except on my birthday and Christmas, but today she had nonetheless bought me something. A toy car. But not just any toy car. Hot Wheels. I had wanted one for ages. I was so happy it felt like my head would burst into flames. And I picked up the car and ran out to the field before she even had a chance to tell me about her tummy.

My dad was there. With his head in a hive. I didn’t think twice. Ran straight towards him. Look! Look what I got! Look, Daddy! Then I noticed his eyes behind the veil. Stay away from here! Turn back! But it was too late to stop.

I was bedridden for several days. Nobody counted, but there must have been more than a hundred bee stings. I developed a high fever. The doctor came. He gave me some pills that were so strong they could have knocked out a bear. And I didn’t learn about the child in Mom’s tummy until much later.

After that I avoided bee stings at all costs.

I used to think of bee stings as punishment. Like a sign that I hadn’t done my job properly. Hadn’t protected myself. Hadn’t been careful enough. A season without a bee sting was the goal, but there were always a few, no beekeeper manages to avoid stings for an entire summer. Except for this year. So far I hadn’t had a single sting, but for reasons completely different from those I would have liked. I walked in a circle. Close and closer. They droned listlessly. I stopped and did a count of the density. Not enough. And at the very least not 2.5 per square yard.

I stomped hard on the ground. A single bee flew up.

Sting me. Sting me!

It sailed through the air, swerved away from me. Wouldn’t do me the favor.

I turned and walked towards the barn.

I hadn’t bought new materials. The spring’s last order still lay in a fresh-smelling pile in a corner. It frightened me. Time stood between me and that pile. Hours and hours, all the work that would be required to build all the hives. And after that, even more. It was just a matter of getting around to ordering more planks. Because I was gonna build them myself. As long as I was working with bees, I was gonna build the hives myself.

I picked up a two-by-four, testing the weight in my hand. Felt the wood against my bare skin. Still damp. Suitably pliant. Alive.

Then I put on my gloves. Through them the wood was nothing but dead material. I took out the safety earmuffs. Turned on the saw.

Then light fell in across the floor through the doorway. The strip grew larger, a shadow filled it. Then it disappeared.

I turned around.

It was Emma.

She looked at the woodpile and then at me. Shook her head gently.

“What are you up to?”

She asked, even though she knew the answer.

She took a few steps towards me.

“This is madness.”

She nodded at the planks.

“You have to build so many. We need so many.”

As if I didn’t know. As if I wasn’t completely aware of it.

I shrugged my shoulders, was about to put the earmuffs back on, when something in her eyes stopped me.

“We could have sold,” she said.

I dropped the earmuffs. They fell to the floor with a loud bang.

“We could have sold last winter. Moved. Already been down there.”

She didn’t say another word, not a word of what she was thinking. While we’d had the chance. While the farm was still worth something.

I bent over, picked up the safety earmuffs, lifting them with both hands, as if one hand wasn’t enough, as if I were a child.

Then I put them on my head and turned away.

I didn’t hear her leave. Just saw the strip of light on the floor, how it grew larger, how her shadow filled it, then it grew smaller, and disappeared.

We didn’t speak of it again. She didn’t say anything else. The days passed. I kept building until I got blisters, till my back hurt and my fingers were bleeding with cuts. I don’t know what Emma was doing. But at least she didn’t talk about it anymore. Just looked at me from time to time, with watery eyes, a gaze that said: It’s your fault.

We tried to live like before. Do the same things. Dinner together every day. TV in the evening. She followed many shows. Laughed and wept in front of the TV. Gasped. Talked about them with me. Have you ever! No, it isn’t possible. But he doesn’t deserve it. And her, she’s so sweet. No, no, good heavens.

And we sat together on the couch, never in separate chairs. She liked it when I stroked her hair. Ruffled it. But now my hands mostly rested in my lap. They hurt too much, were too sore.

One evening while we were sitting like that, the telephone rang. She made no sign of moving. Neither did I.

“You answer it,” she said. Her eyes were on the TV, waiting for some vote or other, the tension was building, would the blonde or the brunette be voted out? Extremely exciting, apparently.

“Maybe it’s Tom,” I said.

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s better if you talk to him.”

She looked at me in surprise.

“Honestly, George.”

“What?”

“You can’t very well just stop talking to him.”

I didn’t respond.

The telephone kept ringing.

“I’m not answering it,” she said and lifted her nose in the air.

“Fine. Then we won’t answer it,” I said. But of course she won. I went out into the hallway and lifted the receiver.

It was Lee. He was calling to tell me how the crop was doing.

“I’m out there every day,” he said happily. “And it’s growing. Heaps of unripe berries.”

“Wow,” I said. “In spite of the rain?”

“They must have been busy when the sun was out. It’s gonna be a decent year after all. Better than I feared.”

“Not bad.”

“Not bad at all. Just wanted you to know. Great bees you have there.”

“Had,” I said.

“What?”

“Had. Great bees I had.”

He was silent on the other end. It was sinking in, probably. “Don’t tell me—did it happen at your place, too? Are they gone?”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t think it had hit this far north. That it was just in Florida. And California.”

“Evidently not.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it cracked.

“Oh, George. Good God. What can I say?”

“Not much to say.”

“No. Are you insured?”

“Not against something like this.”

“But what are you gonna do now?”

I wound the telephone cord around my index finger. It tightened against a cut I had gotten earlier in the day. Didn’t know what to say.

“No.”

“George.” His voice was louder now. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“Wish I could have lent you the money.”

“No you don’t.” I snickered.

He laughed back, probably thinking it was all right to joke.

“Don’t have anything, either. The crop isn’t that good.”

“Even though you got a discount?”

“Even though I got a discount.”

He fell silent.

“I shouldn’t have agreed to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“To the discount.”

“Lee.”

“Had I known…”

“Lee. Forget it.”

I unwound my index finger from the cord. It had made spiraling marks all the way down to my palm.

“You know what,” he said, suddenly cheerful. “In fact, I am calling to tell you the opposite. The crop went down the toilet. What terrible bees they were.”

I had to laugh.

“That was good to hear.”

“Good thing they disappeared,” he said.

“Yeah. Good thing they disappeared.”

There was silence on the line.

“But George, honestly. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I have to switch to ordering hives.”

“Ordering? No. That’s your legacy. The hives are your legacy.”

“It’s not worth much these days.”

“No.”

I heard him swallow.

“But listen, anyway, don’t give up.”

“Right… no.”

I was unable to say anything else. The warmth in his voice made it impossible to talk.

“George? Are you there?”

“Yeah.”

I took a deep breath, pulled myself together.

“Yeah. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”