by Mobi Warren
“Tried to rescue.” Her father’s voice was tinged with fatigue, disappointment.
“What do you mean?”
“When I checked on the hive, there must have been a quarter of them gone.”
“Couldn’t they have been out in the fields?” asked Melissa.
“Bees return to their hive before dark. These didn’t.” Her father frowned and put his chopsticks down.
The kitchen seemed suddenly drained of light as if each lost Yolo bee had been a candle blown out by an uncaring wind. Since the night of the bee heist, Melissa had thought of the bees as a bridge to her father, at least one shared experience that bonded them, even if Ba didn’t feel that way. But he’d just called them “our Yolo bees,” so maybe he did.
“They may have been sick when we found them.” Her father grew silent and Melissa couldn’t think of anything to say to cheer him up. She considered showing him all the origami bees she’d been folding, but decided against it. She was a long way from a thousand, and they were only paper bees.
Her father left half a bowl of noodles uneaten and got up from the table. “I need to finish up some lab notes and think about ways to avoid losing the rest of the colony. Bella and I are working on some things.”
“Bella?”
“She’s the mathematician on our team and has some new ideas about how honeybees communicate. She lives next door, you know.”
“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten.”
Melissa washed the dishes then half-heartedly tossed a Frisbee by porch light to Hermes in the back yard. He was the opposite of half-hearted, a canine athlete who excelled at spirited dashes, leaps, and mid-air twists. He rarely missed a catch so when he failed to go after a throw and instead stood with ears cocked and an expectant look on his face, followed by a warning bark, Melissa knew that they had visitors. Sure enough, Beau and two women appeared at the gate. Melissa wanted to vanish but they had already seen her and one of the women walked right up to her and extended a hand. It was easy to tell she must be Beau’s biological mother because although she was short and slightly plump, she had the same wavy chestnut hair and a crinkle at the corner of her green eyes, like Beau, when she smiled. The other woman was tall and angular with skin the hue of a cocoa bean. Her salt and pepper hair was tightly curled and short-cropped, her eyes a warm shade of amber brown like a cup of jasmine tea.
“Mucho gusto. It’s Melissa, right? Beau enjoyed meeting you today and so did Amaltheia. She’s already trying to figure out the new lock I put on the gate.” The woman with green eyes laughed then added, “I’m Rocio Valenzuela and this is Bella Garnet, a colleague of your father’s. Please call us by our first names.”
Melissa shook both women’s hands but avoided looking at Beau who stood slightly behind the two women, a ball of clay in his hand and a drawstring cloth bag slung over one shoulder.
“Amaltheia’s adorable,” Melissa said, politely neglecting to add that the petite goat had devoured several hours of work.
“Goats are wonderful animals to work with,” said Rocio. “Curious and playful, if a bit headstrong, but I like that. You should come by and meet the rest of them. Anytime you like.”
“Thanks.”
Bella gave a quick laugh. “Beau has done an admirable job of naming our goats after gods and goddesses. We have a veritable Mt. Olympus next door.”
Melissa’s father, hearing their voices, stepped out on the porch. “Bella! and this must be Rocio and Beau. Welcome! Come on up!”
Once on the porch, Beau handed Rocio the cloth bag he’d been carrying. She opened it and pulled out two jars of feta cheese, small white cubes packed with slices of sundried tomato. She handed them to Melissa’s father.
“We make this to sell at the local farmers market, but we also share them at Benefit’s weekly food swap on the library grounds. Do you know about the food swap? “
“No, but I’d like to.”
“Looks like you’ve got herbs growing on your porch. Hand-pollinated? Herbs are great for swapping.”
Beau raised an eyebrow and said, “Mom,” in a slightly disapproving voice.
Rocio Valenzuela caught herself and laughed. She had a rich, layered laugh, full of bell tones. She tapped Beau on the arm and said, “But I’m not proposing a swap right now. These jars of feta are a welcome gift.”
Melissa’s father thanked her, adding, “It’s a real treat to have cheese.”
Cheese and yogurt were infrequent items at the Bùi’s dinner table. And forget ice cream. No one could afford that luxury anymore. Dairy cows needed alfalfa and clover, both pollinated by bees.
“Our goats eat plants that cows do not,” Rocio said, “and they’re gentler on land and climate.”
“Bella told me you run your household energy on biogas from goat manure. That’s impressive,” said Melissa’s father.
“I’ve never tasted goat cheese,” said Melissa, looking at the jars a little doubtfully.
“Pobrecita!” exclaimed Rocio. “I can see I need to take you under my wing.”
Melissa was not anxious to be taken under a stranger’s wing and when Rocio gave her a sudden hug, she felt embarrassed. But the spontaneous warmth of the hug touched something else. Her mother hugged like that. Her father never did. Melissa, her feelings all a-tangle, turned from Rocio towards the porch steps and wondered if she could make an escape.
But escape wasn’t possible. Her father suggested they all sit on the covered porch. Sea breezes that travelled all the way from the Gulf of Mexico quickened the evening air and brought a welcome change from the day’s oppressive heat. Melissa sat away from the group on the porch swing, and was annoyed when Beau came and sat on the other end. Hermes leapt up and sandwiched himself between them. The adults sat on mesquite rockers gathered round a table.
“Melissa, how about getting everyone something to drink? There’s a pitcher of lemongrass tea in the fridge.”
Beau followed Melissa into the kitchen—did he have to hover?—and helped her carry out trays with tumblers filled with ice and a plump, recycled glass pitcher.
Once everyone had been served, Rocio turned to Melissa and said, “Do you hand spin, Melissa? I know a lot of young people have taken up the old crafts.”
“My Mom was going to show me,” Melissa answered. “She has some spindles, but she never had time, so—”
“Oh, I’d be happy to show you! Beau says you’re not in school and it must get boring staying home alone. Come over tomorrow and I’ll give you a first lesson.”
“Well, I might have to do some stuff,” Melissa began.
“I think that’s a great idea,” interrupted her father.
Melissa gave her father a pleading look but his head was already bent over a foldable tablet that Bella had taken from her pocket.
“Then it’s settled,” said Rocio. “Come first thing in the morning before it gets too hot. I’ll show you how to spin pygora fibers. They’re very soft.”
“Pygora?” asked Melissa.
“Pygora,” Beau repeated. He was kneading a ball of clay in his hands and did not look up while he spoke. “Amaltheia’s a pygora, a cross between an angora and a pygmy. She gets her blue eyes from the angora side.”
Well, he knew his goats, but what was with that ball of red clay? Were his hands always covered in red dirt? And why had he been suspended?
“Mom,” Beau said, “if you saw Melissa’s origami, you know she’d be good at spinning.”
Surprised by the unexpected compliment, Melissa could almost hear her grandmother clucking, “Eight whorls!”
Her father spoke in a quiet voice to Bella. “What’s this here? Any luck with that quark equation?”
Bella nodded. “I’m close, Paul. Close.”
“Quarks?” Beau looked up from his clay.
“Sorry, a little bit of shop talk,” said Melissa’s father
.
“Mind explaining?” asked Beau. “We just learned about quarks in science.”
Melissa glanced at Beau. She hadn’t taken him for the academic type.
“Do quarks have something to do with bees?” Beau persisted.
“I don’t want to bore anyone,” said Bella.
“You are never boring, Bella,” Rocio said.
“You are too kind,” she responded, then took a sip of iced tea before turning to Melissa and Beau.
“I’m sure you know,” she began, “that honeybees perform dances to show other bees where to find nectar sources.” The mathematician moved her hands lightly through the air in figure eights as if to mimic the bees’ dancing. “We know a lot about how the dances work and have for over a century, but there’s still a lot we can’t explain.”
“And that’s where quarks might come in,” said Melissa’s father.
“Turns out,” continued Bella, “that a honeybee dance can be mapped using a six-dimensional pattern in mathematics.”
“Hold on,” said Beau. “Are you saying a honeybee dances in six dimensions?”
Melissa noticed the clump of clay in his hands was assuming some kind of animal shape. She also noticed that Hermes had rested his head on Beau’s leg. Disloyal dog.
“Not that exactly,” said Bella, “but I believe they might be able to detect and pass on information that is tucked in higher dimensions. You see, quarks are mapped using the exact same pattern.”
“Wait a minute,” said Melissa, “what are quarks?”
“You know what atoms are?” Beau looked at her.
“Of course.” Did Beau think she was a complete moron? Maybe he really had seen her blank out earlier and decided she had a damaged brain. Uneasy, she shifted her position on the porch swing.
“And neutrons and protons, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, quarks are even smaller. They make up neutrons and protons.”
“Oh.” Melissa said, feeling stupid. She was a whiz at math, but had she missed that information in science class? She remembered getting in trouble a few times after getting caught folding origami during science. Or maybe the teacher had mentioned quarks when she was in seizure mode. Statue girl might have missed any number of details.
“So you’re saying bee dances and quarks share some kind of multi-dimensional connection?” Beau cocked his head towards Bella, his hands still working his ball of clay.
“It’s still in the hypothesis stage, Beau, but I believe honeybees might exchange tiny holographic maps, maps made of quarks coiled in higher dimensions that they share during their wiggle and waggle dances.”
“That would be amazing,” Beau said. “Quarks are cool. Mr. Alvarez said they blink in and out of existence in some kind of weird motion that makes matter possible.”
Melissa stared at Beau. It was hard to imagine the same boy getting suspended. He held up his ball of clay and smashed it into a formless glob, then went back to modeling something new.
“That’s right,” said Bella. “Quarks along with sticky particles called gluons are what make matter matter. They make things cohere, make things seem solid to us.”
“Gluons, like glue?” Melissa asked. She felt almost dizzy at the thought of tiny particles popping in and out of existence, blinking on and off.
“That’s right,” said Bella. “Inside every atom there’s a mysterious soup of quarks and sticky gluons holding matter together. If honeybees can sense those patterns, it might help them make sophisticated nectar maps and at phenomenal speeds.”
Rocio shook her head. “I pride myself on being able to communicate with goats. But this quark stuff, it’s way beyond me.”
Bella shook her head. “I have an equally hard time understanding goat speak.”
“Maaa, maaa!” responded Rocio. They all laughed.
“Will your research help bring the bees back?” Melissa asked.
Her father cleared his throat. “We think the long use of pesticides and stressors like parasites and climate change may have damaged honeybee abilities to use their multi-dimensional communication system. If we can figure out how it worked, we might have a shot at restoring and healing that system in their brains.” He stood up and stretched, then ambled into the house. When he came back out, he had two pairs of scissors in his hands and invited Beau’s mothers to clip any herbs they wanted from the pots lining the porch.
While his mothers gathered herbs, Beau’s foot kept the porch swing gently swaying back and forth. Melissa hadn’t noticed when Beau put up his modeling clay, but his hands were empty now and he was rubbing them on his cut-offs. Laundry must be a constant chore at his house.
Beau’s mothers were soon thanking her father for a pleasant evening. Beau stood up, muttered, “Hasta luego,” then followed the two women down the porch steps and out the gate.
Balancing several tumblers in her hands, Melissa watched their guests depart. A plump gibbous moon shone and the night pulsed with the thrum of crickets. She looked up in the sky to locate Regulus, the lion’s heart. Then as she turned back towards the kitchen, she noticed a small figurine on the porch table. She set the glasses down to take a closer look. There sat a perfect little rendition of Hermes in red clay.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MOUNT OLYMPUS
Melissa ate a bowl of rice, washed the bowl, and brushed her teeth. In slow motion. She did not want to walk next door for a spinning lesson. Why had her father insisted she go? If he was so concerned about her spending too much time alone, why didn’t he spend more time at home himself? What if she had a seizure when she was at Beau’s house? Finally, unable to delay any longer, she tucked a package of origami paper and a water bottle in her shoulder bag and trudged next door. Not that she planned to do any folding while she was there, it’s just she never went anywhere without origami paper. Maybe it was a bit like Beau and his clay.
Rocio met her at the door, all smiles and warmth. “I’m glad you’re here, Melissa! I’ve tried to teach Beau to spin because he has talent in his hands but all he wants to do is clay, always his clay.”
Rocio led Melissa into a room where the walls were lined with shelves stuffed with skeins of hand-dyed yarns. A spinning wheel sat in one corner and a large loom took up half of the room. There were fibers soaking in tubs and willow baskets that held drop spindles, wool carders, and knitting needles. A hand-loomed rug covered most of the red tile floor. The rich colors and textures reminded Melissa of her grandmother’s quilting studio and she felt a sudden pang of homesickness.
It was tricky at first to wrap pygora fibers around a spindle and let the spindle drop and twirl to twist the fibers into yarn. But under Rocio’s patient guidance, Melissa soon found herself able to keep a steady rhythm going. Drop, rotate, pinch the strand and pull. Drop, rotate, pinch and pull. She learned to wind the lengthening strand of spun yarn beneath the whorl that was located at the top end of the spindle’s smooth shaft. The whorl on Melissa’s spindle was shaped like a spinning top and made of clay. The repetitive nature of spinning was almost like the repetitive strides of running and Melissa found it soothing. Drop, rotate, pinch and pull.
“Hey, Mom,” the sound of Beau’s voice as he entered the room with an armful of fibers startled Melissa and she dropped her spindle. It fell with a dull thud on the rug and rolled towards Beau. He dumped the mohair fibers, cream and tan colored, into a wooden bin then stooped over to pick up the spindle. He handed it back to an embarrassed Melissa with an unceremonious “Hi, Mel,” then turned back to his mother, “That’s it until the winter sheering. Pandora was the last goat that had anything left to hand-pluck.”
“That’s my spindle you’re using,” he said to Melissa.
“Oh, I thought your Mom said you didn’t spin.”
“I don’t. I made the spindle whorl.”
Melissa took a closer look at t
he whorl made of fired white clay. It was painted with a design of red and black zigzagging lines.
“I got the design from a Greek vase.”
“Huh. My Mom would like it.”
“Did you repair the back fence?” interrupted Rocio.
“Yes, and swept out all the sheds.”
“And shoveled manure for the biogas generator?”
“Yes, Mom.”
He turned back to Melissa and shrugged. “Extra chores for getting suspended.”
“Ai,” sighed Rocio. “let it be the last time this year, por favor.”
“It will be.”
“Tired of spinning?” he asked Melissa. “Want to meet the rest of the goats?”
“Um, I’m not sure the lesson is over—”
“No, no, that’s plenty for today,” said Rocio. “Go meet the goats!”
“Bring any origami paper?” asked Beau as they walked out the back door towards the meadow.
“Well, there’s some in my bag.”
“Bring it along. I want to learn how to fold one of those bees.”
“It’s a lot of steps.” And I’m not sure I want to show you, thought Melissa, then felt a tad guilty. After all she’d been using his spindle. And he’d left that perfect little clay figure of Hermes the night before.
“Don’t you want to show me?”
She went back for her shoulder bag.
As they stood in the meadow, Beau pointed out the goats one by one. “For the goats, I chose minor deities over the big twelve, more interesting, I think.” Amaltheia came leaping towards them and Melissa rubbed her hands through the goat’s soft fleece. Beau introduced her to Echo and Asclepius, Orpheus and Pandora, Eos and Iris.
“Come with me. You haven’t met Hera and Athena yet.”
“I thought you said you didn’t name any goats after the big twelve.”
“Oh, these aren’t goats.”
Beau led her to one side of the meadow and introduced her to two llamas, one snowy white, the other a deep mahogany brown. They scrutinized Melissa with large, languid eyes then turned back to browsing.
