Samantha Honeycomb

by Scott Zarcinas

  Samantha yelped in pain, and the caterpillar stepped back, apologising. Her name was Lizzie McCoon, she informed Samantha, returning to the teapot. She had seen enough. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Honeycomb, but I don’t have the time for idle chitchat, if that’s what you want. I’m a very busy woman,” she said. “I’m in the middle of something extremely important.”

  “What exactly are you doing?” Samantha asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m counting. Watch and learn!” Lizzie then circled the base of the teapot, chanting, “One step, two steps, three steps, four,” eventually stopping one hundred and two steps later. “See. It’s easy.”

  Samantha scratched her head. “You do it very well, but why do you do it all?”

  Lizzie just stared. “That’s what caterpillars do,” she said. “Besides, it keeps me busy. So if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

  Lizzie returned to her hectic schedule without further ado, running and running in circles, around and around and around. Samantha considered what Lizzie had said and wasn’t at all convinced that counting steps was what caterpillars were meant to do. “I thought caterpillars made chrysalises,” she said, when Lizzie completed another lap.

  Lizzie suddenly stopped and eyed her with contempt. “What do you take me for, a maggot?” Samantha shook her head until she felt dizzy, wondering how on earth she’d managed to offend the orange caterpillar. “Well, good. Moths make cocoons. I, like all butterfly progeny, make chrysalises.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “But we only do that when we want to complete our metamorphosis, you know.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Samantha said, jumping at the chance to make up for her recent offence. “I went through the very same thing when I was a grub. I didn’t become a beautiful butterfly, though, just an ordinary honeybee.”

  “You did?” Lizzie asked, her eyes growing wide. “What was it like?”

  “The pupation stage, you mean?” Samantha drew a breath and puffed her cheeks. “Well, I must say it was pretty frightening at first. My muscles and nerves and everything else dissolved, which kind of felt like I was melting away.” She saw Lizzie’s eyes widening even more. Her exoskeleton suddenly paled from orange to grey-brown, like faded autumn leaves. “But my new muscles and nerves formed almost immediately,” she quickly added. “It sounds worse than it actually is. In fact, if I didn’t go through it, I wouldn’t have grown wings. I would never have known the joy of flying.”

  Lizzie’s eyes were still wide and her colour had yet to return to normal. “Flying? Hmm, well, I think I’ll stick to walking. I like counting my steps. It’s what caterpillars do.”

  “But don’t you want to make a chrysalis?” asked Samantha.

  “It’s not that simple, you know,” the caterpillar said. “The right conditions have to be met. I can’t just do it anywhere, you know. Besides, I’m secure and happy with what I do. I don’t see any reason to change.”

  Once again Samantha glanced at the flattened ring around the teapot, thinking of Gerald The Great and what he had told her. “Because only when we follow the Great Mother’s signs to our destiny can we ever be the best that we can bee,” she said. “Our destiny’s our Bee Dream. Everything happens in our life to guide us to it.”

  Lizzie cocked an antenna, briefly lost in thought. “You know, maybe you’re onto something. I have always wanted to make the most beautiful chrysalis in the world. If it’s possible for a caterpillar to have a Bee Dream, maybe that’s it.” Then she sighed. “But I’ve never got around to doing anything about it. I’m so busy counting steps, I don’t have the time.”

  “It’s never too late to start,” Samantha said, and told Lizzie how she had only just embarked on her quest to find honeyroot, the secret to Infinite Richness. Until recently, she was just another honeybee living in the colony, not doing much other than collecting nectar like everyone else, just trying to survive. She was now following the river of golden sunflowers to the lake in the hills and Beebylon, her Bee Dream. “I believe that everything happens for a reason,” she said, and then sang Lizzie the Song of Joy Gerald The Great had taught her.

  Lizzie wanted another minute to think about it, and commenced yet another lap around the teapot. “One step, two steps, three steps, four, five steps, six steps, seven steps more.” When she returned, she was smiling. “I’ve thought about what you’ve said, Samantha Honeycomb,” Lizzie said, “and if it’s agreeable with you, I should like to accompany you on your quest to find your Bee Dream. If Beebylon is as magical as you say, maybe that’s where I can also find the right conditions to make my chrysalis.”

  Samantha smiled. “Reet Bee-teet!” she said, and then saw that Lizzie looked a little confused. She explained that Reet Bee-teet was bee-slang for “all right.”

  “Reet Bee-teet it is then,” Lizzie said, flush with colour. “Now, which way do we go?”

  SAMANTHA SHOWED LIZZIE the direction that they should head with a little six-step bee dance. She jigged and jived in a figure 8, which the bees in the hive used to tell other bees the direction of a new source of nectar. She was now doing the same thing, only they weren’t going to gather nectar, they were going to find Beebylon and their Bee Dream. She repeated the dance a few times, waiting until Lizzie understood where to go.

  Soon thereafter, they headed off. They wandered westward through the undergrowth at a leisurely pace, weaving in and around the tall sunflower stems, over tumbled petals and leaves, beneath the occasional fallen flower (which seemed to always make Samantha feel sad) and on towards the lake nestled between the forested hills.

  “We’ve walked two thousand, six hundred and ninety-three steps since we began our quest,” said Lizzie a little later. She was looking awfully pleased with her work to date. “Quite a long way.”

  Samantha felt compelled to congratulate her new friend, also pleased, for that meant they were two thousand, six hundred and ninety-three steps closer to their destination. Unfortunately, it also meant that they were that much further away from the hive and her parents. It seemed ironic that the closer she got to her Bee Dream, the more distant she was from the ones she loved. She tried not to think about it for too long; it only made the journey harder. Instead, she concentrated on what she had to do at this moment, which was walk. If she brooded over the past, she wouldn’t get anywhere, and what was the point in that? The only way was forward.

  At that moment, Samantha heard the snapping of a twig. Lizzie had heard it too. They spun around to where the noise was coming from, but there seemed to be nobody there, only sunflower stems. Oddly, Samantha could also sense the faint aroma of musk. They looked at each other and shrugged, agreeing that it was probably nothing more than a leaf falling to the ground, or something similar.

  Without further ado, they continued on their way. Samantha told Lizzie about how she came to be in the Crazy Lands. She described in detail her trial and imprisonment, the long days spent sewing and patching overalls and underwear from Procruste Ant Incorporated (Lizzie hadn’t heard of it either, when asked), the monthly visits by Queen Beetrix Bee IV, and her exile from the queendom. When she mentioned the crimson rose and explained the ancient laws forbidding worker bees to enter its corolla, Lizzie was amazed.

  “Why do you have laws that stop you being a bee?” she asked.

  “I think,” Samantha said, who had spent a lot of the time in prison mulling over this very question, “that whoever made the laws thought there was not enough honey for everyone, so they tried to protect it.”

  As she pondered on the logic of the ancient lawmakers, she considered the sunflowers towering above her. Because they were growing so close to each other, they had grown exceedingly tall and straight. Competition for sunlight was encouraging them to grow faster and faster, each outreaching the other, higher and higher, for no other purpose, it seemed, than to outdo the closest neighbour. It was as though the sunflowers believed there was not enough sunlight for all of them, and only the tallest and straight
est of them would survive.

  Life in the hive reminded her of the sunflowers. The bees were in constant competition with one another, always striving to outdo their neighbour or co-worker. The High Priestess had duped them into believing there was not enough honey to go around. Yet, no matter how much they had, many bees weren’t happy. “Honey is always sweeter in the other jar,” as the saying went, and while they continued their westward trek, she hummed a song the worker bees sang in the fields:

  Honey and you and me make three,

  Honey on our bread,

  And honey in our tea.

  Honey makes the life of

  A little honeybee.

  Later, they stopped for a lunch at the base of a rather shady sunflower. According to Lizzie, they had walked seven thousand, eight hundred and twelve steps without a break. It was a good day’s work so far, and they deserved a little snack. Lizzie found a juicy leaf but said she would only eat half because caterpillars had their main meal at night. Besides, she added, she was trying to go on a diet. She held out a portion of the leaf for Samantha to taste.

  “Go on, why don’t you give it a try?” Lizzie said. “If you’re worried about your figure, there’s only twenty-six calories per leaf.”

  Samantha wasn’t actually too concerned about her figure at all. In fact, it was probably the furthest thing from her mind at this particular moment. She politely refused Lizzie’s offer. She wanted to climb to the top of the nearest sunflower and find some nectar.

  Lizzie’s antennae stiffened with horror; and for a fleeting, ghastly moment, Samantha thought she’d seen a human. “You can’t just eat nectar all the time,” Lizzie said. “Do you know how many calories there are in that stuff?” Samantha shrugged, and Lizzie added, “I can see I’m going to have to keep an eye on your diet. It’s a good job I came along with you.”

  For two days they travelled, forever westward, following a simple routine of rising early, napping after lunch, and retiring with the nightlight of the moon. On the third morning of her journey through the Crazy Lands, Samantha stirred from a peaceful slumber, rubbed her antennae and sat upright. Her right wing still felt sore, but it was infinitely better. Lizzie was curled into a ball next to her, mumbling in her dreams: “One step, two steps, three steps, four, five steps, six steps, seven steps more.”

  Samantha stepped out from under the leaf they were using as shelter and craned her neck. It was a beautiful morning, the kind of morning she would often buzz around the gardens in the queendom admiring the roses and geraniums and tulips, not the kind of morning she ever imagined could exist in the Crazy Lands. She heard a blackbird twitter its morning song: “Get up! Get up! Get up! The day is new. The sky is blue. Get up! Get up! Get up!”

  While Lizzie slept, Samantha climbed to the top of the nearest sunflower to gaze upon the distant lake. On the western horizon, between the forested hills, the blue waters reminded her of a meadow of hyacinths, or delphiniums, and the sunflower field of a stream of golden rays from the morning sun. The sight never ceased to render her speechless. Even if Beebylon was just a myth, and her efforts to find her Bee Dream were all in vain, at least she’d seen the beauty of the lake and the sunflowers.

  When she returned to the base of the stem, Lizzie had risen and was already eating breakfast. Lizzie offered her the remains of what was until very recently their makeshift shelter, stressing the importance of a diet high in fibre. What’s more, it only had twenty-six calories, if she didn’t already know.

  Samantha courteously demurred. After performing the figure 8 dance to show Lizzie the direction of the lake, she began to lead the way again. Although she enjoyed Lizzie’s company, it was frustrating walking at such a slow pace. She felt as though an invisible force was deliberately holding her back, keeping her from getting to the lake. If her wing hadn’t broken, she could have buzzed straight there and reached her destiny by now. Alas, it wasn’t to be.

  Samantha was suddenly distracted from her flow of thoughts. She had heard a noise up ahead, like a hiss, or a harsh whisper. That wasn’t all. She’d also caught a whiff of something unpleasant and musky. Lizzie sensed it too. Samantha glanced back to where she thought she’d heard the noise and saw a face peeking behind a dead leaf, as black as the stripes on a honeybee. It also had antennae, which it wiggled. Then, in a flash, it was gone.

  “What was that?” Lizzie asked, making a grab for Samantha. “I didn’t like the look of it at all.”

  Samantha gently removed Lizzie’s claw from her arm. “I think it was an army ant,” she said, and then wandered over to the dead leaf. The smell of musk hung thicker here, and there were many tracks in the soil. Her eyes followed to where they disappeared into the forest of sunflower stems. At least three or four army ants, she guessed, had been spying on them.

  Feeling uncomfortable with the thought of being watched, she continued on, making a wide detour around the tracks. She said no more to Lizzie for a while. It was best not to mention that the ants had scampered away exactly in the direction where they wanted to go.

  Toward the lake.

  ABOUT TWO THOUSAND, two hundred and fifty paces onward, Samantha noticed a red-green dragonfly hovering above a sunflower. She told Lizzie that they must be near a water source, a pond or a river. It seemed the dragonfly was just drifting, this way and that, not particularly worried which way it went. She watched it for a little while, wishing that she could fly again. Though, she mused, she wouldn’t just drift. She had a destiny to reach.

  If you don’t know to which flower you wish to fly, then no wind is helpful, Gerald The Great had said.

  All of a sudden, a whirling gust of wind blew the dragonfly out of sight. Samantha glanced upward and was startled to see dark clouds blowing in from the east. Hopefully, she and Lizzie would get lucky. The front might blow past or blow itself out. There was something else too, though, something untoward she kept to herself: the smell of musk carried on the wind.

  They then stepped into a small clearing and came upon an unusual item, a large playing card leaning against a sunflower stem. It towered above them, like the face of a cliff. “The Queen of Hearts,” Samantha said. It had probably been blown there by the gusty wind. “I wonder what it means.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” Lizzie said, craning her neck. “It’s just an extraordinarily large playing card.”

  Samantha thought otherwise. It was an omen: the Queen of Hearts represented love. She told her friend that perhaps that was what they’d discover at the lake.

  Lizzie spun around. “Do you really think so?” she asked, just as a gust of breeze whipped past and shook the sunflowers. The card teetered, and then toppled over. She and Samantha jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding being squashed. On the reverse side, staring up at them, was a word:

  ACCEPTANCE

  What did love have to do with acceptance? Samantha thought. It was just one more oddity she’d encountered in the Crazy Lands, starting with Gerald The Great’s soapbox with the word JOY, then Lizzie’s teapot with SECURITY, and now this, the Queen of Hearts with her message of ACCEPTANCE.

  “If I were a playing card, I would probably be the lonely two of spades, the card that nobody wants,” Lizzie said, sighing. She looked at Samantha with a hopeful, almost desperate, plea in her eyes. “D’you think it’s at all possible to change the card you are?”

  Samantha shrugged, and said, “What if you were the whole deck, not just one card?”

  A curious glint came to Lizzie’s eyes. “Then I’d choose whatever card I wanted to be,” she said. “Sometimes I’d choose to be a king, and sometimes a jack, even a number, like the eight of diamonds, or even the two of clubs. I guess it’d depend on how I felt at the time.” Lizzie took another moment to consider what she wanted to be. “Today I feel like the Queen of Hearts,” she said, smiling. “Because now everyone we meet will love me.”

  “Then I’ll be the King of Hearts,” Samantha said, waving her clenched claw high above her head and pretending to b
randish a weapon, “because we’re on a quest and we need a brave heart and a mighty sword to fight the good fight.”

  They went on with renewed hope in their hearts, deeper into the uncharted terrain of the Crazy Lands. For the most part they kept to themselves, content to walk in silence. Samantha climbed to the top of a sunflower after lunch to make sure they were still heading in the right direction. The breeze was strong at the top. Behind, from the east, the faces of the sunflowers were all bending toward her, as if she were the setting sun, and her initial hopes that she and Lizzie might be able to avoid the storm quickly disappeared.

  Before she headed back down, a glint of sunlight caught her attention. She looked closer. As she had suspected earlier, there was a water source nearby. Although some sunflowers partially obstructed her view, she could easily see a stream flowing toward the lake along the northern edge of the sunflower field. At first glance it was wider and deeper than the brook she had crossed from the queendom into the Crazy Lands. The brook was probably a tributary of this stream, and a sudden idea filled her with optimism. What if she and Lizzie were to float down the stream to the lake? It would surely be quicker than walking. They would have to sit on something that floated, of course, like a felled sunflower. If they wanted to make it sturdier, they could probably lash two or three sunflower stems together with some twine, something like she had seen with the crossbeams of the wrecked kite. Lizzie could help. She was a caterpillar. Maybe she could spin some super-strength silk for the twine. It would be easy.

  Samantha hurried back down and told Lizzie of her plan for floating down the stream.

  “It’s a silly idea,” Lizzie said. “I can’t swim. What if I fell overboard? I’d drown.”

  Samantha lowered her head. At the rate they were travelling it would take weeks, if not months, to get to the lake. She wasn’t going to argue with her friend, however. She danced a figure 8, a little slower and with less enthusiasm than before, and headed off. Neither she nor Lizzie said a word for quite a while, not until the storm hit that afternoon.