by Roald Dahl
‘In what way are the legs different?’ she asked, testing him.
‘The legs? Well, the workers have little pollen baskets on their legs for carrying the pollen. The queen has none. Now here’s another thing. The queen has fully developed sex organs. The workers don’t. And most amazing of all, Mabel, the queen lives for an average of four to six years. The worker hardly lives that many months. And all this difference simply because one of them got royal jelly and the other didn’t!’
‘It’s pretty hard to believe,’ she said, ‘that a food can do all that.’
‘Of course it’s hard to believe. It’s another of the miracles of the hive. In fact it’s the biggest ruddy miracle of them all. It’s such a hell of a big miracle that it’s baffled the greatest men of science for hundreds of years. Wait a moment. Stay there. Don’t move.’
Again he jumped up and went over to the bookcase and started rummaging among the books and magazines.
‘I’m going to find you a few of the reports. Here we are. Here’s one of them. Listen to this.’ He started reading aloud from a copy of the American Bee Journal:
‘ “Living in Toronto at the head of a fine research laboratory given to him by the people of Canada in recognition of his truly great contribution to humanity in the discovery of insulin, Dr Frederick A. Banting became curious about royal jelly. He requested his staff to do a basic fractional analysis…” ’
He paused.
‘Well, there’s no need to read it all, but here’s what happened. Dr Banting and his people took some royal jelly from queen cells that contained two-day-old larvae, and then they started analysing it. And what d’you think they found?
‘They found,’ he said, ‘that royal jelly contained phenols, sterols, glycerils, dextrose, and – now here it comes – and eighty to eighty-five per cent unidentified acids!’
He stood beside the bookcase with the magazine in his hand, smiling a funny little furtive smile of triumph, and his wife watched him, bewildered.
He was not a tall man; he had a thick plump pulpy-looking body that was built close to the ground on abbreviated legs. The legs were slightly bowed. The head was huge and round, covered with bristly short-cut hair, and the greater part of the face – now that he had given up shaving altogether – was hidden by a brownish yellow fuzz about an inch long. In one way and another, he was rather grotesque to look at, there was no denying that.
‘Eighty to eighty-five per cent,’ he said, ‘unidentified acids. Isn’t that fantastic?’ He turned back to the bookshelf and began hunting through the other magazines.
‘What does it mean, unidentified acids?’
‘That’s the whole point! No one knows! Not even Banting could find out. You’ve heard of Banting?’
‘No.’
‘He just happens to be about the most famous living doctor in the world today, that’s all.’
Looking at him now as he buzzed around in front of the bookcase with his bristly head and his hairy face and his plump pulpy body, she couldn’t help thinking that somehow, in some curious way, there was a touch of the bee about this man. She had often seen women grow to look like the horses that they rode, and she had noticed that people who bred birds or bull terriers or pomeranians frequently resembled in some small but startling manner the creature of their choice. But up until now it had never occurred to her that her husband might look like a bee. It shocked her a bit.
‘And did Banting ever try to eat it,’ she asked, ‘this royal jelly?’
‘Of course he didn’t eat it, Mabel. He didn’t have enough for that. It’s too precious.’
‘You know something?’ she said, staring at him but smiling a little all the same. ‘You’re getting to look just a teeny bit like a bee yourself, did you know that?’
He turned and looked at her.
‘I suppose it’s the beard mostly,’ she said. ‘I do wish you’d stop wearing it. Even the colour is sort of bee-ish, don’t you think?’
‘What the hell are you talking about, Mabel?’
‘Albert,’ she said. ‘Your language.’
‘Do you want to hear any more of this or don’t you?’
‘Yes, dear, I’m sorry. I was only joking. Do go on.’
He turned away again and pulled another magazine out of the bookcase and began leafing through the pages. ‘Now just listen to this, Mabel. “In 1939, Heyl experimented with twenty-one-day-old rats, injecting them with royal jelly in varying amounts. As a result, he found a precocious follicular development of the ovaries directly in proportion to the quantity of royal jelly injected.” ’
‘There!’ she cried. ‘I knew it!’
‘Knew what?’
‘I knew something terrible would happen.’
‘Nonsense. There’s nothing wrong with that. Now here’s another, Mabel. “Still and Burdett found that a male rat which hitherto had been unable to breed, upon receiving a minute daily dose of royal jelly, became a father many times over.” ’
‘Albert,’ she cried, ‘this stuff is much too strong to give to a baby! I don’t like it at all.’
‘Nonsense, Mabel.’
‘Then why do they only try it out on rats, tell me that? Why don’t some of these famous scientists take it themselves? They’re too clever, that’s why. Do you think Dr Banting is going to risk finishing up with precious ovaries? Not him.’
‘But they have given it to people, Mabel. Here’s a whole article about it. Listen.’ He turned the page and again began reading from the magazine. ‘ “In Mexico, in 1953, a group of enlightened physicians began prescribing minute doses of royal jelly for such things as cerebral neuritis, arthritis, diabetes, autointoxication from tobacco, impotence in men, asthma, croup, and gout… There are stacks of signed testimonials… A celebrated stockbroker in Mexico City contracted a particularly stubborn case of psoriasis. He became physically unattractive. His clients began to forsake him. His business began to suffer. In desperation he turned to royal jelly – one drop with every meal – and presto! – he was cured in a fortnight. A waiter in the Cafe Jena, also in Mexico City, reported that his father, after taking minute doses of this wonder substance in capsule form, sired a healthy boy child at the age of ninety. A bullfight promoter in Acapulco, finding himself landed with a rather lethargic-looking bull, injected it with one gramme of royal jelly (an excessive dose) just before it entered the arena. Thereupon, the beast became so swift and savage that it promptly dispatched two picadors, three horses, and a matador, and finally…” ’
‘Listen!’ Mrs Taylor said, interrupting him. ‘I think the baby’s crying.’
Albert glanced up from his reading. Sure enough, a lusty yelling noise was coming from the bedroom above.
‘She must be hungry,’ he said.
His wife looked at the clock. ‘Good gracious me!’ she cried, jumping up. ‘It’s past her time again already! You mix the feed, Albert, quickly, while I bring her down! But hurry! I don’t want to keep her waiting.’
In half a minute, Mrs Taylor was back, carrying the screaming infant in her arms. She was flustered now, still quite unaccustomed to the ghastly non-stop racket that a healthy baby makes when it wants its food. ‘Do be quick, Albert!’ she called, settling herself in the armchair and arranging the child on her lap. ‘Please hurry!’
Albert entered from the kitchen and handed her the bottle of warm milk. ‘It’s just right,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to test it.’
She hitched the baby’s head a little higher in the crook of her arm, then pushed the rubber teat straight into the wide-open yelling mouth. The baby grabbed the teat and began to suck. The yelling stopped. Mrs Taylor relaxed.
‘Oh, Albert, isn’t she lovely?’
‘She’s terrific, Mabel – thanks to royal jelly.’
‘Now, dear, I don’t want to hear another word about that nasty stuff. It frightens me to death.’
‘You’re making a big mistake,’ he said.
‘We’ll see about that.’
The baby went on sucking the bottle.
‘I do believe she’s going to finish the whole lot again, Albert.’
‘I’m sure she is,’ he said.
And a few minutes later, the milk was all gone.
‘Oh, what a good girl you are!’ Mrs Taylor cried, as very gently she started to withdraw the nipple. The baby sensed what she was doing and sucked harder, trying to hold on. The woman gave a quick little tug, and plop, out it came.
‘Waa! Waa! Waa! Waa!’ the baby yelled.
‘Nasty old wind,’ Mrs Taylor said, hoisting the child on to her shoulder and patting its back.
It belched twice in quick succession.
‘There you are, my darling, you’ll be all right now.’
For a few seconds, the yelling stopped. Then it started again.
‘Keep belching her,’ Albert said. ‘She’s drunk it too quick.’
His wife lifted the baby back on to her shoulder. She rubbed its spine. She changed it from one shoulder to the other. She lay it on its stomach on her lap. She sat it up on her knee. But it didn’t belch again, and the yelling became louder and more insistent every minute.
‘Good for the lungs,’ Albert Taylor said, grinning. ‘That’s the way they exercise their lungs, Mabel, did you know that?’
‘There, there, there,’ the wife said, kissing it all over the face. ‘There, there, there.’
They waited another five minutes, but not for one moment did the screaming stop.
‘Change the nappy,’ Albert said. ‘It’s got a wet nappy, that’s all it is.’ He fetched a clean one from the kitchen, and Mrs Taylor took the old one off and put the new one on.
This made no difference at all.
‘Waa! Waa! Waa! Waa! Waa!’ the baby yelled.
‘You didn’t stick the safety pin through the skin, did you, Mabel?’
‘Of course I didn’t,’ she said, feeling under the nappy with her fingers to make sure.
The parents sat opposite one another in their armchairs, smiling nervously, watching the baby on the mother’s lap, waiting for it to tire and stop screaming.
‘You know what?’ Albert Taylor said at last.
‘What?’
‘I’ll bet she’s still hungry. I’ll bet all she wants is another swig at that bottle. How about me fetching her an extra lot?’
‘I don’t think we ought to do that, Albert.’
‘It’ll do her good,’ he said, getting up from his chair. ‘I’m going to warm her up a second helping.’
He went into the kitchen, and was away several minutes. When he returned he was holding a bottle brimful of milk.
‘I made her a double,’ he announced. ‘Eight ounces. Just in case.’
‘Albert! Are you mad? Don’t you know it’s just as bad to overfeed as it is to underfeed?’
‘You don’t have to give her the lot, Mabel. You can stop any time you like. Go on,’ he said, standing over her. ‘Give her a drink.’
Mrs Taylor began to tease the baby’s upper lip with the end of the nipple. The tiny mouth closed like a trap over the rubber teat and suddenly there was silence in the room. The baby’s whole body relaxed and a look of absolute bliss came over its face as it started to drink.
‘There you are, Mabel! What did I tell you?’
The woman didn’t answer.
‘She’s ravenous, that’s what she is. Just look at her suck.’
Mrs Taylor was watching the level of the milk in the bottle. It was dropping fast, and before long three or four ounces out of the eight had disappeared.
‘There,’ she said. ‘That’ll do.’
‘You can’t pull it away now, Mabel.’
‘Yes, dear. I must.’
‘Go on, woman. Give her the rest and stop fussing.’
‘But Albert…’
‘She’s famished, can’t you see that? Go on, my beauty,’ he said. ‘You finish that bottle.’
‘I don’t like it, Albert,’ the wife said, but she didn’t pull the bottle away.
‘She’s making up for lost time, Mabel, that’s all she’s doing.’
Five minutes later the bottle was empty. Slowly, Mrs Taylor withdrew the nipple, and this time there was no protest from the baby, no sound at all. It lay peacefully on the mother’s lap, the eyes glazed with contentment, the mouth half-open, the lips smeared with milk.
‘Twelve whole ounces, Mabel!’ Albert Taylor said. ‘Three times the normal amount! Isn’t that amazing?’
The woman was staring down at the baby. And now the old anxious tight-lipped look of the frightened mother was slowly returning to her face.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Albert asked. ‘You’re not worried by that, are you? You can’t expect her to get back to normal on a lousy four ounces, don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Come here, Albert,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I said come here.’
He went over and stood beside her.
‘Take a good look and tell me if you see anything different.’
He peered closely at the baby. ‘She seems bigger, Mabel, if that’s what you mean. Bigger and fatter.’
‘Hold her,’ she ordered. ‘Go on, pick her up.’
He reached out and lifted the baby up off the mother’s lap. ‘Good God!’ he cried. ‘She weighs a ton!’
‘Exactly.’
‘Now isn’t that marvellous!’ he cried, beaming. ‘I’ll bet she must be back to normal already!’
‘It frightens me, Albert. It’s too quick.’
‘Nonense, woman.’
‘It’s that disgusting jelly that’s done it,’ she said. ‘I hate the stuff.’
‘There’s nothing disgusting about royal jelly,’ he answered, indignant.
‘Don’t be a fool, Albert! You think it’s normal for a child to start putting on weight at this speed?’
‘You’re never satisfied!’ he cried. ‘You’re scared stiff when she’s losing and now you’re absolutely terrified because she’s gaining! What’s the matter with you, Mabel?’
The woman got up from her chair with the baby in her arms and started towards the door. ‘All I can say is,’ she said, ‘it’s lucky I’m here to see you don’t give her any more of it, that’s all I can say.’ She went out, and Albert watched her through the open door as she crossed the hall to the foot of the stairs and started to ascend, and when she reached the third or fourth step she suddenly stopped and stood quite still for several seconds as though remembering something. Then she turned and came down again rather quickly and re-entered the room.
‘Albert,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘I assume there wasn’t any royal jelly in this last feed we’ve just given her?’
‘I don’t see why you should assume that, Mabel.’
‘Albert!’
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, soft and innocent.
‘How dare you!’ she cried.
Albert Taylor’s great bearded face took on a pained and puzzled look. ‘I think you ought to be very glad she’s got another big dose of it inside her,’ he said. ‘Honest I do. And this is a big dose, Mabel, believe you me.’
The woman was standing just inside the doorway clasping the sleeping baby in her arms and staring at her husband with huge eyes. She stood very erect, her body absolutely stiff with fury, her face paler, more tight-lipped than ever.
‘You mark my words,’ Albert was saying, ‘you’re going to have a nipper there soon that’ll win first prize in any baby show in the entire country. Hey, why don’t you weigh her now and see what she is? You want me to get the scales, Mabel, so you can weigh her?’
The woman walked straight over to the large table in the centre of the room and laid the baby down and quickly started taking off its clothes. ‘Yes!’ she snapped. ‘Get the scales!’ Off came the little nightgown, then the undervest.
Then she unpinned the nappy and she drew it away and the baby lay naked on the table.
‘But Mabel!’ Al
bert cried. ‘It’s a miracle! She’s fat as a puppy!’
Indeed, the amount of flesh the child had put on since the day before was astonishing. The small sunken chest with the rib bones showing all over it was now plump and round as a barrel, and the belly was bulging high in the air. Curiously, though, the arms and legs did not seem to have grown in proportion. Still short and skinny, they looked like little sticks protruding from a ball of fat.
‘Look!’ Albert said. ‘She’s even beginning to get a bit of fuzz on the tummy to keep her warm!’ He put out a hand and was about to run the tips of his fingers over the powdering of silky yellowy-brown hairs that had suddenly appeared on the baby’s stomach.
‘Don’t you touch her!’ the woman cried. She turned and faced him, her eyes blazing, and she looked suddenly like some kind of little fighting bird with her neck arched over towards him as though she were about to fly at his face and peck his eyes out.
‘Now wait a minute,’ he said, retreating.
‘You must be mad!’ she cried.
‘Now wait just one minute, Mabel, will you please, because if you’re still thinking this stuff is dangerous… That is what you’re thinking, isn’t it? All right, then. Listen carefully. I shall now proceed to prove to you once and for all, Mabel, that royal jelly is absolutely harmless to human beings, even in enormous doses. For example – why do you think we had only half the usual honey crop last summer? Tell me that.’
His retreat, walking backwards, had taken him three or four yards away from her, where he seemed to feel more comfortable.
‘The reason we had only half the usual crop last summer,’ he said slowly, lowering his voice, ‘was because I turned one hundred of my hives over to the production of royal jelly.’
‘You what?’
‘Ah,’ he whispered. ‘I thought that might surprise you a bit. And I’ve been making it ever since right under your very nose.’ His small eyes were glinting at her, and a slow sly smile was creeping around the corners of his mouth.
