by Maja Lunde
“Laughed?” I said.
“Yup. ‘You’re little, too,’ she said. ‘But your arrows can cause even more pain than a bee sting.’ ”
“Wow,” I said. “And then what? What happened?”
“That’s it. Nothing more,” Rick said.
Jimmy and I stared at him.
“That was the whole story?” Jimmy said.
Rick shrugged his shoulders. “Yes. But lots of paintings were done of it. Venus just stands there. She’s beautiful, right, porcelain skin and lovely curves. And she’s naked, too. Her baby is standing beside her and crying, with wax plates in his hands, while the bees are stinging him.”
I shuddered.
“Some mother,” Jimmy said.
“You can say that again,” Rick said.
Finally it was silent again. I blinked, tried to get the image of the howling baby, swollen from bee stings, out of my head.
The sun warmed my neck. It was what Emma called a lovely day. I tried to feel exactly how lovely it was. And how great it was, that the sun was shining like this. Because sun meant honey. It looked like it would be a good year. A good year meant some money in the bank. And money in the bank could be invested in the farm. That’s how it should be. Who needed Florida anyway? I’d tell her so this evening.
TAO
It was nighttime, but we weren’t asleep. Of course we weren’t sleeping.
We thought we were headed to the small local hospital in our town, but instead we were sent to the big hospital in Shirong. It covered the entire district. Nobody had told us why we were sent here. The ambulance without a driver changed directions when we were halfway there and since we were sitting alone up front, there was nobody we could ask.
We were put in a room for family members. From time to time we heard people passing by in the corridor, but they never opened the door; it appeared that we would have the room to ourselves.
I stood by the window. We had a view of the emergency arrival zone. It was located in the middle between the buildings; five low, white arms stretched out on all sides. There was light in some of the windows, but not in all of them. An entire wing dark. The hospital was built for another time, a time when there were many more people living in the district than were to be found here now.
Sometimes cars arrived, even a helicopter. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a helicopter. It had to have been several years ago, they weren’t used much any longer, they consumed so much fuel. The shuddering rotor blades stirred up the air, causing the personnel’s white coats to lift, as if they were about to take off.
Sometimes an alarm sounded when a car drove up, loud and droning. Then many more personnel appeared, standing by in a receiving line. And the patient was rapidly carried out of the car and into the hospital while nurses and doctors worked on him. We hadn’t seen how it was when Wei-Wen arrived. It happened so quickly. He had already been carried away when we were allowed to get out of the ambulance. We saw the backs of the health personnel disappear with a stretcher. He was probably lying on it, but I was unable to catch sight of him, the backs in white coats were in the way. I tried to run after them, just wanted to see him. But the door was shut and locked.
We remained standing there outside the entrance. I stretched out my hand to Kuan but he was standing too far away. I couldn’t reach him. Or perhaps he didn’t want to be reached.
Then the door opened and two men dressed in white came out. Doctors? Nurses?
They took each of us compassionately by the arm and asked that we accompany them. I followed them with all of my questions. Where was Wei-Wen? What was wrong with him? Was he injured? Would we soon be allowed to see him? But they had no answers. Said only that our son, they said son, perhaps they didn’t even know his name, was in good hands. It would be fine. Then they just put us in here, and vanished.
I had been standing like this for hours when the door finally opened and a doctor came in. She introduced herself as Dr. Hio and closed the door behind her, without meeting our gazes.
“Where is he? Where is Wei-Wen?” I asked. My voice came from somewhere far away.
“They are still working on your son,” the woman said, and moved further into the room.
Her hair was gray, but her face was smooth, expressionless.
“His name is Wei-Wen,” I said. “Can I see him?”
I took a step towards the door. She had to take me to him. It had to be possible. I didn’t have to be at his side, behind a glass window would do, as long as I could see him.
“Working on him. What do you mean?” Kuan said.
She lifted her head and looked at him, while avoiding my eyes.
“We’re doing everything we can.”
“He will survive, right?” Kuan asked.
“We’re doing everything we can,” she repeated mildly.
Kuan lifted his hand to his mouth. Bit his knuckles. I felt the jolt of a sudden chill.
“We must be allowed to see him,” I said, but the words were so faint that they almost disappeared.
She didn’t answer me, merely shook her head gently.
That couldn’t be right. It had to be a mistake. Everything that had happened was a mistake. It wasn’t him lying in there. Not Wei-Wen. He was at school, or at home. It was another child, a misunderstanding.
“You have to trust us,” Dr. Hio said quietly and sat down. “And in the meantime, I need you to answer some questions.”
Kuan nodded and sat down on a chair.
She picked up a pen and paper and prepared to take notes.
“Has your son ever been ill before?”
“No,” Kuan answered obediently and turned to face me. “Has he? Can you remember whether he has?”
“No. Just an ear infection,” I said. “And the flu.”
She wrote down a few words on the pad of paper. “Nothing out of the ordinary?”
“No.”
“Other respiratory infections? Asthma?”
“Nothing,” I said firmly.
Dr. Hio turned to face Kuan again.
“Where, exactly, was he when you found him?” Kuan leaned forward, doubled up, as if he wanted to shield himself from her questions.
“Between the trees, near Field 458, or maybe 457. Right by the forest.”
“And what was he doing?”
“He was sitting there. Slumped over. Pale. Sweating.”
“And you were the one who found him?”
“Yes. It was me.”
“He was so frightened,” I said. “He was so unbelievably frightened.”
She nodded.
“We ate plums,” I continued. “We had brought plums. He ate the entire tin.”
“Thank you.” She wrote something down again on her little pad.
Then she turned to Kuan again, as if he were the one who had the answers. “Do you think he was in the forest?”
“I don’t know.”
She hesitated. “What were you doing out there?”
Kuan leaned forward again. Sent me a look, blank, a look that didn’t disclose what he was thinking.
The tension mounted, it became difficult to breathe. I was unable to answer. Kept my eyes on him, tried to plead, get him to cover up the truth. Say that it was our idea to go there, perhaps even his, when in reality it was mine alone.
My fault that we were out there.
Kuan didn’t respond to my gaze, just turned towards the doctor and took a deep breath. “We were on an outing,” he said. “We wanted to spend our day off doing something pleasant.”
Perhaps he didn’t hold me responsible, perhaps he didn’t blame me. I kept watching him, but he didn’t look in my direction. Revealed nothing, no answers, but neither did he make any accusations. And perhaps that’s how it was. Perhaps that was the truth. We were together in this, together in being out there. It was a decision we both made and an agreement, a compromise, not just my idea.
Dr. Hio didn’t seem to notice everything that lay between us—she ju
st looked from one to the other, compassionate, more than merely professional. “I promise to come back as soon as I have more information.”
I took a step forward. “But what happened? What’s the matter with him?” My voice was shaking now. “You must know something more?”
The woman just shook her head slowly. She had no answers.
“Try to get some rest. I’ll see if I can have some food sent in.”
She disappeared out the door and we were left standing there.
There was a clock hanging on the wall. The time passed in erratic jumps. Sometimes when I looked at the clock, twenty minutes had passed, other times, only twenty seconds.
Kuan stayed at all times on the opposite side of the room. Regardless of where I stood, he was far away. It was not just his wish, equally so my own. It was impossible to get past the big thing between us. In the face of this, we were both transformed into thin ice, like the first thin sheets that formed on ponds in the autumn, which shattered at the lightest touch.
I took a sip of water. It was sour, water from a tank, water that had always been stagnant.
It had become dark. Neither of us turned on the light. What did we need light for? An hour had passed since the doctor had been here.
I checked the hallway once more. But nobody was at the counter.
I kept walking, but found only locked doors. Leaned my ear against one of them, but heard nothing. An intense humming from the air conditioner drowned out everything else.
Back again. Just stay here. Wait.
GEORGE
We had reached the hives by the Satis farm. I took those closest to the main road. I caught a glimpse of Jimmy and Rick, who were working their way across the field. I was tired, but not worn out, knew I was going to sleep as if somebody had pulled out the plug on me that night.
I was just about to lift the lid off the last hive when Gareth Green showed up.
His semitrailer truck thundered through the landscape. Three more followed behind him. When he saw me, he stopped. He actually stopped. And the semitrailer trucks behind him had to wait in line, stand there with the engines running and the sun beating down on the windshields and just wait for Gareth. It probably wasn’t the first time.
He got out of the cab with a huge smirk on his face, sporting mirror sunglasses and a suntan. And a bright green cap with the words CLEARWATER BEACH, SPRING BREAK 2006. Bought on sale down south, maybe. Gareth liked doing things on the cheap, but preferably in a way so people wouldn’t notice, because he also liked it if people were impressed. He left the door open and the engine running.
“So. Everything good up here?”
He nodded towards me and my hives, which were placed at irregular distances across the field. There weren’t many of them so they looked pretty sparse.
“Looking good,” I said. “A good winter. Didn’t lose many.”
“Good. Good. Happy to hear it. Us too. Not much waste.” Gareth always used the word waste about the bees. Made it sound as if they were plants. Farm crops.
He nodded towards the landscape. “We’re going to stop here for a round now. Pears.”
“Not apples?”
“Nope. It’s pears this year. Got a bigger farm. Have more bees now, you know. The Hudson farm is too small for us.”
I didn’t answer. Just nodded again.
He nodded, too.
We stood there nodding, while our gazes slid away in opposite directions. Like two figurines, the kind we had when I was little, where the head is loose and just needs a tiny push to set it into motion, nodding and nodding while staring out into space.
He concluded with a final nod towards the trucks. “Been on the road a long time now. It’ll be good to get everything in place up here.”
I followed his gaze. Hive after hive, all prefabricated, gray expanded polystyrene, were securely strapped to the semitrailers and covered with a green, fine-mesh netting material. The rumbling of the engines drowned out the buzzing of all the bees inside.
“California, is that where you’re coming from?” I said. “How many miles is it from there?”
“You’re out of touch.” He laughed. “California was in February. Almonds. The season ended a long time ago. Now we’re on our way back from Florida. Lemons.”
“Lemons, right.”
“And blood oranges.”
“Right.”
Blood oranges. Nope, ordinary oranges weren’t good enough for Gareth.
“Been driving for twenty-four hours,” he continued. “Small potatoes compared to the trip we took before that. California to Florida. That’s some serious driving. Just getting across Texas takes almost twenty-four hours. Do you have any idea how wide that state actually is?”
“No. Can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”
“Wide. The widest state we have. Except for Alaska, that is.”
“Right.”
Gareth’s four thousand beehives were on the road year-round, never at rest. Winter in the southern states, peppers in Florida, almonds in California, back to lemons and oranges—or blood oranges, which were apparently new this year—in Florida, then north for three or four stops in the course of the summer. Apples or pears, blueberries, pumpkins. The bees were only at home here in June. Then Gareth took stock, as he put it, calculated his losses, combined hives, did repairs.
“By the way, I met Rob and Nellie down there,” he said.
“That right?”
“What’s the place called—Gulf Village?”
Well, well. So he’d been there. To the so-called paradise.
“Gulf Harbors.”
“Well, I’ll be! You’ve heard of it, too! Gulf Harbors, yes. Got to see the new house. Right out on the canal. They’ve got themselves a water scooter. Rob took me out for a ride. Believe it or not we saw dolphins.”
“Dolphins, you say. Not manatees?”
“No. Manatees? What’re those?”
“Rob and Nellie have been bragging about it. That they have manatees right outside their house.”
“Wow. No. I didn’t see any manatees. Anyway. They’ve got a good setup there. Nice place.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Someone in one of the trucks behind him gunned the engine. Impatient. But Gareth ignored it. That’s how he was. My legs were itching. But he just stood there calmly, it seemed like he’d never finish.
“And you.” He took off his glasses and looked at me. “Any trips planned?”
“Yes,” I said. “More than enough trips. Going out in a few weeks. Maine.”
“Blueberries, as usual?”
“Yeah, blueberries.”
“Then we’ll see you, maybe. I’ve got Maine this year, too.”
“You don’t say. Yeah, well, be seeing you, then.” I tried to twist a smile out of my lips.
“White Hill Farm, know where that is?” He scratched under his cap. His hand turned green under the sunlight shining through the fabric.
“No,” I said. It was the biggest farm for miles around. Everyone, even the youngest toddler, yes, even every single dog, knew where it was.
He grinned, didn’t answer, knew for sure I was lying. Then he finally turned around to face the truck again, gave a salute with his hand against his cap, winked cheekily at me and got in.
The cloud of dust blocked the sunlight as they disappeared.
We went to school together, Gareth and I. He was a sluggish guy. Ate too much, worked out too little, afflicted with eczema. The girls weren’t interested. Not us guys, either. For some reason or other he took a shine to me. Maybe because I couldn’t bring myself to bad-mouth him all the time. Could see there was a person in there. And my mom was on my case all the time. You should be nice to everyone, especially those who don’t have many friends. Gareth was without a doubt in that category, the one for people without many friends. That’s how my mom was. It was impossible to be really cruel when you had her voice in your head all the time. Mom even made me invite him home a couple of times. G
areth thought it was out of this world to be invited to dinner on the farm. My dad took us out to the bees. Gareth asked questions, poking and prying. He was a lot more interested than I’d ever been, or at least had given the impression of being so. And my father was happy to explain, of course.
Luckily, in high school we lost touch. Or else, it was just easier to stay away. I got the impression that Gareth buried himself in school and work. He had a part-time job at the hardware store, already started saving money back then. With time the extra pounds disappeared and he apparently got one of those sunlamps that helped the eczema, and as a result his skin was always slightly golden. Had to admit, it didn’t look half bad.
He also managed to find himself a pretty nice girl. After finishing school, he bought a piece of land, and wouldn’t you know he started with bees. Operations boomed, Gareth apparently had a knack for it. He expanded, got more hives. The girl had children, more attractive than Gareth had been, no eczema on any of them. And now he’d become a big shot. One of the biggest in town. Cruised around on Sundays with his family securely seat-belted into a huge German SUV. Was a member of the country club, paid $850 a year so the whole family could stand out there in the meadow and hit balls in all kinds of weather. Sure, I’d checked what it cost.
He’d also invested in the new library. A shiny brass plaque informed everyone who cared to read it, and there were many who did, that the local community was deeply grateful to Green’s Apiaries for its generosity when the library was built.
Revenge of the nerds, that’s what it was. And the rest of us, those of us who hadn’t been particularly nerdy, but popular enough in school, had to sit on the sidelines and watch how Gareth wallowed in increasingly more dough with every passing year.
Everyone who worked with bees knew that the real money didn’t lie in honey; Gareth’s assets didn’t come from honey. The real money was in pollination. Agriculture didn’t have a chance without bees. Mile after mile of blossoming almond trees or blueberry bushes; they weren’t worth a dime unless the bees carried the pollen from one flower to another. The bees could travel more than several miles a day. Many thousands of flowers. Without them the flowers were just as useless as the contestants of a beauty pageant. Nice to look at, while they lasted, of absolutely no value in the long run. The flowers wilted, died, without bearing fruit.
