The History of Bees

Chapter 20 TAO

Dr. Hio took us with her. One lift going up, then a long corridor. Then a lift down. She walked quickly, glanced every now and then over her shoulder; perhaps she didn’t want to be seen. She had received clear instructions, she said, nobody was to visit him. He was in the isolation ward. Nobody was allowed to enter.

“But,” she continued, mostly to herself, “you are the mother.” She glanced quickly at Kuan, as if discovering him for the first time and corrected herself. “You are the parents. You must be permitted to see him.” Her voice trembled as she said this, the businesslike empathy was gone.

What awaited us? Wei-Wen in a sickbed. Pale. His eyes closed. The blood vessels on his eyelids, more visible than usual. The little body, previously so full of stubbornness and energy, now completely lifeless. His arms at his sides, a cannula with a plastic tube in one. The arms that wrapped themselves around my neck, the cheek, damp and smooth, that was pressed against my own: surrounded by machines, bleeping apparatuses, shimmering screens. Sterile. White. Alone?

It was a long walk. Or had she taken a detour? Every time we passed somebody, she nodded curtly and sped up her pace a bit more. We were swallowed up inside the building. As if we were on our way to a place with no exit.

Finally she stopped. We stood in front of a steel door. She looked quickly around her, as if to ensure that there was nobody nearby, before she pressed a button. The door opened with a suction sound. The door was framed by black rubber molding, making it completely airtight. We stepped over the threshold. A louder hissing could be heard here, an air-conditioning system in high gear. The air pressure changed. The door slid shut behind us, the suction pulling it into the frame.

I had been expecting health care personnel. Sterile staff members, dressed in white, who flocked around us. Stern voices, authorities, you have to go, you have to get out, this zone is off-limits. I had prepared the words I would say. Prepared myself to be tough with Kuan. I could see from his eyes that he had already pulled out, he was on the defensive, didn’t want to be here, in forbidden territory.

But the corridor in front of us was deserted. The ward was deserted. We walked in, turned a corner. I expected a counter, a reception, doctors hurrying past. But there wasn’t a soul to be seen here, either. Dr. Hio led the way. I didn’t see her face, but her steps were hesitant; she walked more and more slowly.

She stopped in front of a door. This one was also made of shiny steel, no fingerprints, no signs of life, as shiny as a mirror. A round window in the middle, a porthole, like on an old ship. I tried peeking in, but the ceiling lights shone too sharply, the greenish reflection made it impossible to see anything at all.

“It’s here. This is where he is,” she said.

She stood there, uncertainly. Then she retreated.

“You can go in alone.”

I put my hand on the door. The metal was surprisingly cold against my skin, I pulled my hand back momentarily. The palm of my hand left behind a damp mark in the midst of all the sterility. Then I opened it.

I stepped into a dimly lit room. Scarcely registered that Kuan followed behind me. It took time to get accustomed to the darkness. I almost butted into a pane of glass that ran from the floor to the ceiling just one meter away from the door. Behind it lay a simply furnished hospital room. A closet. A bed. A bedside table of steel. Bare walls. A bed.

Empty.

The bed was empty.

The room was empty. He wasn’t there.

I stormed out into the corridor again, but then came to a sudden halt. There was Dr. Hio with another doctor. They were speaking quickly and whispering. The other doctor leaned towards her, rigid and fuming. Reprimanding.

Kuan followed behind me, remained standing there as well.

“Where is he?” I said loudly.

The doctor spun around towards us and suddenly fell silent. Tall, thin, pale. Restless hands that he pushed down into the pockets of his coat.

“Your son is unfortunately no longer here. He has been discharged.”

“What?”

“Transferred.”

“Transferred? To where?”

“To…” His eyes still didn’t meet mine. “Beijing.”

“Beijing?!”

“As you have perhaps been told, we are still unsure of what has afflicted your son. It was therefore decided that he would be in better hands with a special team.” Kuan said nothing, just nodded.

“No,” I said.

“What?” Finally the doctor looked at me.

“No. You can’t just send him away.”’

“We haven’t sent him away. We have sent him to the best specialists. You should be grateful…”

“But why hasn’t anyone told us anything? Why couldn’t we go with him?”

The same thing all over again. First Mother. Now him. Taken away from me, without any explanation.

“Which hospital is he in?”

“You will be informed.”

“Now!”

“If you will just go home, we will give you more information soon.”

I had reached my limit. I no longer had the strength to be reasonable, controlled, sensible. My voice rose, became sharp. “Take me to my son now! Take me to him!”

In two steps I was beside the doctor and grabbed his shoulders. “I want to see my child. Do you understand?”

The blood rushed to my head, my cheeks became damp, I tried shaking him, and he just stood there, in disbelief.

Then somebody took hold of me and held me tightly, took hold around my arms, paralyzed me, making me just as incapacitated as he was himself. Kuan. Obedient, now like he always was.

We didn’t speak on the train home. The trip took almost three hours. We had to change trains. And go through two checkpoints. A fingerprint check and many questions. Who were we? Where did we live? Where were we going? Where had we been? Kuan answered all of the questions calmly; I could not fathom how he managed it. As if he were himself. But at the same time, he wasn’t. I met his gaze once; unfamiliar eyes stared back at me. I turned away.

We traveled the final stretch on foot. We were just a hundred meters from our house when we became aware of the helicopters circling above us. The loud clattering rose and descended. At first I thought they were right above our house, but when we came closer, I saw that they were flying over the fields, over the pear trees. Over the forest.

We turned the corner and stopped. There, in front of our house, where the fields began, stood all of our colleagues, all of them in work uniforms. They had been interrupted in their work and they stood around passively in a small group. Some still held pruning shears and baskets for debris in their hands. They were quiet, just stood there looking in astonishment at the area in front of us. In the distance I could make out the hill where we had eaten lunch. Behind it lay the wild forest. The air above the trees was full of different aircraft, and in front of us, a wall of silently moving tanks passed by, a wall between us and the field out there. Behind the tanks soldiers were working. They were in the process of putting up tall white tarpaulin fencing, several hundred meters long. They worked quickly and efficiently, said nothing. I heard only the thudding sounds as they pounded the poles down into the ground. Beyond the soldiers, behind the fence, I could discern figures wearing full-body suits with helmets. Protected from something out there.