The History of Bees

Chapter 22 WILLIAM

The straw hive I’d ordered arrived three days later and I had found a location for it in the semi-shade of an aspen on the lower part of the property, in the part of the garden we allowed to grow wild. It wouldn’t be in anybody’s way in this part, none of the children spent time down there, and I would really be allowed to work in peace, make my observations of the bee colony, take notes and draw without being disturbed. A farmer south of town sold me the hive without blinking; probably because I offered him a price, instead of asking what he wanted for it. He didn’t even try to barter with me but accepted on the spot, which told me that I probably could have gotten the hive for half what I’d offered.

He explained to me about harvesting, but I waved him away. It was obviously not for the sake of honey that I had gone to the trouble of procuring the hive.

Thilda had sewn a suit, not unlike a fencer’s, out of an old white sheet. She had to take it in three times in the process, apparently unable to comprehend that my former measurements no longer pertained. On my hands I wore a pair of discarded gloves that did indeed make the skin clammy, but were utterly necessary for protection.

There I stood, under the aspen tree. Now it was just me and the hive, me and the bees.

I picked up a notebook. Observational studies were a meticulous task, but they usually gave me pleasure, because it was there, in the observation, it all started. That was where my passion originated. How could I have forgotten that?

I was about to make notes when something else occurred to me. How out of practice I was after all the years that had passed: I needed a chair.

A little later I was back with a simple stool; out of breath, the sweat was running under the suit, which, now that I felt it on my body, was a tiny bit too small, tight under the arms and in the crotch.

I sat and slowly settled down.

There wasn’t much to see. The bees left the hive and returned, there was nothing surprising about that. They were out gathering pollen and nectar—the latter they transformed into honey, while the pollen was feed for the larvae. It was meticulous and peaceful work, systematic, instinctive, hereditary. They were all siblings, because the queen was everyone’s mother, they were produced by her, but not subjugated to her. They were subjugated to the whole. I would have liked to see the queen, but the basket covered the bees, and everything they did inside was hidden.

Carefully I lifted it and peeked in from underneath. The bees swarmed up and spread out into the air around me, they were not fond of being disturbed.

I observed brimming honeycombs, a drone or two, I saw eggs and larvae and leaned in even closer. My skin was prickling with expectation, because now I had begun, finally I had begun!

“Time to eat!”

Thilda’s voice sliced through the buzzing of insects and chased the birds into hiding.

I leaned over the hive again. It did not concern me, the family meals were not a part of my life, I had not eaten with them for months. The children streamed towards the house behind me, one after the other they disappeared inside.

“Teatime!”

I peeked at Thilda from under my arm. She was standing in the middle of the garden staring at me, and now she even set out in my direction.

Little Georgiana’s fork scraped against an empty plate.

“Hush!” Thilda said. “Put the fork down!”

“I’m hungry!”

Thilda, Charlotte and Dorothea put serving dishes on the table. One with vegetables, one with potatoes and a tureen with a watery dishwaterlike liquid that was supposed to resemble soup.

“Is that all?” I pointed at the dishes that were served.

Thilda nodded.

“Where’s the meat?”

“There isn’t any meat.”

“And the pie?”

“We’re out of butter and pastry flour.” She stared at me resolutely. “Unless you want us to take some of the tuition money.”

“No. No, we aren’t touching Edmund’s tuition.”

Now I suddenly understood why she had insisted I take part in the family dinner. She was more cunning than I thought.

I looked around me. The thin faces of the children were all turned towards the three dismal dishes on the table. “So,” I said finally. “Then we’ll have to be grateful for the food we have received.”

I bowed my head and prayed. The prayer felt amiss on my tongue, I spit it out quickly in order to finish.

“Amen.”

“Amen,” the family repeated softly.

Through the window I could glimpse the hive in the distance, down there in the garden. I served myself a small portion, so I would be able to get back as quickly as possible.

Thilda received the serving dishes after me, then the children, one after the other according to age. It pleased me that Edmund was the eldest and was allowed to help himself right after Thilda, because boys at that age need solid meals four times a day. But he took little, and just poked at his food. He was unusually pale and thin, as if he never saw daylight. His hands were trembling, too, and his forehead sweating. Was he not feeling well?

The girls, on the other hand, eagerly devoured the meal. But there was not enough for all of them. When little Georgiana finally received her portion, only scraps were left. Charlotte pushed one of her potatoes onto to her little sister’s plate.

We ate in silence. The food disappeared from the girls’ plates in just a few minutes.

During the meal I could feel Thilda’s eyes on me. She did not need to say a thing. I knew only too well what she wanted.