The History of Bees

Chapter 27 GEORGE

Kenny’s vehicles rolled into the yard with a resounding cough of exhaust fumes. The dust sprayed off the tires and settled in a thick layer on the empty flatbeds and the engines completely drowned out the small birds twittering at the approach of sunset. I had rented three trucks this year. Regular trucks, unfortunately, not semitrailer trucks like the kind Gareth used. These were old, rusty wrecks on the outside, nothing impressive, and in terms of space were not more than three hives high and four wide. But under the hood they were trusty workhorses, with engines so simple that you could fix them yourself if something happened, and something happened all the time.

We began loading hives in the twilight. This couldn’t be done during the day while the bees were out, so we had to wait until they’d turned in for the night.

Darkness fell. We started the engines so the headlights lit up the meadow while we were working. We were like Martians in white suits with hats and veils, in and out of the beams of light from the vehicles, as if we had come from a foreign planet to take with us biological material in the boxes. I had to chuckle to myself. He should have seen us now, Professor Hoodie.

The sweat trickled down under my suit. It was heavy work. Every single hive weighed many pounds.

But next year. Next year there would be a truck, perhaps a proper semitrailer truck. I’d been saving money, hoped it was enough for another bank loan. Hadn’t talked to Emma about it. Knew what she thought. But to make money you have to spend money. That’s how it is.

We left as soon as the hives were in the vehicles. Nothing to wait for and we had a long trip ahead of us. We drove two men in each vehicle, taking turns driving. I took my own car. Tom and I.

Maybe it was because of Star Wars, maybe because Tom himself had said that he would write about the trip, that it would give him inspiration. He had arrived, at least, the same afternoon. With full approval from John, the professor. Tom gave Emma a hug, pulled on his coveralls and went out. He had been with the bees ever since. Didn’t say much. I couldn’t see his face. It was in the shadow behind the veil. But he worked, did what we asked him to. Silently and quickly, even faster than Jimmy and Rick. I wanted to tell him so, praise him, but couldn’t find the right moment. There was no chance for it in the car, either, because he just rolled up his sweater into a sausage, leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

He was handsome, my boy. A little thin, but handsome. The girls must like him. Did he have a girlfriend? I didn’t know.

The engine hummed smoothly. Tom’s breathing was just as smooth. There were few cars on the road, we passed someone only once in a great while. The road was dry, we maintained a fast speed, but not reckless.

Everything was going according to plan.

We slept and drove in shifts. Nobody said much. Morning came. The rolling hills of the landscape all around us. A machine drove past in a field a distance away. Like a gigantic insect. The body of the machine, the tank of pesticide, was huge and round, contained thousands of gallons. It had long, rotating wings that spread the material on the fields in a cloud of tiny drops.

I kept my bees far away from pesticides. It dulled them, always led to losses. But in recent years many had started using something new. The pesticide was no longer sprayed but spread in small pellets on the ground. It was safer and better, it was said. Lay in the soil and was absorbed by plant roots, lasted longer, worked longer. It was shit all the same. I would have liked to have seen the farmers manage the old way, that the crops in the fields had to survive on their own, without the help of pesticides. But it seemed that wasn’t possible. Insect pests could eat a ripe field down to the ground in one night. There were too many of us, the food prices too low, and everything else too expensive for anyone to take the chance.

Tom woke up beside me. Opened the thermos, poured out the last dregs and suddenly thought of me.

“Sorry, did you want some?”

“Help yourself.”

He drank it down in two gulps. Said nothing more.

“Well, well,” I said. Mostly to fill the silence.

He didn’t answer. There wasn’t much to say.

“So,” I said. “Yeah.” And cleared my throat. “Any girls in the picture? At school.”

“No. Not really,” he said.

“None who are pretty?”

“None who think I’m pretty.” He laughed and I registered that he was in a talkative mood.

“Just you wait,” I said.

“Hope I won’t have to wait as long as you and Mom.”

Emma and I got married when we were thirty. My father had long since given up on me.

“You should be grateful for that,” I said. “So you were spared noisy little siblings. Don’t know how good you’ve got it being an only child.”

“Siblings could have been nice, too,” Tom said.

“On paper,” I said. “In reality it’s hell. And I know what I’m talking about.”

I had three brothers. Arguing and fighting from morning to night. I was the eldest and was a mini-dad from the age of six. Had always been happy that Tom was an only child.

“Anyway. First you have to start by finding yourself a lady. And then you can have kids, one at a time. You know how it works. Birds and bees. Or maybe we never had that talk.”

“No, maybe we can have it now?” He chuckled. “Let’s hear it, Dad. What’s the story with the birds and the bees?”

I laughed.

He did, too.