The History of Bees

Chapter 29 TAO

I rounded the corner of the house. The fence lay in front of me. Impenetrable, tall, it shone white in the darkness, reflecting the rays of the half-moon. The soil was fragrant, the weather warm and humid, the grass flourished along the side of the road.

I tiptoed past the guard. His face lay in darkness, but his head was bowed, and I could hear him breathing deeply and calmly.

Something buzzed in the air, a low sound, perhaps ten meters directly above me. An insect? No, far too large. But the sound moved quickly away and again all was silent.

Carefully I reached out a hand and touched the fence. I expected an alarm, a howling sound. But nothing happened.

I walked a few meters along the fence, allowing my hand to trace the smooth, tightly woven material. And there, between my fingers, I suddenly felt a splice. The canvas was taut, but nonetheless I managed to get my fingers between the two layers. I tugged a little. With a faint sound, the layers separated. Soon I had managed to create a hole that was big enough to allow me to slip through.

I threw one final glance towards the soldier, he was still sleeping deeply. Then I forced my way through.

It was darker here. I knew that there were searchlights; from time to time we had seen the sweeping light in the evening, but now they were all turned off.

Did they have guards on the inside? I didn’t know. I just stood there, trying to accustom my eyes to the darkness. Slowly the trees became visible before me. They were without blossoms now, but heavy with leaves.

Everything was quiet, just the light breeze that slid through the leaves and the grass, but nonetheless I was shaking with excitement. It was prohibited, what I was doing. What would happen if I got caught?

I slowly moved forward. A distance away I could just make out the rut we had followed to the hill. I walked there.

I had never in my life felt apprehension out here. Many other feelings—resignation, boredom and also joy—but never fear. Now I moved as quietly as I could, while the sound of my own heart rose into my ears and my back became drenched with sweat.

The ruts led me forward between the trees. All of a sudden there was something moving at the far edge of my field of vision, a shadow. Was somebody there? I spun around, but saw nothing. Nothing. The world out here was empty and hushed. It was only my own fear playing tricks on me.

I took a few more steps forward.

One, two, three—jump. One, two, three—jump.

We had walked here.

Wei-Wen between us. Healthy, determined, warm, soft. My child.

My child.

I had to stop, bend over, a physical pain in my midriff hit me with such force that I was unable to move.

Breathe calmly. Think about something else. Straighten up. Be rational. Look around. How much further was it now? To the hill, where we had eaten lunch.

Keep going.

I hadn’t walked much further when I discovered it. Light. A yellow light shimmered in the air above an area a distance away.

I walked closer. More slowly now, putting my feet down one in front of the other with increasing caution.

And then I saw the tent. It was located on the border against the forest, with a backdrop of bushes and trees growing wild. Round, as big as a small house, with a peaked roof, lit up from all sides. It was made of the same canvas as the fence, the same sterile whiteness. Outside I could see the silhouettes of several soldiers on patrol. The tent was far more heavily guarded than the fence. They walked calmly back and forth, throwing sharp shadows against the tent canvas, a strange shadow-puppet show on a circus tent somebody had forgotten to color. Were they a threat or protection?

I couldn’t see an entrance. There were no windows, either. I didn’t dare move any closer, kept going instead, around a hundred meters away, parallel with the tent, to see it from the other side. I passed the hill, and at that moment it struck me that the tent was in approximately the same place where Kuan must have found Wei-Wen. With that realization, my fear intensified. My legs were shaking so much they could scarcely carry me forward. I understood that I’d hoped there wasn’t a connection, that the fence and the military people had nothing to do with Wei-Wen.

But now. The telephone call I went around waiting for, the message that Wei-Wen had just fallen and hit his head, that he’d suffered a completely ordinary concussion and was now recovering, that the two of us could visit him and soon take him home with us, these thoughts now appeared even more to be helpless, desperate fantasies. Right between myself and the tent I glimpsed a stack of cardboard boxes. I approached quietly; behind the boxes I was hidden from the guards.

Some of the boxes were folded up, others were still intact. I peeked into one, ran my hand along the bottom, removed the contents. Soil and remains of plant roots. A name was printed on the side of the box, postal code and city. Beijing.

I put it down and moved on slowly. I was afraid my usual clumsiness would give me away, that I would once again break branches, and I concentrated every muscle in my body on moving as quietly as possible.

The front of the tent became visible. Just as white and impermeable, but with an opening on the side, closed by a tight, broad zipper. I crouched down. Waited. Sooner or later somebody would certainly come or go.

I sat crouched down like that until the lactic acid built up in my legs and I had to change positions. The ground was damp, but I sat all the way down nonetheless; the raw chill of the earth penetrated my clothing. It was only now that I noticed the piles of branches outside. They had chopped down a dozen fruit trees to make room for the tent. Dry branches stood out stiffly against the tent canvas.

Nothing happened. From time to time low voices could be heard from inside, but I was unable to distinguish any words.

I just sat like that for a long time, surrounded by darkness. The minutes passed, became an hour. The stagnant air was starting to make me drowsy.

Then: the rasping sound of a zipper. The tent was opened and two figures came out, both wearing white safety clothing, their heads bent together, discussing intensely in low voices. I leaned forward, squinting to see. The tent was opened just for a moment, but nonetheless I had time to make out something of what it was hiding. A transparent inner tent full of plants. Glass walls. Flowers. A greenhouse? Shiny green leaves, pink, orange, white and red flowers surrounded by golden light. Like a fairy-tale landscape in an illustration, richly colorful and warm, another world, living plants, blossoming plants, plants I had never seen before, not to be found among the uniform rows of fruit trees.

All at once one of the figures began walking in my direction. I remained seated. But the figure came closer.

I stood up and silently moved backwards.

The figure stopped. Listened, as if sniffing me out. I didn’t dare to move any more, stood completely still, in hopes of blending in with the tree trunks.

He remained motionless for another moment, but then he turned around and walked back to the tent. I hurried away.

I increased my pace, ran as quietly as I could back towards the fence.

I’d seen something. But I didn’t know what. The fences, the boxes, the tent. It made no sense.

Neither here nor at the hospital would anyone give me what I needed. Nobody would give me answers. And they wouldn’t give me my child.

I reached the fence, crept through the same place, passed the guard. He was still sleeping at his post.

I stood there outside in the warm night. The fence towered over me. But Wei-Wen wasn’t here. He wasn’t even in this part of the country. He was where the plants came from. In Beijing.