The History of Bees

by Maja Lunde

  “Edmund, he . . .”

  “I fell into the brook,” Edmund said slowly.

  Then he staggered past us.

  I took a step forward and lay a hand on his shoulder, perhaps it was still not too late to take him with me outdoors, show him and make him understand.

  But now I could feel how he was shaking beneath his wet clothes and noticed that his teeth were chattering in his mouth.

  “Edmund?”

  “I have to sleep,” he murmured without turning around.

  Then he squirmed out of my grasp and with shuffling steps he walked towards the stairs to the second floor.

  Thilda skipped after him; her feet sounded like hen’s claws against the floor, the chattering, like nervous clucking. “My dear boy. Come, I’ll help you. Look here, walk carefully. Your bed is turned down. Take my arm . . . like that, yes. Like that.”

  His heavy back disappeared up the stairs. I looked down at my hand, it was still damp from having held on to him, and I rubbed it quickly against my trouser leg.

  The melancholy that had attacked me so brutally, could it be that it also resided in my son? From my bloodstream to his? Hereditary? Perhaps that was why he never let me in?

  My chest tightened. No, not him. Not Edmund.

  All of a sudden I became aware of the children; the girls stood in a circle around me. Silent, swaying with drowsiness. Looking at me, awaiting my next move. All except for Charlotte. She did not meet my gaze, but she, too, was pale from lack of sleep.

  I drew a breath. “Tomorrow,” I said to them softly. “It will have to wait until tomorrow.”

  TAO

  Do you know how to get there?”

  I stood in the hotel’s worn, nondescript lobby and pointed at the map I had unfolded. The hospital was one of the last on the list. I had worked my way down, crossing out, eliminating one by one.

  “There used to be a subway line from here to here,” the receptionist said and pointed, “so you could change there.” She put her finger on the map, not far from the creased edge of a fold.

  She was a tall, erect woman, who laughed surprisingly loud and long every time the opportunity presented itself. She was always at work. The others had been relocated, she explained. Now she clung to the hotel, which paid less and less, to provide food for herself and her daughter. The ten-year-old came by every day after school and did her homework in the lobby. It was the only way that mother and daughter could see one another.

  “But that’s the part of the subway system the City Council recommends that one should no longer use,” she continued.

  I looked at her inquisitively.

  “The areas are rough. Occupied. No. Occupied is not the word. But those who still live there have nothing. And nobody controls them anymore,” she said.

  “What kind of people are they?”

  “The ones who don’t want to move. The ones who were left behind. The ones who hid. It happened so fast and afterwards, if you had regrets, you were told that it was already too late.”

  She swallowed and looked away. Perhaps the same was true for her as for the boy and his father in the restaurant. But I couldn’t ask, I couldn’t cope with yet another of these stories.

  I just wanted to get going, search, as I’d done every single day since I’d arrived here. He had to be somewhere. Every morning I went out at daybreak, with money and a few dry biscuits wrapped in paper in my purse. Every day I visited a new neighborhood, a new hospital. Many of them I had contacted ahead of time, called both from home and from the hotel. I had the names of units, the names of doctors. Now I sought out the same people, thought that if they knew something, it would be harder to brush me off if I showed up in person, when they saw me, saw the mother, face-to-face. Some of them remembered me and felt bad for me. Some even dared to look me in the eyes and say that they understood my desperation.

  But the message was the same everywhere. They couldn’t find any record of him. They had never heard of Wei-Wen. And I was referred elsewhere again and again, to other hospitals. Have you tried in Fengtai, have you tried the Central Hospital in Chaoyang, have you been to the Haidian Center for Respiratory Ailments?

  I always asked to speak with a supervisor, seldom gave up with the first person they referred me to. And then I waited. Entire days. Sitting, standing, wandering. By windows, in dark rooms, across cold stone floors, in cheerlessly lit rooms, with a glass of water in my hand, a cup of tea from the vending machine, usually alone, sometimes in drafty waiting rooms. It was never crowded, never busy, nonetheless it seemed as though I was continually bumped down on a list; often I didn’t speak to the right person until it approached closing time. Sometimes I encountered rolling eyes: can’t she give up, there are many desperate people, many ill, undernourished, a single child, she has to calm down, understand that we don’t have time. But I stayed. Did nothing, was simply visible, until I got my way.

  On several occasions the waiting led me all the way to the director’s office. Large rooms with heavy furniture, rooms which had once been elegant, but which now spoke of deterioration. I presented my business, got them talking, experienced compassion. Some of them double-checked, called others. They actually tried. But nobody was able to help. Wei-Wen was gone.

  In the beginning I called Kuan every evening. But the words between us were few. I let him know that I hadn’t come any closer. He informed me that he hadn’t heard anything, either. Businesslike and more terse with every passing evening. And then he asked about the money, how much I had spent, how much was left. I lied. I couldn’t tell him that the train ticket here alone had cost 5,500 yuan. One evening I didn’t call. He didn’t call me, either. We both knew that neither of us had anything to report. An unspoken agreement had been formed that the one who learned something first would be in touch.

  At night I slept heavily and without dreaming, as if somebody had laid a black carpet over my consciousness as soon as my head hit the pillow. Knowing there was nothing more I could do gave me equilibrium. I was certain I’d find him in the end. I simply mustn’t give up. But as the days passed, it became harder to believe. The further down I got on the list, the more uneasy I became. Because I still hadn’t found Wei-Wen, no trace of him. And the money had disappeared more quickly than I had planned; the tin box had become far too light. I didn’t have more than 7,000 yuan left. It could still be enough, if we were really thrifty during the last two years before the age limit. But I still hadn’t bought the train ticket home.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard anything from that area,” the receptionist said quietly. “Perhaps it’s completely deserted now. Regardless, we have been advised to stay away.”

  “But the hospital?”

  “It’s on the border.” She pointed. “The uncontrolled areas start here. Further south you can still travel. But are you certain that you have to go there?”

  I nodded.

  She held my gaze and understood. She knew I was searching for my son, but I hadn’t told her more than that. Although, that was probably enough. Everyone who has children of their own understands that it’s enough, enough so any danger to which you might potentially expose yourself comes second.

  I craned my neck to look at the roof. Red tiles, worn by the wind and the weather, at one time they had no doubt been shiny, glazed, like the roof of a temple. The walls were gray, and the paint was peeling off. A faint buzzing noise in the sky got my attention, there was something moving through the air. I squinted to look at it more closely, but it disappeared behind the roof.

  Above me lay an impenetrable gray sky. The sun had been out when I left the hotel, but here it was foggy. As if it were already getting dark.

  The trip had taken four hours. It involved three changes and was a long detour, but went through what the receptionist had called secure areas. Still, everything was so quiet and run-down that I repeatedly caught myself being suspicious of the few travelers I met, and threw anxious glances over my shoulder.

  I had
tried to contact this hospital several times, but the answer was the same as everywhere else. They had never heard Wei-Wen’s name, couldn’t help me. And the last times I had called them they hadn’t answered. Only an automatic message greeted me on the other end, a voice-mail system that never led anywhere.

  A centerpiece of dead plants was the first thing I saw. A dim light from a lamp confirmed that the hospital still had electricity. The huge lobby was empty. A counter of dark wood loomed before me. I found an old check-in machine for family members, it had to be from the time before The Collapse. It flickered beneath my fingers, but soon went black.

  Aimlessly I started walking. First to the right, but I met a locked door.

  To the left I found a lift. I tried the different buttons, but nothing happened. I kept going. Endless, dark corridors lay in front of me.

  I tried several doors, but they were all locked.

  Finally I found one that led to a dark stairway. I walked up a flight. The door there was locked. I tried another one. It, too, was locked. It wasn’t until the third floor I found an open door. It led into a corridor, just as deserted as the others. I walked a few meters. My steps sounded like dull thuds against the stone floor.

  I stopped by a window. That’s when I discovered it. In one of the hospital’s side wings there were lights on. I continued in that direction, hoping the corridor I was walking down connected the wings so I could go there directly.

  Suddenly I heard a sound in front of me, of hollow metal being dragged across linoleum.

  “Hello?” I said softly.

  A door was open ahead of me, a double glass door.

  I became abruptly aware of my heart, it was pounding hard. Something was wrong. Perhaps I should get out of there, get to the light way over there in the side wing. But I had to get past the doors. I began walking faster.

  Yet another sound. Tottering steps.

  Then a figure came into view in front of me. The first thing I saw was the bare feet. Unclipped toenails on wrinkled toes. She—because it had to be a woman—barely managed to make her way forward, supporting herself on a walker with a bag of intravenous medicine. It was the walker that made the sound. But the bag was empty. Her gray hair was growing in clumps, her scalp peeling off in large flakes. All she was wearing was a hospital gown. It was stained; under it I could see the outline of a diaper and it was only then that I noticed the smell.

  She stared at me, as if unable to recall any words.

  I backed up, wanted to get away.

  She hissed, tried again, wanted to say something.

  I pulled myself together, took a breath, I couldn’t abandon her.

  I took a few steps towards her. She swayed a bit, looked as if she were about to collapse.

  “Ll . . . loo . . . ,” she said faintly. “Look.” She swayed. I grabbed her by the elbow to support her. The stench stung in my nose; her arm was as thin as a child’s. She wanted to bring me back to the room she had come from.

  I pushed at the door. It slid open silently and we went in. I tried to support her the whole time. Nausea churned inside me, the stench was like a thick mass, impenetrable. It hit me and sucked the air out of me.

  A room. Along the walls there were beds, shiny hospital beds of steel rods, side by side, all made up with bedding that had once been white. I didn’t have time to count them, but there must have been more than a hundred.

  There were people lying in the beds. Some of them were elderly, many quite old, a few extremely old people. Awake, whimpering, clamoring, moaning, hands waving in the air. And a few lay with their eyes shut, as if they were sleeping.

  My arrival caused several of them to get out of bed. They were skinny, so dreadfully skinny and just as unkempt as the woman I’d entered with. Now they clambered onto their feet and started coming towards me.

  Twenty or so old people fought against their own bodies, fought against gravity and made their way forward, some so unstable that they had to crawl. All of them repeated the same words. Help. Help me. Help us. Over and over again.

  But those who were sleeping just lay there, despite the noise, despite the cries of the others. It was only then I understood that it wasn’t sleep that chained them to the beds. It was death.

  I turned around then and ran.

  I shouted. Screamed without words. Tried to summon somebody’s attention, but nobody answered.

  I continued in the darkness. To the other wing, where there were lights.

  The only sound was of my footsteps against the linoleum, my own breathing.

  I rounded a corner and finally saw the rooms with the lights on. I ran towards the door. Threw it open with a bang. A woman dressed in white, a doctor or a nurse, looked at me in surprise. She was in the process of packing bedding in a box.

  “Who are you?”

  Only then did I notice I was crying.

  I rubbed my eyes, tried to explain, but the words got all mixed up.

  “Look here, sit down.” She wanted to help me down onto a chair.

  “No, no. The old people . . . they need help.”

  She looked away. Resumed folding the sheets.

  I pulled at her arm.

  “I have to show you. Come!”

  She squirmed carefully out of my grasp. Didn’t look at me.

  “We know about them,” she said calmly.

  I put my hand on her again. “But they’re sick. Some of them . . . I think they’re dead.”

  She jerked away.

  “We can’t take them with us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re evacuating the hospital. It’s not safe here. We’re taking the patients to a hospital further south, in Fangshan. There are so few of us, we can’t manage any longer. The supplies don’t make it here, nobody wants to work here.”

  “But the old people?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “No. I saw them. They’re alive!”

  “They’ll die soon.” She met my gaze, straightened her neck, as if she wanted to harden herself.

  I stood there. “No!”

  She put a hand on my arm.

  “Sit down.”

  She went over to the sink, was going to fill a glass with water, but the faucet coughed. She gave up and walked towards the hallway.

  “Wait here.”

  Shortly afterwards she returned with a glass of lukewarm water.

  I accepted it. The glass was something to hold on to. I clung to it.

  She sat down with me.

  “Are you a family member?” she asked mildly.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I mean . . . Not of anybody here.”

  She looked at me in astonishment.

  “I’m looking for my son,” I said.

  She nodded. “You’re right. He’s not here. The last patients were moved earlier today. Now all that’s left is equipment.”

  “And the old people?”

  She didn’t reply, just stood up abruptly.

  “The old people?” I said again.

  “We can’t help them.” Her voice was flat, and she took hold of the trolley without looking at me. “I must ask you to leave.”

  Nausea surged up inside of me.

  “Are they just going to stay here?”

  She turned her head away.

  “Leave now.”

  “No!”

  Finally she lifted her gaze. Her eyes were pleading.

  “Go. And forget what you’ve seen.”

  I wanted to hold back the trolley, hold her back, but she tore it away from me. It hit the doorframe with a bang, she missed the opening, had to try again. She finally managed to tug the trolley with her out the door. The wheels vibrated against the floor as it disappeared down the hallway. The sound grated in my ears.

  I stood on the street, didn’t know how I got there. I’d walked away from them, left them like everyone else had, I was a part of it. This was our world. We sacrificed our old people. Was this what had happened to my own mother, too? She was
sent away. Everything had happened so quickly. She’d disappeared. And I hadn’t done a single thing to help. Just let it happen.

  Mom.

  I bent forward, sank down onto my knees. My diaphragm contracted, my stomach convulsed.

  I threw up until there was nothing left. Then I stood there. I should go back. Give them food and water. Get them out of there. Or find someone who could help. I should act like a human being. Somebody had to do something. I was perhaps that person. Perhaps management didn’t even know about the decision to leave them behind. Perhaps they didn’t know.

  But that wasn’t why I was here.

  Wei-Wen.

  The people there weren’t my responsibility. They were the hospital’s responsibility. And their families’. Somebody had left them there. Not me, not this time.

  Mom. I had failed her. I would not fail Wei-Wen. And the people in there . . . There was nothing I could do. I had to focus on my child. I threw up again, as if my body were protesting against my thoughts, threads of slime stuck to my lips. It tasted sour; there was an intense stinging in my nose and throat. I deserved it.

  I sat there, dizzy and faint. Then I slowly got to my feet and started walking. I didn’t have any idea where I was headed, just knew that I had to get as far away as possible.

  My mouth was dry. I tried breathing through my nose, moistened my tongue with saliva. It didn’t help. I stuck my hand in my purse, there was a bottle of water there. I took it out; it was half full, and I emptied it in huge gulps.

  Then I walked on. Lost contact with time. A part of the sky was lighter. I was drawn towards it. Perhaps there was sunshine there, perhaps I could get away from all of this gray. But the point in the sky grew smaller and smaller, the light veil in front of the sun thickened into a wall.

  It was only when it was too late that I realized I had lost my way.

  GEORGE

  The hives were back in the field, in the grove and on the edges of the ditch where Tom clearly wanted them to be. Strictly speaking, he didn’t really want anything to do with them out here, either.

  It was early morning and I was out in the field by the Alabast River. The sun was beating down on my white hat, my coveralls and net. I wore nothing underneath. Drops of sweat ran down my back, tickling until they reached the edge of my boxer shorts. Florida must be sheer hell now. God, how happy I was that we hadn’t decided on that.