CHAPTER FOUR
“Come… look!”
Afraid of heights, Annie refused to walk over to the edge where Virgil was trying to show her the view. He gave up, coming to stand beside her. Crossing his enormous arms over his chest, he nodded, surveying the rooftop with a smile.
His own personal Bee-Kingdom? She shook her head and sighed.
“So where is this honey?” Annie queried, straining her neck to look up at him. She shaded her eyes against the warm May sun glaring off his bald, dark head. According to Virgil, Eric hadn’t been here in a month and now she wanted to get out of here as soon as she could. Perhaps if she returned the jar of honey to his mother, Dita could give her another clue as to her son’s actual whereabouts.
“The honey is still in the combs. I haven’t harvested this year,” he explained, pointing to the large white boxes lining the roof. There have to be at least fifty of them. As a city dweller, she had never seen a beehive before and hadn’t given much thought to bees except at picnics.
“How… how many bees are in each, uh…?”
“Hive?” Virgil smiled down at her, his teeth a gleaming contrast to his dark skin. “In the peak of summer, there are probably thirty-five thousand, but it’s early yet. I’d say probably ten thousand.”
Annie did the math. She was standing on a roof in the midst of half a million bees.
“Okay, well,” she said, taking a step back. “Let’s just get this jar of Dita’s special honey, and I’ll be on my way.”
“There’s no reason to be afraid,” he assured her, his voice a soothing timbre. “These bees aren’t aggressive. Unless you’re allergic?”
“I’ve never been stung.” She took another cautious step, backing away from the large white boxes. “I suppose I could be. Just how do they survive up here in the winter?”
“They stay inside and wait for spring.” He nodded toward the closest hive.
“They have been active lately, since the weather has really started to warm.” Annie bent to look more closely at the hive nearest to them. There were a few bees buzzing around the outside, and some crawling on the surface. She frowned, tucking her hair behind her ear as she stood. “There are really ten thousand bees in each of these things?”
“Yes.” He moved around her. “Let me show you.”
“No!”
“You don’t need to be afraid.” His smile was an invitation. “You just need to be smart and careful. These bees won’t sting you. Trust me.” Annie swallowed hard. “Okay.”
Virgil moved toward one of the hives, his words flowing like poetry. “You should always approach a hive slowly, with your arms out in front of you. Bees will be frightened by sudden movement. Everything should be slow, fluid. Think of how honey drips. That is how you move.”
“Shouldn’t we have some protection?”
Virgil chuckled, the sound seeming to vibrate in his chest. Annie was surprised the bees didn’t feel it. “Some beekeepers do. I don’t. You, however, should put on a pair of those goggles over there.” He nodded toward a pair of swimmer’s goggles hanging on a nail. Annie situated a pair on her face, feeling silly. The world took on a plastic haze.
Virgil stood fixed before one of the boxes, taking deep breaths through his nose. When he spoke to her, he only turned his head. “I am going to open the hive and show you one of the supers-that’s these things that look like trays. The top ones will have just a few bees and be mostly honey. Go a few rows down, and we will find all our bees.”
Annie gulped, feeling faint. “Okay.”
He smiled that welcoming smile again. “You can come look. But never breathe right onto the bees. They will take off and may sting if you do.” Virgil pulled one of the middle trays from the hive. His movements were slow, easy, and practiced. Supers! I don’t know what’s so super about them!
Annie watched, amazed. A low drone she had just assumed was the buzz of the electric wires on the roof grew louder. It was the bees humming!
He was graceful, his movements as smooth and lithe as any ballet dancer.
The sun was bright and shone onto the golden combs as he tilted the tray up and Annie gasped. There were hundreds of bees working in the waxy substance, the tray dripping honey in slow drops at Virgil’s feet. Curious, she leaned in, remembering what he had said about breath, keeping hers confined to her nose.
Virgil, turning his head away from the hive as he spoke, whispered, “Taste.”
Annie moved her hand in slow motion, watching as bees crawled over the frame, over Virgil’s big, dark fingers, a few buzzing upward and settling on his arm. Annie touched her finger to a wet part of the comb and just as slowly brought it back to her mouth. It was the sweetest substance that had ever touched her tongue, and she looked up at Virgil in wonder, moving just her eyes to meet his. He smiled.
Lost in the moment, Annie finally noticed a bee sitting on her arm. She froze. Her first instinct was to blow at it, or shake it off, or worse, run!
“Be still. Wait.”
She followed his instructions, holding her breath as she felt the bees crooked legs, so soft they tickled, working their way toward her elbow. Then there was a little buzz and the bee took flight, heading back to the comb.
Virgil replaced the tray with the same deft care he’d used to remove it.
Annie’s heart was pounding and her ears were ringing. She felt charged, exhilarated, like she did after waking up from dreams of flying.
“Wow,” she breathed, her eyes shining up at him.
“Food of the gods,” he said with a wink.
Annie grinned back at him. “I’ll say!”
“I find beekeeping to be quite a meditation,” he remarked. “You have to move slowly up here.” He pointed at the floor. “Unlike down there.” Annie nodded in understanding. “Thank you for showing me.” Virgil shrugged, changing the subject. “Well, about Dita’s honey. We’ll have to go into the greenhouse.”
“In there?” Annie pointed to the small glass building at the other end of the roof.
He nodded and then motioned for her to follow him.
“So, Virgil, how did you get permission to do all of this?” Virgil walked and Annie mimicked his fluid steps. “I own the building.” Annie stared at him as they stopped outside the door, bemused. “You do?”
He ignored her question. “The bees in here are different.” His smile was gone. “These are a strain of bees derived from African honeybees. Have you heard of them?”
Her eyes widened, remembering some news story she once saw. “Aren’t those killer bees?”
“Yes,” Virgil nodded. “They are not so named because one sting can kill you, but because they are much more aggressive than their European cousins out here.”
Annie peered into the greenhouse and could see bees buzzing about.
“How much more aggressive?”
Virgil shrugged. “They can sense a threat fifty feet or more from a nest.
They respond quickly. They sting in large numbers, and they will pursue a perceived enemy for a quarter mile or more.”
Annie’s hand went to her throat as she looked up at him.
“These are actually assassin bees,” he continued. “They have killed off another hive in order to take over this one. I harvested them from the wild. It is believed the nastiest bees actually make the sweetest honey.” Annie frowned. “Is that true?”
“Partially true.” His eyes moved over her face. “They are harder workers and produce more, but honey is like wine. It picks up the flavors of the nectars in the local environment, so its sweetness depends on the flowers.” Annie shaded her eyes again, looking into the greenhouse. “Is that what makes this honey special?”