Big Swiss(106)

“Since when do bees eat meat?” Greta asked, pointing at the stove.

Sabine pulled out her phone and took a picture.

“Maybe they’re trying to get the taste of Raid out of their mouths.”

Oh god, the Raid. Greta had forgotten about that. They’d bombed the hive weeks ago, but there was probably still a good amount of residue. Was it only a matter of time before they all dropped dead? Would they be sweeping up dead bees until Christmas?

“Get dressed,” Sabine said. “We’re going to Gideon’s house. He’ll know what to do.”



* * *



GIDEON WAS THE BEEKEEPER who’d built the hatch the previous year. He lived with his enormous family on a farm two miles south, the exact address of which Sabine claimed to know, and yet they kept driving around, peering at houses.

“These people are back-to-the-land Christians,” Sabine said. “They have about seventeen kids, all homeschooled.”

“I can’t imagine beekeeping is that lucrative,” Greta said. “How do they survive?”

“They’re odd-jobber types. They keep bees, they farm, they figure it out. The Lord will provide and so on. Gideon’s the eldest.” She slammed on the brakes. “There it is.”

The property had a postapocalyptic vibe. There were bees everywhere, along with abandoned cars parked in every direction, doors open, flotsam spilling out of the back seats, clothes and shoes scattered all over the brown grass. Littered around the yard, rusted refrigerators and stoves, tractors and lawn mowers.

At the end of the driveway stood a large wooden house. A young man hopped off the sagging porch and approached them shyly. Jesus in a red bathrobe, his dark hair parted down the middle. Trailing behind him were three younger girls wearing prairie dresses. One girl had a squirrel on her shoulder; another petted something in her arms. A tiny kitten, Greta assumed, before noticing the hairless tail.

“Hey, Gideon,” Sabine said casually. “I probably owe you money, right?”

“You might,” Gideon said kindly.

Sabine pressed several twenties into his palm like he was a bookie or a doorman. He mumbled thank you.

“How’s it going with the bees?” he asked.

“Funny you ask,” Sabine said. “They all died. This was months ago. Long story, I won’t go into it. But now there’s a giant swarm at my house. They’re swarming the hive. We can’t even see out the windows, there’s so many.”

Gideon looked dubious. “Little late in the year for a swarm.”

“Problem is, there were maggots in the hive a while back.” Sabine shook her head at the memory. “Big ones. Terrifying.”

“Wax moths,” Gideon said. “I meant to tell you about that.”

Sabine coughed. “But here’s the thing: we wound up killing them with Raid.”

“But they’re harmless.” Gideon frowned. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because we’re assholes,” Sabine said, glancing at Greta.

“We panicked,” Greta said. “We sprayed Raid into the hive.”

“And watched them die,” Sabine said.

Sabine had left town shortly after, as Greta recalled. Greta, unable to get her head out of Big Swiss’s ass, had stayed put.

“It’s probably okay,” Gideon said. “But I’ll come have a look. I’ll swing by on my way to town.”

“Okey doke,” Sabine said. “Hurry, though. They’re taking over the house.”



* * *



GIDEON SHOWED UP practically naked in a tank top, shorts, and flip-flops. No ventilated suit, no sir. No hat-and-veil combo, either, and no gloves. He carried a stick in one hand and a bee smoker in the other. The smoker was the size of a soda can and emitted less smoke than a cigarette. The stick looked like something he’d picked up off the ground.

Without hesitation, he walked over to the hive, set the smoker on the floor, and began poking around with the stick. The bees didn’t seem to mind, though what did Greta know? Maybe they were furious. Greta crouched behind an armchair and watched. He continued digging around, completely at ease, searching for god knows what.

“There’s no queen,” he said after a moment. “So, this isn’t a swarm.”

“Oh no?” Sabine said. “Why are they here?”

He looked over his shoulder. “They’re robbing the hive.”

Sabine snorted. “Of what? Gold?”

“Honey,” Gideon said, and smiled.

“Honey,” Greta repeated.

“What honey,” Sabine said.

“Well, the bottom part’s pretty dry. See? You soaked that part with Raid, I guess. Otherwise you got about eighty pounds of unharvested honey in here.”

“Get out,” Sabine said.

Gideon dropped the stick and stared up at the hive. “I recommend cutting it down. If you don’t, these bees will be in your kitchen for weeks, or at least until all the honey’s gone.”

Sabine looked stung, though not by bees.

“I can cut it down now,” Gideon said. “It’ll take me about an hour.”

Sabine nodded, oddly quiet. Greta was shocked to see tears in her eyes. Gideon went out to his truck and returned with a big knife and some other tools. He asked for a container of some kind. Sabine handed him a large metal bowl she used for salads. They watched him dismantle the hive, hacking at it with his big knife. It took two bowls to catch all the comb. Honey dripped everywhere—all over the concrete floor, all over Gideon’s head and shoulders.