A Recipe for Bees
by Gail Anderson-Dargatz
List Price: $13.00
Pages: 2320
Format: Paperback
ISBN: 0385720483
Publisher: Vintage
From Chapter One
"Have I told you the drone's penis snaps off during intercourse with the
queen bee?" asked Augusta.
"Yes," said Rose. "Many times."
Before Augusta dragged her luggage upstairs to the apartment, before she
checked on the welfare of her elderly husband, Karl, even before she hugged
and greeted her seven kittens, she had made her way, with the aid of a
cane, across the uneven ground to inspect the hive of bees she kept in
Rose's garden.
"They won't mate at all unless they're way up in the sky," said Augusta.
"The drones won't take a second look at a queen coming out of a hive.
But when she's thirty, a hundred, feet up in the air, then she gets their
interest. They'll seek her out, flying this way and that to catch her
scent until there's a V of drones -- like the V of geese following a leader
in the sky -- chasing along behind her."
"You were going to tell me about Joe," said Rose.
"As soon as the drone mounts and thrusts, he's paralyzed, his genitals
snap off, and he falls backward a hundred feet to his death."
"I don't want to hear about it."
In late summer, hives full of ripening honey emitted a particular scent,
like the whiff of sweetness Augusta used to catch passing by the candy-apple
kiosk at the fall fair, but without the tang of apples to it. She should
have been smelling this now, but instead the hive gave off the vinegar-and-almond
scent of angry bees. They buzzed loudly, boiling in the air in front of
the hive like a pot of simmering toffee. There were far more guard bees
than usual, standing at attention at the mouth of the hive.
"Something's been after the bees," said Augusta. She took a step forward
to examine them, but several bees flew straight at her, warning her off.
"I'll have to look at them later," she said. "When they've settled down."
She turned to the balcony of her apartment, directly above the garden.
"Do you think Karl remembers today is our anniversary?"
"He hasn't said anything to me," said Rose. Later that evening, though,
Augusta would learn that Rose had hidden Karl's flowers in her fridge.
He had walked up and down the roadsides and into the vacant lots, searching
for pearly everlastings, sweet tiny yellow flowers with white bracts that
bloomed from midsummer right on into winter, and held their shape and
color when dried. They were the flowers Karl had picked for Augusta's
wedding bouquet forty-eight years before. He had brought the flowers to
Rose's apartment in a vase and asked her to hide them in her fridge until
later that day.
"You'd think he'd remember, wouldn't you?" said Augusta. "Especially after
everything that's happened these past three weeks."
"You'd think."
"You can hear it, you know."
"What?"
"The snapping. If you're listening for it, you can hear a sharp crack
when the drone's penis breaks off."
"Oh, God."
Rose followed Augusta as she headed through the sliding glass doors into
Rose's apartment to retrieve her luggage. "Can you carry this one upstairs?"
she asked Rose. "And this one? I can only manage the one bag with this
cane of mine."
Rose took the bags, one in each hand. "But you were going to tell me the
story, about seeing Joe again."
"Not now, Rose. I want to see if Joy's phoned with news about Gabe."
"But you promised."
"We'll have plenty of time later."
"You'd go and tell something like that to some strange woman on the train,
but you won't tell your best friend."
"I like Esther. I think we'll be seeing a lot more of her. I promised
to show her my hive."
"You'll be seeing a lot more of her. I don't care if I ever see her again."
"Well, since neither Esther nor I can drive, you'll have to drive me,
so yes, you will be seeing her again."
"Oh, isn't that just great? Now I'm your personal chauffeur."
Augusta turned around at the doorway. "Rose, what's this all about?"
"Just tell the story. About Joe. I thought you never saw him again."
Augusta shook her head and started up the stairs to her apartment. "I'm
sure I told you all that already. I can remember showing you the brooch
he gave me. Ages and ages ago."
"Yes, the day we met. But you never told me the story. Are you really
going to give that brooch to Joy?"
Augusta had met Rose five years before, on the ferry, just after she and
Karl had sold the farm. Augusta and Karl were moving to the warmer climate
of Vancouver Island. Rose turned the corner into the ferry bathroom and
there was Augusta, sitting at the mirrored makeup counter they have on
those boats, rummaging through her big purse. Augusta had looked up at
Rose in the mirror, smiled, and said, "Do you have a comb? I can't seem
to find mine."
Perhaps it was an inappropriate request to make of a stranger, she thought
now, rather like asking to borrow someone's toothbrush. Rose said no.
"They have them at the newsstand."
"Thanks. I'll get one from there. That's a lovely brooch you're wearing."
"It was my mother's," Rose replied, and Augusta promptly caught her in
a web of conversation about the brooch a man named Joe had given her,
a brooch Augusta pulled from her purse and showed Rose: a silver setting
hemmed a real bee suspended in amber. When Augusta held it up, it cast
a little pool of honey light on the floor. "It was the only lasting thing
he ever gave me, in the way of presents," she said. "And that was decades
after I'd stopped seeing him. I still dream about him, you know." Rose
nodded and smiled and moved slowly backward, away, to a toilet stall.
Augusta, seeing her discomfort, left before she came out again.
Excerpted from A Recipe for Bees © Copyright 2009 by Gail Anderson-Dargatz. Reprinted with permission by Vintage. All rights reserved.
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