The Triple Goddess (146 page)

Clarissa’s family was required by the hive to work hard all day making queen cups for the Queen Bee to lay her eggs in. As honourable a task as this was, her parents were determined that this latest addition to their home might enjoy a more exciting life than they, and after much discussion they put her name down for Fieldwork.

And they prayed that, when little Clarissa had grown up and learnt to fly, she might achieve what every bee dreams of, which was finding a virgin garden or field where the sort of flowers grew that contained the very best nectar and pollen.

Then Clarissa would be able to claim that site in the name of the hive, and come back and tell the other bees where it was, and help them carry the nectar home; where it would be fanned by their wings into honey, and stored in thousands of identical wax cells that other workers like her parents constructed for the purpose.

Such an impressive contribution to the thriving of the hive would be recognized by the conferral of the highest award that the hive could bestow, the Order of the Golden Honeycomb, First Degree, to hang beside the Third Degree plaque that had been awarded to Clarissa’s family for its industry and dedicated service over the years.

For the time being, however, the newly minted Clarissa lay on her back in the cot, while her parents pointed proudly to her unusually active feelers: which surely showed, they said, that she had a promising future as a talented honey scout. Already Clarissa had strong little legs and wings that, when they were fully grown, would carry her to the farthest pollen fields with ease.

Who knows?, they said, perhaps because of her they’d be responsible for winning the Hive of the Year prize at the regional assembly.

The other bees congratulated Clarissa’s family on the delightful addition to their circle, and said how confident they were that she’d be a tremendous asset. In truth, her brothers and sisters and the others felt stings of jealousy; until they remembered how they’d been taught to work together as a team, and how the success of the community depended on the hard work of everyone.

For if bees were lazy, they’d go hungry in winter even after the most bountiful of summers.

When Clarissa was almost fully grown, after much training and many practice runs on which she’d been accompanied by an instructor, the momentous day dawned when she was due to fly out on her own for the first time, as an indentured servant of the hive.

She was thrilled at the prospect, and, being an enterprising young honeybee, wanted nothing more than to discover a new location that, when her claim was confirmed, would be named Clarissa’s Field, or Clarissa’s Garden, and marked as such on the hive’s maps. It would be the making of her reputation, and word of it would most likely be brought to the attention of the Queen Bee herself by the courtier drones in the royal quarters, thereby making her an instant favourite to be voted that year’s Most Promising Young Bee.

As Clarissa prepared for her maiden flight, she went through her flying lessons in her mind, and the steps of the waggle dance, which was how bees communicated to the bee cartographer the coordinates of a fresh source that they’d returned from, so that other bees might be sent out to it.

Waggle Dances were performed on the dance floor in the centre of the deck, by describing figure of eight patterns that varied in size according to how far away the place was, and its direction in relation to the sun.

Clarissa did stretching exercises, to limber up for the job of carrying sacs of pollen back to the hive throughout the day. She smoothed her wings, and combed her furry body and the hairs on her legs, with which she’d brush into her body baskets the golden dust from the stamens and anthers in the flowers. She recalled which flowers contained the kind of nectar the hive particularly prized, and those that were no good, and those that would do at a pinch when nothing else was available.

Above all, Clarissa would not forget to shout, “I claim this field for my hive”, should she be so lucky as to find a meadow, garden, or flowery bower within the white space on the hive’s maps that was marked Terra Incognita, or unexplored territory, which had not already been appropriated by a rival hive.

That morning, Clarissa’s parents fussed around her as much as if she’d already won an award. They had hardly slept, and were up very early sipping weak nectar tea to calm their nerves. Her brothers and sisters helped her to prepare, ensuring that she was neat and proper in her black and gold uniform. They made her a substantial breakfast of honeycomb pancakes with clover syrup, to fortify her for the long day ahead.

Despite being nervous, Clarissa was determined not to disappoint her parents...for she didn’t know that she was a foundling...by letting the hive down. She wanted to be a credit to them all.

Just before sunrise, after wishing the novice bee good luck before she went to report for duty, the members of her family went to the flight deck where, upon presenting their one-day pass, they were ushered into a special section where they might observe Clarissa’s departure and return, to the other end of the flight deck.

When incoming laden bees landed, they headed to the quality control stations, where receiving agents examined the nectar and pollen that they’d brought, and made sure it was of sufficient quality to meet the standards of the hive. Once a consignment had been certified Grade A, each bee was given a ticket to take to one of the unloading bays, where she—for all were girls like Clarissa—was relieved of her cargo, so that it might be sent down for processing and storage in the honeycomb vaults.

After performing on the waggle dance platform, if it was warranted, the bee would go back out on another nectar run, and then another, and keep going until sunset and it was too dark to see.

To general relief, the weather bees, after they’d waved their antennae in all directions to test the direction of the wind and the levels of humidity and air pressure, predicted that the conditions were going to be salubrious all day. So the controllers signalled that the bees should form up in squads, preparatory to lifting off from the flight deck in the departure zone, and heading for their allotted quadrants of territory, where they would spread out and begin scouring the area for flowers.

There followed a brief ritual at which the hive’s flag was raised, and an Elder bee from the royal household, the Queen’s Chamberlain, read a passage from the History of the Hive.

Then, with a shout from all present, Clarissa and the others lifted off into the morning air.

She was a little erratic at first, but quickly gained confidence and got herself under control. As her parents and brothers and sisters watched, with their hearts in their mouths, they crossed their legs in so many places that they were in danger of tying themselves into granny knots. They would remain on tenterhooks until she was home safely.

Up and up Clarissa flew. As the temperature warmed she tasted different spores and pollens, including some flavours that she recognized, from the specimens she’d sampled during her education, as being those the hive was most desirous of adding to its reserves. Already she could tell where the flowers were that had produced them, and as soon as she landed she would release pheromones to mark the site, so that the other bees, after she’d given them directions in a waggle dance, would know when they neared it.

Homing in with wings a-blur, Clarissa sang the hive’s anthem at the top of her voice:

Together we plunge

Into the flowers’ hearts

To extract the essence of perfection:

Such is our mission’s holiness

And the vows we’ve sworn

To joyfully dedicate ourselves

To the cause of the hive.

The bees’ benignant legacy

Is the gift of impermanence

In the image of a Maker, full of

Mysterious flux and purity, of

Sweet and beckoning clarity.

From below, Clarissa heard a faint response, just as she’d been taught to expect from the flowers that, in the immemorial sympathy between plant and bee, were spreading their petals and inviting her into their shells. Sang the flowers:

What summer dreams are nectared

Here? Hurry now and find us, bee,

Before animation fades and we

Go to ground in hibernation.

Never forget, O Humble-bee,

Us tresses of the sun. It is no

Whim whereby we offer up

Our promiscuous cavities to you,

For oft-repeated visitations

That celebrate fertility

And the melliferous

Nourishment of inconstancy.

Then something strange happened. Clarissa became aware of an unpleasant buzzing, much louder than that made by any bee. It had nothing to do with the intelligence being picked up by her antennae, and the buzzing seemed to originate in her head.
The vibrations got louder and louder...until suddenly they stopped, and Clarissa heard a voice saying:

“Surely you were cut out, Clarissa, for a different life than this? It isn’t right for you to be doing such a menial and repetitive task, which will wear you out in no time, and ruin you for better things. Why don’t you take the soft option and go and rest below, and wait for the day’s confusion to end?”

Bemused, the young bee thought, “My, what a lot of traffic there is today, now that the sun’s out. I seem to be picking up somebody else’s message, and must be sure to report the interference to the hive when I get back. If that was a bee talking, it was a very disloyal bee, one deserving of the severest censure. Or maybe it was a competitor from another hive, trying to put me off my work.”

The buzzing returned, and again there was the voice in her ear, this time more insistent:

“Didn’t you hear what I said? Wouldn’t you like to go and lie down before the temperature rises still further, and the air is filled with crowds of bees bumping into each other, and getting their frequencies in a muddle? If you did as I suggest perhaps this noise would stop. As it is, although you’ve only just started, you’re already beginning to feel ill from exertion.”

Clarissa nearly fainted at the treasonous suggestion. She was indeed suddenly feeling unwell, and with her head spinning she lowered herself in circles to the ground.

She landed in the middle of a small field that was overgrown with weeds around hard barren patches of earth, mole hills, and worm casts. A goat and a donkey were munching thistles. A rabbit nibbled dandelion leaves on the bank at the side of the field, where it was shadier; and a dunnock or hedge-sparrow, and a field mouse, foraged for seeds in the hedgerow above it.

High above, swallows scythed the sky and snatched insects, of which there were more as the day continued to heat up, from the air.

Here there were no bees, for there were no flowers.

Clarissa remained motionless in the thistly field. Although the voice had stopped, she still felt sick, and her headache didn’t lessen because as the sun got higher and higher it got hotter. A column of ants passed by, ignoring her because they were occupied in transporting a beetle carcase. There was a constant chafing of grasshoppers; an earwig blundered into her and moved on; a spider ascended a blade of crabgrass on its way to nowhere. Fortunately, for Clarissa found herself unable to move, the goat and the donkey did not come close enough to tread on her.

Morning became afternoon, and eventually the shadows began to lengthen as the sun declined to the west. It was only with the lessening of the heat that Clarissa’s head began to clear, and in the distance she could hear, or imagined that she heard, the hum of her fellow bees in more fruitful pastures and gardens, as they continued to go diligently about their business. Although she felt better, she was miserable because she knew that the best nectar would have gone: there would be no glory of discovery for her, or even the tired satisfaction of a day well spent in the service of the hive.

Now that Clarissa’s senses were restored, she was in agony, thinking of how the looks of relief in her parents’ faces, when she got back and they knew that she was safe, would turn to astonishment at seeing that her pollen baskets were empty. Instead of nectar, she would bring disgrace and shame to the hive, as soon as it was confirmed that she wasn’t injured, or had some other reason or excuse for her prolonged absence. It would be better for all if she stayed where she was, and died.

But with a heavy heart and great effort, slowly after several unsuccessful attempts to lift her unwilling but still dutiful body, Clarissa managed to climb into the air. Then, although she was already out of breath and her head was aching again, she flew around in circles until she got her bearings, and headed home.