Майя Лунде - The History of Bees

But I was so certain, so completely convinced that Thilda was the one for me. Her sedateness fascinated me enormously, she always thought carefully before she answered a question. Her pride as well; I was filled with admiration for how she truly stood behind what she believed, a quality one seldom found in young women. It was only later, though not much later, only a few months into our marriage, that I understood she actually considered each answer for so long because she was not especially bright and I recognized the pride for what it actually was: an indomitable stubbornness. She never gave in, as it would turn out. Never.

But the most important reason of all for why I wanted to marry her was one I wouldn’t even admit to myself, but which I only now, in my sickbed, could bear to take in, a recognition that was about my still being just as primitive and greedy as a ten-year-old child: the fact that she was a living, soft body. That she was mine, that she would be accessible to me. That very soon I would have the chance to squeeze up against this body, lay it down beneath me, pound my body against it, as if it were raw, moist earth.

Unfortunately, that part didn’t turn out as I had imagined, either, but was instead a dry and hurried affair with far too many buttons and ribbons, corset wires, prickly wool stockings and a sour smell of armpits. I was nonetheless drawn to her with the instinct of an animal, a drone. Again and again, ripe for procreation, even though the last thing I wanted were descendants. Like the drone, I sacrificed my life for procreation.

“They’re doing what they can. They’ve said they are doing what they can.” Kuan filled a teapot a nurse had just given us with tea leaves. With calm hands he poured tea into a cup. As if we were at home, as if it were an ordinary day.

A day. Another evening. Had I eaten? I didn’t know. They brought in food and drink for us on a regular basis. Yes, I had managed to get something down, a few spoonfuls of rice, a little water, to stop the gnawing of my stomach. The leftovers had hardened into a cold, rubbery lump in the aluminum bowl. But I hadn’t slept. Hadn’t showered. I was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, before everything happened. I had dressed up, put on the nicest outfit I owned, a yellow blouse and a skirt that went down to my knees. Now I hated the feeling of the synthetic fabric against my body, the blouse was too tight under the arms and the sleeves were too short, so I went around constantly stretching them.

“But why don’t they tell us anything?”

I was standing. I never sat down. Stood and walked, running a marathon in captivity. My hands were sticky, with a constant cold sweat. My clothes stuck to me. There was an odor around me, a scent I had never smelled before.

“They know more about this than we do. We just have to trust them.”

Kuan took a sip of tea. It filled me with rage. The way he drank, the steam from the cup, how it floated up under his nose, the faint slurping sound. It was something he had done thousands of times before. He couldn’t be doing it now.

He could scream, shout, scold, blame me. That he just sat there like that, with the cup between his hands, warming himself on it, his completely calm hands.

“Tao?” He put the cup down suddenly, as if he understood what I was thinking. “Please.”

“What do you want me to say?” I stared hard at him. “Drinking tea doesn’t help, that’s for sure!”

“What?”

“It was an example.”

“I understood that.” His eyes were shiny now.

It’s our child , I wanted to scream. Wei-Wen! But I just turned away, couldn’t bring myself to look at him. The sound of the teapot being lifted and hot tea being poured. He stood up and came towards me.

I turned around. There he was, holding a steaming cup of tea out to me, in a steady hand.

“Maybe it will help,” he said softly. “You need to get something down.”

A cup of tea was supposed to help matters… drinking a cup of tea. Was that his plan? Do nothing, just sit here. So passive, without any will for change, for control, to do something.

Once again I turned my face away. I couldn’t say all of this. He had too much on me.

The weight between us was not equally balanced. But nonetheless, he didn’t blame me, didn’t put the responsibility on me. He just stood there, holding out the teacup, his arm sticking straight out from his body, almost unnaturally rigid. He drew a breath, was perhaps about to say something else.

At that moment the door opened. Dr. Hio came in. Her facial expression was impossible to read. Regret? Dismissal?

She didn’t say hello, merely nodded to us in the direction of the hallway. “Please accompany me to my office.”

I followed her right away. Kuan stood there with the cup in his hand, as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

Then he finally collected himself, quickly put it down on the table; a little tea splashed over the rim. He noticed it and hesitated.

Was he going to waste time wiping it up? No. He straightened up quickly and followed after us.

She went first, Kuan and I did not look at each other, the huge thing would have to remain unsaid. We just kept our eyes on her. Her back was erect in the white coat. She moved quickly and lightly. Her hair was put up in a ponytail and it swung like a young girl’s.

She opened a door and we entered a gray room. A room without personality. No pictures of children adorned the walls, just a telephone on the desk.

“Have a seat, please.”

She indicated two chairs and rolled her own to the other side of the desk, so it didn’t separate us. Perhaps that was something they had learned during their studies, that the desk gave them authority and when they were going to speak about serious matters, it was best to come across as much like a fellow human being as possible. She was going to say something serious. Suddenly I wished that she were seated elsewhere, not so close. I leaned back, away from her.

“Can we see him?” I asked quickly. Suddenly I didn’t dare ask the other questions. How is it going, what’s happening to him, what has happened to our son?

She looked at me. “I’m afraid you can’t see him yet… and I have unfortunately been relieved of responsibility for your son.”

“Relieved of responsibility? But why?”

“We have worked with a number of hypotheses in connection with the diagnosis. But it is still unclear.” Her gaze wavered. “Anyway, the case is so complicated that it lies outside of my field.”

I felt a weak sense of relief. The worst words were not used. She didn’t say departed , dead , passed away. She said it was complicated, that they had hypotheses. That meant that they hadn’t given up on him.

“OK. Fine. Who has taken over?”

“A team was flown in from Beijing yesterday evening. I will give you their names as soon as I receive word myself.”

“Beijing?!”

“They are the best.”

“And in the meantime?”

“I’ve been asked to tell you that you must wait. That you can go home.”

“What? No!”

I turned towards Kuan. Wasn’t he going to say something?

Dr. Hio fidgeted in her chair. “He’s in the best hands.”

“We will not leave here. This is our child.”

“I’ve been asked to say that it will take time before they know any more. And there’s nothing you can do here now. Wei-Wen’s case was very special.”

I stiffened. Was .

The words could scarcely be heard when I finally opened my mouth.

“What are you trying to say?”

I turned to Kuan again for help, but he sat without moving. His hands lay motionless in his lap. He was not going to ask any questions. I turned to face her again.