The Bees

by Laline Paull

After the fanning and the cleaning there was nothing to do but talk, and gossip bred like mold in the damp confinement. Nothing was off-limits as the sisters struggled to find occupation for their constant restless energy; every kin was discussed by every other, the décor of the hive and its state of repair, the food, the standard of hygiene—even the Queen’s laying. This last topic, which could have been the death warrant of any who spoke of it disparagingly, was always discussed in fulsome terms. Every bee knew a Nursery worker or had recently been one herself, and every bee had her own most personal relationship with Holy Mother. They compared their feelings during and after Devotion, and there was more than a little competition over who felt her Love most strongly, for ecstasy was piety. The conversations always concluded with the acknowledgment that Her Majesty continued to lay at magnificent speed and volume and was more beautiful than ever, and as she was the mightiest force in the universe, this rain must be a sign of her displeasure, and so they must all work harder. Accept, Obey, and Serve. Flora said the words too, half devout and half ashamed. Her body surged with unused energy and, despite the deepening tear in one wing membrane, she longed to fly to escape the terrible tension of confinement, not only with her sisters but with her own thoughts.