The Bees 1.2
Part 1 - Andreas
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The Bees
A year had passed since the lamb was sacrificed. This time we’d already been settled on Grandfather’s land for a couple of days. Some called it the ranch. For us it was always the land.
Every summer, my mother left my brother and me there as soon as vacation began. She said it mattered that we knew where we came from: family, fields, the beach, the people there. She was right.
Sometimes we spent the whole summer on the land; other years, only half of it, and the rest on the beaches south of Lima. A strange balance, but familiar. We stayed at Grandfather’s house, far up near the equator, where city rules didn’t exist. Time was set by roosters, harvests, and the noon telenovelas.
The land was a refuge, yes, but also a living, unruly current where everything felt more honest. The beach was close, but Grandfather’s house had something more urgent: uncles, cousins, people from town. There was always someone.
The heat had begun to ease and the room floated in warm quiet. I lay back, laughter still in my body after joking, running, and climbing with my cousins—Gaby, Maricruz, Lisa. And with Andreas. The voices were still vibrating in my ears when I saw him come in without knocking. Dusty feet. A mango twig between his lips.
“Come,” he said. “You have to see this.”
He grabbed a blanket and a long sheet of rubber, and we ran. He went ahead without looking back, sometimes turning to flash me a quick smile, as if to say, don’t fall behind. We cut through trees and brush, tracing the edges of the fields my grandfather loved. I just ran after him, not knowing where we were going, only wanting to get there.
“We have to cross the irrigation canal,” he said, stopping short. “Take off your clothes, Gael.”
Before I could answer he was already undressing. No rush, the way you shake off heat. He held my gaze, then reached out his hand.
I took longer. Not from shame, but because his gesture felt more serious than usual.
“What is it?” he asked, making no move to cover himself. “You’ve never seen a naked body before?”
I smiled and breathed out through my nose. Handed him my things. He tossed them to the far bank, and we went under.
“The water’s perfect for this heat,” Andreas said, splashing hard.
I dove after him. The water closed over me, then released me, carrying the heat away. At last I could breathe.
“Yeah… it feels good,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
On the other side, drops shone on his skin like small mirrors. I didn’t look straight at him. I didn’t need to. Following was enough. A dull pressure gathered low in my body, unmistakable, impossible to ignore.
“Dry off,” he said, noticing, and tossed me his T-shirt.
I nodded, silent. The tension didn’t break; it thickened. Without turning, he tipped his head for me to follow.
“Come on, we’re close,” he added, low, almost conspiratorial.
We walked barefoot, skin still wet. After a few minutes, the silence snapped. A fierce hum filled the air, so strong I could feel it in my chest.
Andreas stopped. A tremble touched his smile. His eyes lit.
“Hear that?” he said, eyes fixed on the sky.
I focused. At first, I thought of the tools in Grandfather’s workshop.
“Bees?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he said. “Your grandfather brings them in for the crops, but some swarms get loose. And at this hour… they put on a show up there.”
He lay back on the blanket and pointed.
“Come. Look. It’s incredible.”
I froze, panicked.
“What if… they sting us?”
“Could be. I don’t know. They’ve never stung me. But relax. If it happens, we run,” he said, voice dropping, not entirely sure himself.
I dropped down beside him, fingers gripping the fabric. I tried to look calm, but every buzz made me hold my breath. Then his hand found mine. Warm. Steady.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, not letting go. “Just watch.”
Thousands, millions of bees. The hum throbbed in my chest. They spiraled, sketching invisible shapes in the orange sky. It felt sacred, and I knew it could hurt.
The field seemed to beat to the rhythm of their wings. I was scared, and still couldn’t look away. One bee landed on my finger for a second, then lifted off without stinging.
“Nothing’s going to happen, Gael. If they come for us, we cover ourselves with the rubber and the blanket.”
To show me, he pulled the rubber over us. In the dark, I felt his arm around my shoulder, his warm torso, the weight of the earth beneath us.
“I missed you, Gael,” he whispered in my ear.
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You know what... I'm an idiot. I just realized FPPT can be present or past. haha! I meant first person PRESENT tense. Nevermind. Enjoying the story. Intrigued by Andreas' statement there at the end. Whatever could it mean?