“You won’t be able to guess the surprise grandma and I have prepared for you, Julian.”
My grandson’s eyes found mine on the rearview mirror. He’d been very quiet since we picked him up at my daughter’s place. He’s always been shy but gentle, and adores animals. Both his parents were travelling for the week, so he would stay at our house.
“Tell me! I want to know!” he implored, bouncing.
“Be patient” my wife Vanessa suggested, with a giggle.
It’s been five decades since I had my first daughter, and after raising 3 girls, and later on 5 grandkids, I can now attest that the greatest gift from witnessing the growth of a child lies in rediscovering the world through their eyes.
A car, a cloud, the sea, the stars, music… all that’s old and worn out becomes revitalized by the curiosity of a kid, for whom everything is a great discovery. By guiding them through this reality, adults learn once again how to enjoy its small wonders; such as when we share with them their first ice cream and remember, by surprise, how tasty vanilla bean is.
In a way, welcoming children and grandchildren is also opening ourselves again to the adventure of being awed.
By protecting them with your life, they reignite in you the joy of living it.
But only if you do protect them.
On this occasion we had quite the discovery planned for Julian. A gift from both summer and spring… as well as from the Davies, our neighbors. We took a slight detour towards their house.
Jon Davies handed us the gift inside a mason jar, and we handed Julian a taste of its contents: a succulent piece of honeycomb. The Davies are beekeeping aficionados, and in the warmest months they give away portions of the hives to the whole neighborhood, just to show off their beloved bees’ labor.
I took a moment to enjoy my grandson as he gleefully inspected, in between bites, the honeycomb on his hands. I was thinking the same thing he did: it’s incredible that nature is able to craft something so intricate, and tasty.
But when we told him that’s the place where bees grow and work he looked up, worried.
“So what happens to them if we eat their house?”
“Don’t you worry,” I chuckled, “all the bees stayed with the Davies to rebuild it. They won’t mind.”
I couldn’t have been more lofty about this. It is said old age makes you wiser, but now I know that it also turns you gullible, and easily seduced by the illusion of fully knowing the nature of things.
The next few days Julian spent his time helping Vanessa cook, or learning how to play chess. At night I’d introduce him to Star Wars.
But he also began to feel sick. Very, very sick.
It also started with a belly ache, accompanied by a rising fever. Then came the headacques. We informed his parents about what we assumed had to be a stomach flu, and my daughter told us they’d come back right away if Julian’s state worsened.
“I think the bees are angry” he whispered, holding his belly as we tucked him in at night. “Sometimes I’ll feel them in my tummy, going Zzzzz… and at night I’ll hear them screaming, telling me that I’ll pay for this, and that I am now their beehive.”
I was too frustrated to take my poor grandson seriously, as I should have. When a child of our own gets sick like that we can’t help but suffer along. Especially because the little one doesn’t yet know that they can overcome it, and that anguish also makes us doubt it.
Nonetheless: I should have listened, instead of merely wishing him a good night and turning his bedroom lights off.
The next day, a Sunday, I asked Julian to lend me a hand with gardening. I thought sunlight, and feeling useful in the midst of his illness, would raise his spirits.
I put him in charge of watering. He’d yet to use a garden hose, and couldn't hide his excitement as soon as the tube shot out some liquid.
We kept at it for almost half an hour, in silence. I trimmed the shrubs while Julian sprinkled the vegetable garden. Even with his symptoms he played as if his closed fist projected an aquatic enchantment.
Then, out of nowhere, I felt the icy water stream hit my back.
“Julian! What are you doing boy?” I asked as I turned around to see my grandson.
I expected to meet a cheeky grin, aware of the mischief which was just perpetrated. But the child only stared back at me, unmoving, as he kept on soaking me with the garden hose. With the sober curiosity of a scientist.
Everything that followed happened at lightning, almost unreal speed.
I hurried to shut off the spigot, and as soon as that was done I felt the first few stings. Two on my forearm, another one on the back of my neck. Like high voltage needles.
I slapped myself a couple of times, and three bees hit the ground.
I cursed under my breath, confused about where they came from, when I saw it: my foot crushing an enormous beehive which, for reasons still unknown, we hadn’t noticed in our backyard.
“Run back to the house Julian!” I ordered my grandson. “Go!”
But he remained still, watching his grandpa swat at the air. I felt dozens more stings, stabbing the legs underneath my trousers.
And even more on my arms. My sleeves became hundreds of worker bees.
In mere seconds they coated my chest, my neck, my ears. I tried shielding my eyes, but only brought the insects on my hands closer to my face. How could there be so many within a single hive?
I ran around, directionless, no longer able to see. Hoping to reach my house.
“Vanessa! Get help!” I screamed, but my wife was showering at the time.
I’d never experienced such pain, as if cloaked by a blanket drenched in boiling poison. Tiny sabers on fire. I was so scared that, for a second, I wanted to call out for my mom, like I hadn’t since I was a little kid.
“No. I must get Julian out of here” I thought, and tried calling out for my sick grandson instead.
But my throat tightened. I couldn’t breathe.
“Years”, I suddenly realized. “It’s been years since I’ve stung by a bee.”
“Since I was 13…”
More than enough time to develop a severe allergy, which now deprived me of oxygen. Marbles now blocked my airways.
I fell to the floor, nauseated, yet only able to think of Julian. If my grandson had made it back inside he’d not only be safe from this unnatural swarm; he’d also avoid contemplating this horrendous scene.
I pushed as many bees as I could from my eyelids. I only wanted the tiniest glimpse to verify that he was no longer in the garden.
Perhaps I can use a combination of adrenaline and despair, or the toxins that ran through my body, as the excuse for what I saw:
The bees on my fingers smiled.
I’m aware that it sounds demented, and that was probably my state then, but they had human dentures and grins… and the pupils in their eyes didn’t belong to any kind of bug. They laughed at me, at how they were slaughtering an old man.
But even worse: a couple feet away from me stood Julian, still holding the garden hose. Observing me.
And from his wide open mouth came out an endless torrent of the depraved insects. Much more than a hive, such as the one I crushed, could contain.
That’s the last thing I remember before I lost consciousness.
Vanessa found me in the garden just in time. None of the medics could believe that I survived that many stings, or an anaphylactic shock of such magnitude.
I spent months, many months, overwhelmed by the sequels of this unexplainable event. Fevers, breathing problems, migraines, whole days and nights struggling to ignore the pain in my joints, and the itching on every inch of my skin.
Eventually, my health returned to a semblance of normality. But the truth is that I no longer ever feel completely safe, not even in my own home of over 30 years. I would have never guessed that, while trying to introduce my grandson to new and exciting things, it would be me who would become acquainted with the cowardice I now bear.
It also took me months to face Julian without feelings of guilt or worry. I was ashamed that I failed to protect him, and that he contemplated that abnormal episode, surely deeply scarring for any child his age.
But also, and I hate to admit this: I am now scared of Julian.
I still try to convince myself that the stream of bees flying out of his mouth, the insects’ cruel stares, and stillness with which he witnessed the attack, were just mirages from the panic.
Every once in a while I’ll look Julian in the eye, very intently. Striving to once again believe in the gentle kid who adores everyone. Who loves his grandpa.
And I was getting so close, until a recent thanksgiving dinner.
Wanting to give Julian a taste of my famous stuffing, I asked him to cover his eyes and open his mouth, so that he could taste something “awesome”.
But just as I was about to give him a bite, a bee came flying out of his throat.
The insect fluttered in front of my nose, before going out the window.
I honestly think Julian didn’t even realize what had just escaped from inside of him, and I’d rather keep it that way.
He shouldn’t know his grandfather is still working on rediscovering his backyard, nature and his grandson.
