By Yudi Kravzov
I would have liked to have found a word that encapsulated the feeling of starting a cloudy day while feeling blue. Going back to sleep was my first impulse, but I took a shower and let the frustration go down the drain. I took shelter in my bed to get warm. When I got up the day had cleared.
I arrived at the gallery and a group of more than seven were pointing out a temporary pineapple-shaped bee hive among the branches of a tree. With wild movements in permanent continuum, a primary swarm composed of several thousand workers, a few drones, and the fertilized queen, were busily building at an impressive speed. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen before me such a handsome man, with so much charisma, and a special patience to explain. His energy had me imprisoned.
It takes hours, sometimes days, before the scout bees find a nearby place to house their swarm. They begin to form as the heat tightens and the hive’s vigour grows. The lack of space and the high temperatures make the bees uncomfortable, and when the virgin queens are about to be born the swarm prepares to go outside.
“They are going to sting us! They are going to sting us!” some ladies shouted.
The handsome man quietly said, “Calm down. Swarms do not usually sting. They are made up of several thousand workers who carry honey for a few days in their maws.” I couldn’t stop looking at his eyes, his long fingers, his smile. He continued on, “Many also carry pollen on their legs. Being full of food, they have difficulty using their stingers.”
“I don’t understand. How do they all know how to get here?” asked a child.
“Have you heard of the piper bees, like the Pied Piper of Hamelin? The bees emit a sound similar to that of a flute in order to activate the exit of the swarm.” He went on to explain that when the queen is in flight the scouts begin to call the swarm with an odorous substance that the bees recognize as the smell of their hive that spreads through the air and settles at the point chosen by the scouts. That is why the tendency to swarm seems to be a genetic trait and not just an instinct.
It struck 6, we all said goodbye. He and I exchanged numbers. We spent the next afternoon texting and at night he called on the phone. “I’ve been without a job for three months. I decided to take advantage of this time to do something that I have wanted to do all my life, photograph San Miguel. I am just arriving and I need to find a room. Do you know where to find one?”
At that instant I envisioned him unpacking his things in my room. I saw myself sharing my bed, starting an “uncomplicated” story, sharing his detachment and freedom… until I put on my pajamas, covered myself with my blue blanket, and, without rushing, went out to the terrace, accompanied by a cup of steaming coffee, and answered, “No, I don’t really know where to find a room for rent.”
