Gaia 2045

GAIA by Susan Reintjes Dedicated to Rachel Carson, author of Silent Spring, who knew and spoke out to warn us all. This is our last chance. Bees are the batteries of orchards, gardens, guard them. —Carol Ann Duffy, The Bees (2011) If the bee disappeared off the face of the earth, man would only have four years left to live. —Maurice Maeterlinck, The Life of the Bee (1901) The Caterpillar on the Leaf Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly For the Last Judgment draweth nigh —William Blake, “Auguries of Innocence” (1863) ****** Kneeling in a field of poppies, I am surrounded by swarms of insects dancing on the red blooms. I scoop up handfuls of winged beings and put them into my mouth. Without swallowing, I keep piling them in until the gentle buzz of my ward wakes me up. My ward is never awake this early. It’s still dark and the others are sleeping, heads buried under covers. My ward is restless and needs air and I need sleep to escape from my thoughts. My ward wins. She is one of a rapidly dwindling number of her species. We’ve been together for three years and my sole purpose is to guard her kind from extinction. We’ve grown so close that we can read each other’s thoughts and predict each other’s movements. As I move through the grounds, the tickle of her tiny feet warns me that my ward is on the move. The sleep pod in my shirt is always open so that she can come and go, but she knows to stay close. We need each other. My ward surfaces, her tiny head covered with black and yellow fuzz. Looking right and left, she senses the night air and her furtive glances quicken. I catch my ward’s alertness as gooseflesh rises on my neck. Wanting deeper contact, I lift a palm to my chest and invite her to ride on my hand. She agrees and I lift the tiny body up to my forehead. The buzzing heightens and a series of short bursts of electric pulses reach my pineal gland. She moves to the crown of my head and sends her signals deep into my brain. Someone is near, someone unexpected. I stop, but my ward signals me to keep walking. I’m confused, but I obey her. I have learned to never override her directives. We each know the protocol. My ward uses flight to evade capture and I use my wits to escape being taken. I would rather die than endanger my ward. She is my purpose. I have no other desire than to keep her alive. I veer slightly right toward the pond and my ward pulls me back into a straight line. Her command is to go straight ahead, which puts us heading toward the Gate. I fight off fear by remembering I must always trust my ward’s instincts. She knows best. When we arrive at the Gate, the night air is still and breathless. My ward detects the pounding in my chest. She doesn’t feel fear and she comforts me whenever I emit fear pheromones. ‘It’s okay.’ That’s all she says. How can it be okay when I know a stranger is near in the middle of the night? I resist the impulse to place her back in the pod. She paces on my crown and the tingling sends chills down my arms. I am not good at waiting. I am not comfortable with not knowing. ‘It’s okay.’ She repeats it to calm me down. I take deep breaths because I can’t do anything else. She’s in charge and I am at her service and so we wait. Minutes pass and I tremble, not from tension in my limbs, but from suspense. My ward continues to pace, pausing now and then to read the air and reassure me. She lifts off at the same instant that I hear the distant drone of a car. Hovering above me for only an instant, she darts over the Gate. The vehicle stops for a moment and moves on. My lungs deflate and I fall to my knees, my forehead dropping to the ground to meet the earth’s pulse. Before I register the full extent of panic and loss, my ward’s feet land on my crown. Taking a deep breath, I stand up, signal my relief and wait for her response. She rests in the exact center of my crown, emitting a strange chatter. I lift a palm to bring her to face me. The tiny pads that touch my hand are not my ward’s. Quivering, I bring my hand down to eye level and stare into the eyes of a new young queen bee. She is as curious and startled as I am. I smile at her and she buzzes back in a chaotic pattern. It will take time to learn each other’s language. ****** The reveille alarm is ringing. Is it ringing? Or is this a dream? I awaken to silence and empty beds all around me. Everyone is already in training, except me. Why did they let me sleep through reveille? Oh, yes, a guardian always sleeps in when her new ward arrives. I sink back into the mattress, close my eyes and listen to the faint drone of my new queen. I don’t understand her yet and I’m curious to know what she’s trying to tell me, but for now I’ll just rest a little bit longer . . .