And we were four or five bee boxes away from a full third tier, when Keff stopped the tractor to check the pressure in the trailer tires. 'I think they've got him by now, smarty,' he said.
'Who?' I said.
'Your queer friend, smarty. He got in to see you, but he won't get out.'
'Just voices you were hearing, Keff. Just Gallen and I were in that room.'
'Oh, smarty,' he said. 'There's footprints in the garden, and there's everyone who heard the yelling. See? It makes you dumb to be a queer, smarty.'
He read his tire gauge. How many pounds of air does it take to hold a single-axle trailer, two tires a side, carrying what must be tons of honey and bees?
Keff stooped near the space I'd left for standing on the second tier. I could have just hopped up and shoved a whole row of third-tier boxes on him; I hopped up on the second tier.
'What were you doing with that little Gallen, smarty?' He wasn't looking up. 'I've been waiting for her to get old enough,' he said. 'And a little bigger.' And his squat, neckless head spun his face up to me, grinning.
'What are you doing up there?' he said. And his feet moved back under his haunches, like a sprinter getting set.
I said, 'Why don't we have bee suits, Keff? Why don't we have masks and all that?'
But he was backing up, not taking his eyes off that third-tier row of hives.
'Why don't we have what?' he said.
'Bee suits,' I said. 'Protection, if there's an accident.'
'Beekeeper's idea,' said Keff, standing up now. 'When you're protected, you're careless, smarty. When you're careless, you have accidents.'
'Why doesn't the beekeeper get the hives himself, Keff?'
But Keff was still ogling at the third-tier row. 'Third tier's almost full,' he said. 'Once more across the road, and we'll go back to the barns.'
'Well, let's do it then,' I said.
'Think he'll still be there, do you, smarty? We'll take another load after this one, and you think he'll still be around, fancy-free?'
'Well, Keff,' I said, thinking: You almost weren't so fancy-free yourself, Keff - you almost weren't around any more. Eager bees are in those hives, Keff, and you were almost mired in honey-muck; with bee stings swelling your fat head fatter.
Keff was listening for anything coming.
Well no, of course, I thought. You were always there, safe all along, Keff. And don't you see, Siggy, how I'm drawing the line? And what in hell is it you expect of me, Siggy?
'Someone's coming,' said Keff. He kept the engine killed.
Well, even the bees were quieted, listening too.
'Someone's running,' said Keff, and he opened the toolbox.
I could hear the breathing down the road; gravel-scuff and the sounds of panting.
'Someone you know, smarty?' said Keff, the open-end wrench in his paw.
Then he twisted the housing round the headlight, opened the face of the light down the road; but he kept the light off. He was just getting ready.
Hush, bees, I thought. Those are little, short steps; those are quick, little breaths.
And Keff turned the light on my Gallen, hair loose, and fanning the night as she ran.
How Many Bees Would Do for You?