wildscape. literary journal

Velvet Masonry
by Ellis Eden

 

I

        We are born in darkness, our honeyed cells soft and warm. The hum of movement around us hints at a world beyond. From the first moment, we know each other, share the ravenous pain of growth. She is not me, though we are one.

       - When I have wings, I’ll go higher than everyone, she says. What do you think it’s like, flying?

       I turn away, pretend to be asleep. In my dreams, we never leave home.

II

       Between feedings, the workers prepare us for life outside. Our favorite lesson is the story of how our kind began. We ask for it over and over: In the beginning was the Sun.

       - But what is the Sun? she asks. How can it burn and not die? Does it move?

       - You’ll see soon enough, they respond.

       When it is time, we are separated into cells, the combs mortared over with wax.

       - Will you find me? she asks, her voice trembling.

       - I will find you.

       - But how will you know me, after the change?

       - I’ve always known you.

       We fall into a deep sleep. I don’t smell the smoke when it curls through the hive. I don’t hear the cries.

III

       When I emerge into the next life, she is gone. Wind passes through the empty space where her frame should be.

       I move with the others toward the bright sky. Dizzy, dazed, we spring from the lip of the world. Home is a box among many. Our sisters call for me to join in the hunt, but I can’t leave until I’ve found her.

       A broken frame rests under the shadow of a maple tree, the combs shattered. The velvet masonry is mute under my feet, but I dig in the wax, searching through the dead until I pull her cold body from a cell. The weight of her silence, her stillness is more than I can bear. I lay beside her.

        Shadows move for the Sun until light falls on us. One at a time, antennae unfurl from her head.

       - Am I dreaming? Are you really here? she says.

       We look at each other with new eyes. No softness. Now we are armored. Strong. We spread our wings to discover she is missing one.

IV

       The yard next to our hive is barren, except for a patch of thistle beside a rotted fence. She hides there, away from the others. As long as I collect my quota, we are ignored.

       At the end of each day, I bring her food. Honeybread, strawberries, tiny brown mushrooms, lilac flowers, and the pulp of a wild orange. She tells me of clouds and hummingbirds, and the silver procession of snails in the rain. At night, we rest among the thistles, listening to the bubbling call of frogs.

       When the last star fades on the dawn-pink horizon, it’s time to work, to join our sisters in the hunt. As I wash my face, her wing droops and she turns away.

       - I wish I didn’t have to leave, I say.

       She slashes at a thistle gone to seed, the ghostly tufts taking flight.

       - And I wish I weren’t broken, she says. See? Even a flower can fly.

       - You’re not broken. I’ll show you.

       We climb into the maple tree. Its tan seeds are long and slender, tucked between the layers of leaves. I leap from the tree limb, my wings pressed together as one. She laughs as I turn dizzy pirouettes to the ground.

       - Now it’s your turn.

       She floats, her wing flashing in the light, maple seeds spinning along beside her. When she lands her eyes are clear, luminous.

       - Let’s go again.

V

       The days are shorter, and the sunflowers in the field turn brown. Our sisters from the hive have disappeared over time, fallen in battle or lost in the forest. I think of the winter children who have yet to be born, and hope we have stored enough for them.

       A fire catches in the pine hammock where I hunt, heavy and sudden, veiling the forest in grey. I’m trapped inside a charred log, thinking of the thousand ways she could die. She’d climb the post, legs clinging to the wood, her cries drowned in smoke as the flames crested the fence.

       The fire subsides. I am a streak of gold among the black, smoldering grass.

       Thistles cast long shadows in the afternoon Sun. She’s there, watching clouds, waiting for stars. My heart is a sparrow full of song.

VI

       Night is coming. We rest on the sun-warmed fencepost.

       - I can’t climb down tonight, she says. My legs won’t move.

       - Then we’ll stay. You’ll feel better tomorrow.

       We ignore my lie, watching crows gather in a hemlock, shadows in an amber sky.

       - In the beginning was the Sun.

       - And from the Sun’s golden tears rose our kind, I reply. And the Earth was ever fruitful, and the flowers sang for joy.

       She curls her antennae one at a time, and rests her velvet head against mine. We twine our limbs together, watching for the first star. Her eyes fade from black to grey as night descends, and even after she’s gone, I never let go.

☼

about the author // Ellis Eden