Jonathan D. Steinhoff, 1986
“Wasn’t so bad being bees, really,” said Claggers, his fishing pole hanging still from his hands, reflecting his now seemingly endless waiting without a tug. They’d been fishing for the past three days without a drop of sleep, and without catching a single fish.
“Not bad at all, I liked being bees,” agreed Smithers after a few minutes. He hadn’t been thinking up his answer during those minutes. It was just that time had slowed down to the point where nothing seemed to need happening immediately.
“She liked turning us into people though,” was Claggers’ next comment.
“Made her happy, alright,” agreed Smithers.
“Don’t like spoiling someone else’s good time.”
“Me neither,” said Smithers.
“After all,” continued Claggers, unable to forget about the incident, “she’d just finished a hard day. What was it she was complaining about? Kinderbella? Cinderella! That’s who! Right! Cinderella. She was saying, ‘After all I’ve done, after all I’ve done,’ over and over again she was saying it.”
“And then you had to go and say something,” said Smithers. But he wasn’t angry at Claggers. Just sad.
“I said, ‘Don’t feel bad. What’s wrong?’ That was all I said.”
“I know. It wasn’t your fault.”
“And then she explained to us all about it. How Cinderella had gone to the ball, the glass slipper, all that. Got married. But then she goes and runs off with…”
“With some vase or something that was turned into a prince so her husband could have a new companion,” finished Smithers. “Was it a vase? Or was it…”
“I think so,” said Claggers.
“Runs off with a vase,” said Smithers. “Broke the poor fairy godmother’s heart.”
Claggers pulled his fishing line out of the water.
“What’s this? Do we go home now?” asked Smithers innocently.
“How should I know? I’ve been a person as long as you have. I’m just sick of this waiting around. She shows us how to fish and then goes away. I’m complaining about her – but, well, alright, maybe I just don’t like the way she does certain things. I’m not saying she’s not entitled to her faults.”
“No, of course not.” Smithers followed Claggers’ example and took his fishing line out of the water.
“Might as well go back to the others,” said Claggers.
“They’re not going to be happy, us not catching nothing,” Smithers said as they were walking through the forest. They were still feeling as if time was spread out, and not minding if whole minutes went by between remarks that might have followed one right after the other.
“No, they’ll be real hungry by now.”
“I know I am.”
“Me too.”
“Never was a hungry bee.”
“Could always put something together as a bee.”
“Made her so happy to turn us into something.” It was Smithers speaking now.
“She never explained why she didn’t just turn that man back into a vase and bring Cinderella back to her husband.”
“I don’t blame her. That’s when I would have given up on the whole thing.”
“We have to stop thinking about it.”
“Right. It’s not helping us. Turning us into a pair of old men, talking this way.” That was Smithers. He wore a red plaid shirt and dirty green pants that fell in and out of contrast in the patches of sunlight they stepped through as they made their way through the forest.
“What else is there to talk about? What can we say? I’ve never been a person before. I remember being a bee, but who was paying attention to human details back then?” Claggers wore a blue shirt and, like Smithers, green pants, but his had remained dirt-free.
They had succeeded in silencing each other for the next hour. Suddenly Claggers’ fishing pole got caught in a branch.
“Just great. That fishing pole was probably a cow or something once. Fine way to treat a cow.”
“It’s not my fault! It got stuck, that’s all!” Claggers said defensively.
They labored carefully until the fishing pole was free, a task that would have been much easier to an experienced human. Their sadness had gone to the frustration stage for a while, but now they nearly hated being human. If the fairy godmother had seen them at this moment, it would have made her hate herself for being a fairy godmother.
The sun appeared less frequently now, blocked not only by trees but by occasional clouds as well. But that didn’t lessen the sweat that was mounting on the foreheads of the two former bees.
A tree branch, seeming to come from out of nowhere, suddenly broke off the top part of Claggers’ fishing pole.
“Oh, you’re good at this!” said Smithers.
“That’s it. I’ve had it,” said Claggers. “I’m not taking another step.” He sat down on the spot where he’d broken his fishing pole. “You go on without me.”
Butt Smithers sat down too, and they silently let time pass without contributing their actions, except to watch an occasional bird hop from tree to tree.
When night came they fell asleep without hardly being aware themselves of what human sleep is. Pieces from the ground dirtied their hair, but it couldn’t have mattered less to Smithers and Claggers.
In the morning Claggers was just waking when he heard a faint strain of music. He shook Smithers.
“We’ll have to investigate that!” said Claggers, smiling like a man who has just defeated death itself.
They slowly followed the sound, until they invisibly came upon a small clearing where several people were gathered, playing music on various homemade instruments that resembled flutes and guitars. They stopped when they heard Smithers and Claggers, but the forest hid the source of the sound from their view. They continued, not sure that they had in fact heard anything. Claggers and Smithers continued watching, silently. After what might have been ten minutes, but what might also have been five hours, although it was probably about half an hour, the musicians left.
Claggers and Smithers continued on their way. It was a cloudy day, and it seemed to grow more humid with every passing moment. At last the two reached the other bees transformed into people by the fairy godmother.
“At last,” said Clover. “We’ve missed you two! And I must also admit, we’ve grown quite hungry.”
Claggers and Smithers turned sad instantly, although only moments before they thought that they would burst with the good news they brought. April started to cry. “You haven’t any food!” she sobbed. She had guessed the truth, but only when Claggers’ and Smithers’ silence continued for a few minutes did Clover see that April was right. Soon Clover was crying too.
“But we saw something!” said Smithers.
“It was quite wonderful!” said Claggers.
And Claggers and Smithers tried to imitate the musicians they had seen earlier. Naturally it was a very poor imitation, but it was enough to make April and Clover laugh through their tear-stained faces. It slowly began to rain, but no one seemed to notice, and the morning continued as mornings normally do.
The End
