The Thing About A Sting

Why does a bee sting? For the answer you gotta go straight to the stinger. So directly I go, to the honey bee on the red clover there. She looks sharp.

“Um,” I say, absentmindedly rubbing the stinging lump on my backside. “Hello, little honeybee...?”

“Bzzz,” she says through her fuzzy brown body. The little bee methodically works the field clover, chubby stripes balanced on dark, graceful toetips. Honeybees pick up sound vibrations through sensitive tapered feet; feet made for dancing and hard manual labor. “Good day to you, you ground-bound jumbo.”

“Hey.”

“Who has zee stinger?” the bee asks, padding across the purpley long-shag clover carpet. I am careful not to stare at her round brown backside; it might signal unhealthy interest. Politeness is in my interest. I breathe in the sweetness of warm clover, listening to the hum of insects happily working. Beneath my bare feet tender green leaves and stems percolate up the dirt’s moist humidity. For this quest why did I not wear shoes? I blurt, “What’s with all the stinging?”

The wee-bee vacuums a flower with her hose-nose, sucking up a teensy drop of sweet nectar. She snorts. “You learn to speak Beez and this is all you wish to know? You would have your answer quicker from Google. Is it not zee oracle of your generation?” Her hum sounds suspiciously like chuckling. “But I answer, for maybe it smartens up zee jumbos, eh?

“Okay, why do honey bees sting? To protect zee hive. Especially zee Queen Mother — long live zee Queen! For without Mum there is no hive. None. And life can be tough for zee average family of 50,000 headed by a single mum. Why, only yesterday zee hive roof was ripped off and our home ravaged.” The bee pauses her dainty work. “You know, generally speaking, a skunk comes at zee hive from below but a bear comes in up top. They have zee long legs. Both culprits are after one thing: honeybees! They slurp up honey, rip out honeycomb, and tear all asunder to eat bees. (We are high in protein and naturally presweetened.)”

The bee focuses her five eyes up at me. “You know, I also see something odd. Zee bear in our hive yesterday, it is white from top to bottom. Not black or brown like usual bears. White. Your size.”

“Ah,” I say. “S-s-sounds like a polar bear. Global warming. Melting ice caps. Polar bears native to Massachusetts by now, by now.”

“A polar bear, wearing a zipper up front and a hat with a veil over it?”

“Dressed up. Summer picnic.”

“Hideous creature it was,” she shudders. “No wings, no antennae, bones on the inside. It absconded with honey and a little something extra. A sting in the rump from one of my sisters.”

I take my hand off my hiney. “The little bee, she was only protecting your hive and Queen?”

“Long live zee Queen! She was, jumbo.”

“And that’s why honeybees sting? To protect themselves? From bears and skunks trying to take their stuff?”

She stares at me intently. “And people.”

“Heh heh. Heh. Question answered, thanks. Bye, little bee. Bye.” I back out of the field. Carefully. Very carefully.