 CHAPTER 1 OF THE ADVENTURES OF MAYA THE BEE. CHAPTER 1 FIRST FLIGHT. The elderly lady bee who helped the baby bee Maya, when she awoke to life and slipped from her cell, was called Cassandra, and commanded great respect in the hive. Those were exciting days. A rebellion had broken out in the nation of bees which the queen was unable to suppress. While the experienced Cassandra wiped Maya's large bright eyes and tried as best she could to arrange her delicate wings, the big hive hummed and buzzed like a threatening thunderstorm, and the baby bee found it very warm and said so to her companion. Cassandra looked about troubled without replying. It astonished her that the child so soon found something to criticize, but really the child was right. The heat and the pushing and crowding were almost unbearable. Maya saw an endless succession of bees go by in such a swarming haste that sometimes one climbed up and over another, or several rolled past together clotted in a ball. Once the queen bee approached, Cassandra and Maya were jostled aside. A drone, a friendly young fellow of immaculate appearance, came to their assistance. He nodded to Maya and stroked the shining hairs on his breast rather nervously with his foreleg. The bees used their forelegs as arms and hands. The crash will come, he said to Cassandra. The revolutionists will leave the city. A new queen has already been proclaimed. Cassandra scarcely noticed him. She did not even thank him for his help, and Maya felt keenly conscious that the old lady was not a bit nice to the young gentleman. The child was a little afraid to ask questions. The impressions were coming so thick and fast. They threatened to overwhelm her. The general excitement got into her blood, and she set up a fine, distinct buzzing. "'What do you mean by that?' said Cassandra. "'Isn't there noise enough as it is?' Maya subsided at once and looked at Cassandra questioningly. "'Come here, child. We'll see if we cannot quiet down a bit.' Cassandra took Maya by her gleaming wings, which were still soft and new and marvelously transparent, and shoved her into an almost deserted corner beside a few honey combs filled with honey. Maya stood still and held on to one of the cells. "'It smells delicious here,' she observed. Her remark seemed to fluster the old lady again. "'You must learn to wait, child,' she replied. "'I have brought up several hundred young bees this spring and given them lessons for their first flight. But I haven't come across another one that was as pert and forward as you are. You seem to be an exceptional nature.' Maya blushed and stuck the two dainty fingers of her hand in her mouth. "'Exceptional nature? What is an exceptional nature?' she asked shyly. "'Oh, that's not nice,' cried Cassandra, referring not to Maya's question, which she had scarcely heated, but to the child's sticking her fingers in her mouth. "'Now listen, listen very carefully to what I'm going to tell you. I can devote only a short time to you. Other baby bees have already slipped out, and the only helper I have on this floor is Turka, and Turka is dreadfully overworked, and for the last few days has been complaining of a buzzing in her ears. Sit down here.' Maya obeyed with great brown eyes fastened on her teacher. "'The first rule that a young bee must learn,' said Cassandra, and sighed, "'is that every bee, in whatever it thinks and does, must be like the other bees, and must always have the good of all in mind. In our order of society, which we have held to be the right one from time immemorial, and which couldn't have been better preserved than it has been, this rule is the one fundamental basis for the well-being of the state. "'Tomorrow you will fly out of the hive. An older bee will accompany you. At first you will be allowed to fly only short stretches, and you will have to observe everything very carefully, so that you can find your way back home again. Your companion will show you the hundred flowers and blossoms that yield the best nectar. You will have to learn them by heart. This is something no bee can escape doing. Here you may as well learn the first line right away. Clover and honeysuckle. Repeat it. Say Clover and honeysuckle." "'I can't,' said little Maya. "'It's awfully hard. I'll see the flowers later, anyway.' Cassandra opened her old eyes wide and shook her head. "'You will come to a bad end,' she sighed. "'I can foresee that already.' "'Am I supposed later on to gather nectar all day long?' asked Maya. Cassandra fetched a deep sigh and gazed at the baby bee seriously and sadly. She seemed to be thinking of her own toilsome life—toil from beginning to end, nothing but toil. Then she spoke in a changed voice, with a loving look in her eyes for the child. "'My dear little Maya, there will be other things in your life—the sunshine, lofty green trees, flowery heaths, lakes of silver, rushing, glistening waterways, the heavens blue and radiant, and perhaps even human beings, the highest and most perfect of nature's creations. Because of all these glories, your work will become a joy. Just think, all that lies ahead of you, dear heart, you have good reason to be happy.' "'I'm so glad,' said Maya. "'That's what I want to be.' Cassandra smiled kindly. In that instant—why, she did not know—she conceived a peculiar affection for the little bee, such as she could not recall ever having felt for any child bee before. And that, probably, is how it came about that she told Maya more than a bee usually hears on the first day of its life. She gave her various special bits of advice, warned her against the dangers of the wicked world, and named the bee's most dangerous enemies. At the end she spoke long of human beings, and implanted the first love for them in the child's heart, and the germ of a great longing to know them. "'Be polite and agreeable to every insect you meet,' she said in conclusion. "'Then you will learn more from them, than I have told you today. But beware of the wasps and hornets. The hornets are our most formidable enemy, and the wickedest. And the wasps are a useless tribe of thieves, without home or religion. We are a stronger, more powerful nation, while they steal and murder wherever they can. You may use your sting upon insects to defend yourself and inspire respect. But if you insert it in a warm-blooded animal, especially a human being, you will die, because it will remain sticking in the skin and will break off. So do not sting warm-blooded creatures except in dire need, and then do it without flinching or fear of death. For it is to our courage, as well as our wisdom, that we be as though the universal respect and esteem in which we are held. And now good-bye, my dear. Good luck to you. Be faithful to your people and your queen.' The little bee nodded yes, and returned her old monitor's kiss and embrace. She went to bed in a flutter of secret joy and excitement, and could scarcely fall asleep from curiosity. For the next day she was to know the great wide world, the sun, the sky, and the flowers. Meanwhile, the bee-city had quieted down. A large part of the younger bees had now left the kingdom to found new city. But for a long time the droning of the great swarm could be heard outside in the sunlight. It was not from arrogance or evil intent against the queen that these had quitted. It was because the population had grown to such a size that there was no longer room for all the inhabitants, and it was impossible to store a sufficient food supply of honey to feed them all over the winter. You see, according to a government treaty of long-standing, a large part of the honey gathered in summer had to be delivered up to human beings, who, in return, assured the welfare of the bee-state, provided for the peace and safety of the bees, and gave them shelter against the cold in winter. The sun has risen. The joyous call, sounding in Maya's ear, awoke her out of sleep the next morning. She jumped up and joined a lady working bee. Delighted, said the lady cordially, you may fly with me. At the gate, where there was a great pushing and crowding, they were held up by the sentinels, one of whom gave Maya the password without which no bee was admitted into the city. Be sure to remember it, he said, and good luck to you. Outside the city gates a flood of sunlight assailed the little bee, a brilliance of green and gold so rich and warm and resplendent that she had to close her eyes, not knowing what to say or do from sheer delight. Magnificent! It really is, she said to her companion. Do we fly into that? Right ahead, answered the lady bee. Maya raised her little head and moved her pretty new wings. Suddenly she felt the flying board on which she had been sitting, sink down, while the ground seemed to be gliding away behind, and the large green domes of the treetops seemed to be coming toward her. Her eyes sparkled, her heart rejoiced. I am flying! she cried. It cannot be anything else. What I am doing must be flying! Why, it's splendid, perfectly splendid! Yes, you're flying, said the lady bee, who had difficulty in keeping up with the child. Those are linden trees, those toward which we are flying, the lindens in our castle-park. You can always tell where our city is by those lindens, but you're flying so fast, Maya. Fast, said Maya, how can one fly fast enough? Oh, how sweet the sunshine smells! No, replied her companion, who was rather out of breath. It's not the sunshine, it's the flowers that smell. But please don't go so fast, else I'll drop behind. Besides, at this pace you won't observe things and be able to find your way back. But little Maya, transported by the sunshine and the joy of living, did not hear. She felt as though she was darting like an arrow through a green shimmering sea of light, to greater and greater splendor. The bright flowers seemed to call to her. The still, sunlit distances lured her on, and the blue sky blessed her joyous young flight. Never again will it be as beautiful as it is today, she thought. I can't turn back, I can't think of anything except the sun. Beneath her the gay pictures kept changing. The peaceful landscape slid by slowly in broad stretches. The sun must be all of gold, fluffed the baby bee. Coming to a large garden which seemed to rest in blossoming clouds of cherry tree, hawthorn, and lilacs, she let herself down to earth, dead tired, and dropped in a bed of red tulips, where she held on to one of the big flowers. With a great sigh of bliss, she pressed herself against the blossom wall, and looked up to the deep blue of the sky, through the gleaming edges of the flowers. Oh, how beautiful it is out here in the great world, a thousand times more beautiful than in the dark hive! I'll never go back there again to carry honey or make wax. No indeed, I'll never do that. I want to see and know the world in bloom. I am not like the other bees. My heart is meant for pleasure and surprises, experiences and adventures. I will not be afraid of any dangers. Haven't I got strength and courage and a sting? She laughed, bubbling over with delight, and took a deep draft of nectar out of the flower of the tulip. Grand, she thought, it's glorious to be alive! Ah, if little Maya had had an inkling of the many dangers and hardships that lay ahead of her, she would certainly have thought twice. But never dreaming of such things she stuck to her resolve. Soon tiredness overcame her, and she fell asleep. When she awoke, the sun was gone, twilight lay upon the land, a bit of alarm after all. Maya's heart went a little faster. Hesitatingly she crept out of the flower, which was about to close up for the night, and hid herself away under a leaf high up in the top of an old tree, where she went to sleep, thinking in the utmost confidence. I'm not afraid. I won't be afraid right at the very start. The sun is coming round again, that's certain, Cassandra said so. The thing to do is to go to sleep quietly and sleep well. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of The Adventures of Maya the Bee This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Betsy Bush, January 2009. The Adventures of Maya the Bee by Voldemar Boncells Translated by Adele Zold Seltzer and Arthur Gooderman. Chapter 2 The House of the Rose By the time Maya woke, it was full daylight. She felt a little chilly under her big green leaf and stiff in her limbs, so that her first movements were slow and clumsy. Clinging to a vein of the leaf, she let her wings quiver and vibrate, to limber them up and shake off the dust. Then she smoothed her fair hair, wiped her large eyes clean and crept warily, down to the edge of the leaf, where she paused and looked around. The glory in the glow of the morning sun were dazzling, though Maya's resting place still lay in cool shadow the leaves overhead shone like green gold. Oh, you glorious world! thought the little bee. Slowly, one by one, the experiences of the previous day came back to her. All the beauties she had seen and all the risks she had run. She remained firm in her resolve not to return to the hive. To be sure, when she thought of Cassandra, her heart beat fast, though it was not very likely that Cassandra would ever find her. Oh, no! to her there was no joy in forever having to fly in and out of the hive, carrying honey and making wax. This was clear once and for all. She wanted to be happy and free, and enjoy life in her own way. Come what might. She would take the consequences. Thus lightly thought Maya, the truth being that she had no real idea of the things that lay in store for her. Far off in the sunshine something glimmered red, a lurking impatience seized the little bee. Moreover, she felt hungry. So courageously, with a loud joyous buzz, she swung out of her hiding place into the clear glistening air and the warm sunlight, and made straight for the red patch that seemed to nod and beckon. When she drew near, she smelled a perfume so sweet that it almost robbed her of her senses, and she was hardly able to reach the large red flower. She let herself down on the outermost of its curved petals and clung to it tightly. At the gentle tipping of the petal, a shining silver sphere almost as big as herself came rolling toward her, transparent and gleaming in all the colors of the rainbow. Maya was dreadfully frightened, yet fascinated, too, by the splendor of the cool silver sphere which rolled by her, balanced on the edge of the petal, leapt into the sunshine and fell down in the grass. Oh, oh, the beautiful ball had shivered into a score of wee pearls! Maya uttered a little cry of terror, but the tiny round fragments made such a bright, lively glitter in the grass and ran down the blades in such twinkling, sparkling little drops like diamonds in the lamp light that she was reassured. She turned towards the inside of the calyx. A beetle a little smaller than herself, with brown wing sheaths and a black breastplate, was sitting at the entrance. He kept his place unperturbed and looked at her seriously, though by no means unamiably. Maya bowed politely. Did the ball belong to you? she asked, and receiving no reply added. I am very sorry I threw it down. Do you mean the dew drop? smiled the beetle, rather superior. You needn't worry about that. I had taken a drink already, and my wife never drinks water. She has kidney trouble. What are you doing here? What is this wonderful flower? asked Maya. Not answering the beetle's question. Would you be good enough to tell me its name? Remembering Cassandra's advice, she was as polite as possible. The beetle moved his shiny head in his dorsal plate, a thing he could do easily without the least discomfort as his head fitted imperfectly and glided back and forth without a click. You seem to be only of yesterday. He said and laughed, not so very politely. Altogether there was something about him that struck Maya as unrefined. The bees had more culture and better manners, yet he seemed to be a good-natured fellow, because seeing Maya's blush of embarrassment he softened to her childish ignorance. It's a rose, he explained indulgently. So now you know. We moved in four days ago, and since we moved in it has flourished wonderfully under our care. Won't you come in? Maya hesitated, then conquered her misgivings and took a few steps forward. He pressed aside a bright petal. Maya entered, and she and the beetle walked beside each other through the narrow chambers with their subdued light and fragrant walls. What a charming home! exclaimed Maya, genuinely taken with the place. The perfume is positively intoxicating. Maya's admiration pleased the beetle. It takes wisdom to know where to live, he said, and smiled good naturally. Tell me where you live and I'll tell you what you're worth, says an old adage. Would you like some nectar? Oh! Maya burst out, I'd love some. The beetle nodded and disappeared behind one of the walls. Maya looked about. She was happy. She pressed her cheeks and little hands against the dainty red hangings and took deep breaths of the delicious perfume in an ecstasy of delight at being permitted to stop in such a beautiful dwelling. It certainly is a great joy to be alive, she thought. There's no comparison between the dingy crowded stories in which the bees live and work and this house. The very quiet here is splendid. Suddenly there was a loud sound of scolding behind the walls. It was the beetle growling excitedly in great anger. He seemed to be hustling and pushing someone along roughly, and Maya caught the following in a clear, piping voice full of frightened mortification. Of course, because I'm alone, you dare to lay hands on me. But wait and see what you get when I bring my associates along. You are a ruffian. Very well, I am going. But remember, I called you a ruffian. You will never forget that. The stranger's emphatic tone, so sharpened vicious, frightened Maya dreadfully. In a few moments she heard the sound of someone running out. The beetle returned and sullenly flung down some nectar. An outrage, he said. You can't escape those vermin anywhere. They don't allow you a moment's peace. Maya was so hungry she forgot to thank him and took a mouthful of nectar and chewed. While the beetle wiped the perspiration from his forehead and slightly loosened his upper armor so as to catch his breath. Who was that? mumbled Maya with her mouth still full. Please, empty your mouth. Finish chewing and swallowing your nectar. One can't understand a word you say. Maya obeyed, but the excited owner of the house gave her no time to repeat her question. It was an ant, he burst out angrily. Do those ants think we save and store up hour after hour only for them? The idea of going right into the pantry without a how-do-you-do or a buy-your-leave. It makes me furious. If I didn't realize that the ill-mannered creatures actually didn't know better, I wouldn't hesitate a second to call them thieves. At this he suddenly remembered his own manners. I beg your pardon, he said, turning to Maya. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Peter of the family of Rose-Beetles. My name is Maya, said the little bee, Shiley. I am delighted to make your acquaintance. She looked at Peter closely. He was bowing repeatedly and spreading his feelers like two little brown fans. That pleased Maya immensely. You have the most fascinating feelers, she said, simply sweet. Well, yes, observed Peter flattered. People do think a lot of them. Would you like to see the other side? If I may. The Rose-Beetle turned his fan-shaped feelers to one side and the light-array of sunlight glied over them. Great, don't you think? He asked. I shouldn't have thought anything like them possible, rejoined Maya. My own feelers are very plain. Well, yes, observed Peter, to each his own. By way of compensation you certainly have beautiful eyes, and the color of your body, the gold of your body, is not to be sneezed at. Maya beamed. Peter was the first person to tell her she had any good looks. Life was great. She was happy as a lark and helped herself to some more nectar. An excellent quality of honey, she remarked. Take some more, said Peter, rather amazed by his little guest's appetite. Rose-juice of the first vintage. One has to be careful and not spoil one's stomach. There's some new left, too, if you're thirsty. Thank you so much, said Maya. I'd like to fly now, if you will permit me. The Rose-Beetle laughed. Flying, always flying, he said. It's in the blood of you bees. I don't understand such a restless way of living. There's some advantage in staying in one place, too, don't you think? Peter courteously held the red curtain aside. I'll go as far as our observation-pedal with you, he said. It makes an excellent place to fly from. Oh, thank you, said Maya. I can fly from anywhere. That's where you have the advantage over me, replied Peter. I have some difficulty in unfolding my lower wings. He shook her hand and held the last curtain aside for her. Oh, the blue sky! rejoiced Maya. Goodbye! So long, called Peter, remaining on the top-pedal to see Maya rise rapidly straight up to the sky in the golden sunlight and the clear, pure air of the morning. With a sigh he returned pensive to his cool rose-dwelling, for though it was still early he was feeling rather warm. He sang his morning song to himself, and it hummed in the red sheen of the petals and the radiance of the spring day that slowly mounted and spread over the blossoming earth. Golden green our field and tree, warm in summer's glow, all is bright and fair to see, while the roses blow. What or why the world may be, who can guess or know? All my world is glad and free, while the roses blow. Brief they say, my time of glee, with the roses I go. Yes, but life is good to me, while the roses blow. CHAPTER III. OF THE ADVENTURES OF MAYA THE BE. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Betsy Bush, January 2009. THE ADVENTURES OF MAYA THE BE. By Voldemar Boncells. Translated by Adele Zold Seltzer and Arthur Gooderman. CHAPTER III. THE LAKE. Dear me, thought Maya, after she had flown off, oh dear me, I forgot to ask Mr. Peter about human beings, a gentleman of his wide experience could certainly have told me about them. But perhaps I'll meet one myself today. Full of high spirits and in a happy mood of adventure, she let her bright eyes rove over the wide landscape that lay spread out below in all its summer splendor. She came to a large garden gleaming with a thousand colors. On her way she met many insects who sang out greetings and wished her a pleasant journey and a good harvest. But every time she met a bee her heart went pit-a-pat. After all, she felt a little guilty to be idle and was afraid of coming upon acquaintances. Soon, however, she saw that the bees paid not the slightest attention to her. And all of a sudden the world seemed to turn upside down, the heavens shown below her in endless depths. At first she was dreadfully frightened. She thought she had flown too far up and lost her way in the sky. But presently she noticed that the trees were mirrored on the edge of the trust-rail sky, and to her in transmit she realized that she was looking at a great serene basin of water which lay blue and clear in the peaceful morning. She let herself down close to the surface. There was her image flying in reflection, the lovely gold of her body shining at her from the water, her bright wings glittering like clear glass. And she observed that she held her little legs properly against her body, as Cassandra had taught her to do. It's bliss to be flying over the surface of water like this. It is, really, she thought. Big fish and little fish swam about in the clear element, or seemed to float idly. Maya took good care not to go too close. She knew there was danger to bees from the race of fishes. On the opposite shore she was attracted by the water lilies and the rushes, the water lilies with their large round leaves lying out spread on the water, like green plates, and the rushes with their sun-warmed reedy stalks. She picked out a leaf well concealed under the tall blades of the rushes. It lay in almost total shade, except for two round spots like gold coins. The rushes swayed above in the full sunlight. Glorious! said the little bee, perfectly glorious! She began to tidy herself, putting both arms up behind her head she pulled it forward as if to tear it off, but was careful not to pull too hard, just enough to scrape away the dust. Then with her little hind legs she stroked and dragged down her wings-sheaths, which sprang back in position, looking beautifully bright and glossy. Just as she had completed her toilet, a small steely blue bottle came and alighted on the leaf beside her. He looked at her in surprise. What are you doing here on my leaf? He demanded. Maya was startled. Is there any objection to a person's just resting here a moment or two? Maya remembered Cassandra's telling her that the nation of bees commanded great respect in the insect world. Now she was going to see if it was true. She was going to see if she, Maya, could compel respect. Nevertheless, her heart beat a little faster because her tone had been very loud and peremptory. But actually, the blue bottle was frightened. He showed it plainly. When he saw that Maya wasn't going to let anyone lay down the law to her, he backed down. With a surly buzz he swung himself on to a blade that curved above Maya's leaf, and said in a much politer tone, talking down to her out of the sunshine, You ought to be working. As a bee you certainly ought. But if you want to rest, all right, I'll wait here. There are plenty of leaves, observed Maya. All rented, said the blue bottle. Nowadays one is happy to be able to call a piece of ground one's own. If my predecessor hadn't been snapped up by a frog two days ago, I should still be without a proper place to live in. It's not very pleasant to have to hunt up a different lodging every night. Not everyone has such a well-ordered state as you bees. But permit me to introduce myself. My name is Jack Christopher. Maya was silent with terror, thinking how awful it must be to fall into the clutches of a frog. Are there many frogs in the lake? She asked and drew to the very middle of the leaf so as not to be seen from the water. The blue bottle laughed. You are giving yourself unnecessary trouble, he jeered. The frog can see you from below in the sun-shines, because then the leaf is transparent. He sees you sitting on my leaf perfectly. Be set by the awful idea that maybe a big frog was squatting right under her leaf, staring at her with his bulging, hungry eyes. Maya was about to fly off when something dreadful happened, something for which she was totally unprepared. In the confusion of the first moment she could not make out just exactly what was happening. She only heard a loud rustling like the wind in dry leaves. Then a singing whistle, a loud angry hunter's cry, and a fine transparent shadow glided over her leaf. Now she saw, saw fully, and her heart stood still in terror. A great glittering dragonfly had caught hold of poor Jack Christopher and held him tight in its large fangs, sharp as a knife. The blade of the rush bent low beneath their weight. Maya could see them hovering above her and also mirrored in the clear water below. Jack's screens tore her heart. Without thinking, she cried. Let the blue bottle go at once, whoever you are. You have no right to interfere with people's habits. You have no right to be so arbitrary. The dragonfly released Jack from its fangs, but still held him fast with its arms, and turned its head toward Maya. She was fearfully frightened by its large grave eyes and vicious pincers, but the glistening of its body and wings fascinated her. They flashed like glass and water and precious stones. The horrifying thing was its huge size. How could she have been so bold? She was all a tremble. Why, what's the matter, child? The dragonfly's tone surprisingly was quite friendly. Let him go, cried Maya, and tears came into her eyes. His name is Jack Christopher. The dragonfly smiled. Why, little one? It said, putting on an interested air, though most condescending. Maya stammered helplessly. Oh, he's such a nice, elegant gentleman, and he's never done you any harm so far as I know. The dragonfly regarded Jack Christopher contemplatively. Yes, he is a dear little fellow, it replied tenderly, and bit Jack's head off. Maya thought she was losing her senses. For a long time she couldn't utter a sound. In horror she listened to the munching and crunching above her, as the body of Jack Christopher, the blue bottle, was being dismembered. Don't put on so, said the dragonfly with its mouth full chewing. Your sensitiveness doesn't impress me. Are you bees any better? What do you do? Unfortunately you are very young still, and haven't looked about in your own house. When the massacre of the drones takes place in the summer, the rest of the world is no less shocked and horrified. And I think with greater justification. Maya asked, Have you finished up there? She did not dare to raise her eyes. One leg still left, replied the dragonfly. You please swallow it, then I'll answer you. Cried Maya, who knew that the drones in the hive had to be killed off in the summer, and was provoked by the dragonfly's stupidity. But don't you dare to come a step closer. If you do, I'll use my sting on you. Little Maya had really lost her temper. It was the first time she had mentioned her sting and the first time she felt glad that she possessed the weapon. The dragonfly threw her a wicked glance. It had finished its meal, and sat with its head slightly ducked, fixing Maya with its eyes and looking like a beast of prey about to pounce. The little bee was quite calm now, where she got her courage from she couldn't have told, but she was no longer afraid. She set up a very fine clear buzzing, as she had once heard a sentinel do when a wasp came near the entrance of the hive. The dragonfly said slowly and threateningly. Dragonflies live on the best terms with the nation of bees. Very sensible in them, flashed Maya. Do you mean to insinuate that I am afraid of you? I of you. With a jerk the dragonfly let go of the rush which sprang back into its former position, and flew off with a whir and sparkle of its wings straight down to the surface of the water, where it made a superb appearance reflected in the mirror of the lake. You'd have thought there were two dragonflies. Both moved their crystal wings so swiftly and finely that it seemed as though a brilliant sheen of silver were streaming around them. Maya quite forgot her grief over poor Jack Christopher and all sense of her own danger. How lovely! How lovely! she cried enthusiastically, clapping her hands. Do you mean me? The dragonfly spoke in astonishment, but quickly added, Yes, I must admit I am fairly presentable. Yesterday I was flying along the brook, and you should have heard some human beings who were lying on the bank rave over me. Human beings! exclaimed Maya. Oh, my! Did you see human beings? Of course, answered the dragonfly, but you will be very interested to know my name, I'm sure. My name is Lovidear, of the order O'Donata, of the family Lebello-Ladei. Oh, do tell me about human beings, implored Maya, after she had introduced herself. The dragonfly seemed won over. She seated herself in the leaf beside Maya, and the little bee let her, knowing Miss Lovidear would be careful not to come too close. With human beings a sting, she asked. Good gracious, what would they do with a sting? No, they have worse weapons against us, and they are very dangerous. There isn't a soul who isn't afraid of them, especially of the little ones whose two legs show the boys. Do they try to catch you? asked Maya, breathless with excitement. Yes, can't you understand why? Miss Lovidear glanced at her wings. I have seldom met a human being who hasn't tried to catch me. But why? asked Maya, in a tremor. You see, said Miss Lovidear, with a modest smirk and a drooping sideways glance. There's something attractive about us dragonflies. That's the only reason I know. Some members of our family, who let themselves be caught, went through the cruelest tortures and finally died. Were they eaten up? No, no, not exactly that, said Miss Lovidear comfortingly. So far as is known, man does not feed on dragonflies. But sometimes he has murderous desires, a lust for killing, which will probably never be explained. You may not believe it, but cases have actually occurred of the so-called boy-man catching dragonflies and pulling off their legs and wings for pure pleasure. You doubt it, don't you? Of course I doubt it, cried Maya indignantly. Miss Lovidear shrugged her glistening shoulders. Her face looked old with knowledge. Oh! she said after a pause grieving and pale, if only one could speak of these things openly. I had a brother who gave promise of a splendid future. Only, I'm sorry to say, he was a little reckless and dreadfully curious. A boy once threw a net over him. A net fastened to a long pole. Who would dream of a thing like that? Tell me, would you? No, said the little bee. Never, I should never have thought of such a thing. The dragonfly looked at her. A black cord was tied round his waist between his wings so that he could fly, but not fly away, not escape. Each time my brother thought he had got his liberty, he would be jerked back horribly within the boy's reach. Maya shook her head. You don't dare even think of it, she whispered. If a day passes when I don't think of it, said the dragonfly, I am sure to dream of it. One misfortune followed another. My brother soon died. Miss Lovey-dear heaved a deep sigh. What did he die of? asked Maya in genuine sympathy. Miss Lovey-dear could not reply at once. Great tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks. He was stuck in a pocket, she sobbed. No one can stand being stuck in a pocket. But what is a pocket? Maya could hardly take in so many new and awful things all at once. A pocket, Miss Lovey-dear explained, is a storeroom that men have in their outer hide. And what else do you think was in the pocket when my brother was stuck into it? Oh, the dreadful company in which my poor brother had to draw his last breath. You'll never guess. No, said Maya, all in a quiver. No, I don't think I can. Honey, perhaps? Not likely, observed Miss Lovey-dear, with an air of mingled importance and distress. You will seldom find honey in the pockets of human beings. I'll tell you. A frog was in the pocket, and a pen-knife, and a carrot. Well? Horrible, whispered Maya, what is a pen-knife? A pen-knife, in a way, is a human being's sting, an artificial one. They are denied a sting by nature, so they try to imitate it. The frog, thank goodness, was nearing his end. One eye was gone, one leg was broken, and his lower jaw was dislocated. Yet for all that, the moment my brother was stuck in the pocket, he hissed at him out of his crooked mouth. As soon as I am well, I will swallow you. With his remaining eye he glared at my brother, and in the half-light of the prison you can imagine what in effect the look he gave him must have had. Fearful. Then, something even more horrible happened. The pocket was suddenly shaken. My brother was pressed against the dying frog, and his wing stuck to its cold, wet body. He went off in a faint. Oh, the misery of it! There are no words to describe it. How did you find all this out? Maya was so horrified she could scarcely frame the question. I'll tell you, replied Miss Lovy-dear. After a while the boy got hungry and dug into his pocket for the carrot. It was under my brother and the frog, and the boy threw them away first. I heard my brother's cry for help, and found him lying beside the frog on the grass. I reached him only in time to hear the whole story before he breathed his last. He put his arms around my neck and kissed me farewell. Then he died, bravely and without complaining, like a little hero. When his crushed wings had given their last quiver, I laid an oak leaf over his body and went to look for a sprig of forget-me-nuts to put upon his grave. Sleep well, my little brother, I cried, and flew off in the quiet of the evening. I flew toward the two red suns, the one in the sky and the one in the lake. No one has ever felt as sad and solemn as I did then. Have you ever had a sorrow in your life? Perhaps you'll tell me about it some other time. No, said Maya, as a matter of fact, until now I have always been happy. You may thank your lucky stars, said Miss Lovy-dear, with a note of disappointment in her voice. Maya asked about the frog. Oh, him! said Miss Lovy-dear. He it is presumed met with the end he deserved, the hard-heartedness of him to frighten a dying person. When I found him on the grass beside my brother he was trying to get away. But on account of his broken leg and one eye gone, all he could do was hop round and circle and hop round and circle. He looked too comical for words. Historical soon getchy, I called to him as I flew away. Poor frog, said little Maya. Poor frog, poor frog indeed. That's going too far, pitying a frog, the idea. To feel sorry for a frog is like clipping your own wings. You seem to have no principles. Perhaps, but it's hard for me to see anyone suffer. Oh, Miss Lovy-dear comforted her. That's because you're so young. You'll learn to bear it in time. Cheerio, my dear. But I must be getting into the sunshine. It's pretty cold here. Goodbye. A faint rustle in the gleam of a thousand colors, lovely pale colors like the glints in running water and clear gems. Miss Lovy-dear swung through the green rushes out over the surface of the water. Maya heard her singing in the sunshine and stood and listened. It was a fine song, with something of the melancholy sweetness of a folk-song, and it filled the little bee's heart with mingled happiness and sadness. Softly flows the lovely stream, touched by morning's rosy gleam. Through the alders darted, where the rushes bend and sway. The water-lilies say, we are golden-hearted. Warm the scent the west wind brings, bright the sun upon my wings, joy among the flowers. Though my life may not be long, golden summer take my song. Thanks for perfect hours. Listen, a white butterfly called to its friend, listen to the song of the dragonfly. The light-creatures rocked close to Maya, and rocked away again into the radiant blue day. Then Maya also lifted her wings, buzzed farewell to the silvery lake and flew inland. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 OF THE ADVENTURES OF MAYA THE BE This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Led by Betsy Bush, January 2009. THE ADVENTURES OF MAYA THE BE By Voldemar Boncells Translated by Adele Zould Seltzer and Arthur Gooderman. Chapter 4 Effie and Bobby When Maya awoke the next morning in the corolla of a blue canterbury bell, she heard a fine faint rustling in the air, and felt her blossom bed quiver as from a tiny, furtive tap-tapping. Through the open corolla came a damp whiff of grass and earth, and the air was quite chill. In some apprehension, she took a little pollen from the yellow stamens, scrupulously performed her toilet, then warily picked her steps, ventured to the outer edge of the drooping blossom. A fine, cool rain was coming down with a light plash, covering everything all round with millions of bright silver pearls, which clung to the leaves and flowers, rolled down the green paths of the blades of grass and refreshed the brown soil. What a change in the world! It was the first time in the child bee's young life that she had seen rain. It filled her with wonder, it delighted her, yet she was a little troubled. She remembered Cassandra's warning never to fly abroad in the rain. It must be difficult, she realized, to move your wings when the drops beat them down. And the cold really hurt, and she missed the quiet golden sunshine that gladdened the earth and made it a place free from all care. It seemed to be very early still. The animal life in the grass was just beginning. From the concealment of her lofty bluebell, Maya commanded a splendid view of the social life coming awake beneath. Seeing it, she forgot, for the moment, her anxiety in mounting homesickness. It was too amusing for anything to be safe in hiding place high up and looked down on the doings of the grass-dwellers below. Slowly, however, her thoughts went back, back to the home she had left, to the bee's state, and to the protection of its close solidarity. There on this rainy day the bees would be sitting together, glad of the day of rest, doing a little construction here and there on the cells or feeding the larvae. Yet, on the whole, the hive was very quiet and Sunday-like when it rained. Only sometimes messengers would fly out to see how the weather was, and from what quarter the wind was blowing. The queen would go about her kingdom from story to story, testing things, bestowing a word of praise or blame, laying an egg here and there, and bringing happiness with her royal presence wherever she went. She might pat one of the younger bees on the head to show her approval of what it had already done, or she might ask it about its new experiences. How delighted a bee would be to catch a glance or receive a gracious word from the queen. Oh, thought Maya, how happy it made you to be able to count yourself one in a community like that, to feel that everybody respected you, and you had the powerful protection of the state. Here, out in the world, lonely and exposed, she ran great risks of her life. She was cold, too, and supposing the rain were to keep up. What would she do? How would she find something to eat? There was scarcely any honey-juice in the Canterbury bell, and the pollen would soon give out. For the first time, Maya realized how necessary the sunshine is for a life of vega-bondage. Only any one would set out on adventure, she thought, if it weren't for the sunshine. The very recollection of it was cheering, and she glowed with secret pride that she had had the daring to start life on her own hook. The number of things she had already seen and experienced, more ever so much more than the other bees were likely to know in a whole lifetime. Experience was the most precious thing in life, worth any sacrifice, she thought. A troupe of migrating ants were passing by and singing as they marched through the cool forest of grass. They seemed to be in a hurry. Their crisp morning song in rhythm with their march touched the little bee's heart with melancholy. Few our days on earth shall be, fast the moments flit, first-class robbers such as we do not care a bit. They were extraordinarily well-armed and looked saucy, bold and dangerous. The song died away under the leaves of the colt's foot, but some mischief seemed to have been done there. A rough horse voice sounded, and the small leaves of a young dandelion were energetically thrust aside. Maya saw a corpulent blue beetle push its way out. It looked like a half-sphere of dark metal shimmering with lights of blue and green and occasional black. It may have been two or even three times her size. Its hard sheath looked as though nothing could destroy it, and its deeper voice positively frightened her. The song of the soldiers apparently had roused him out of sleep. He was cross. His hair was still rumpled, and he rubbed the sleep out of his cunning little blue eyes. Make way! I'm coming! Make way! He seemed to think that people would step aside at the mere announcement of his approach. Thank the Lord I'm not in his way, thought Maya, feeling very safe in her high, swaying nook of concealment. Nevertheless her heart went pit-a-pat, and she withdrew a little deeper into the flower-bell. The beetle moved with a clumsy lurch through the wet grass, planting a not-exactly-elegant appearance. Directly under Maya's blossom was a withered leaf. Here he stopped, shoved the leaf aside, and made a step backward. Maya saw a hole in the ground. Well, she thought, all agog with curiosity, the things there are in the world. I never thought of such a thing. Life's not long enough for all there is to see. She kept very quiet. The only sound was the soft pelting of the rain. Then she heard the beetle calling down the hole. If you want to go hunting with me, you'll have to make up your mind to get right up. It's already bright daylight! He was feeling so very superior for having waked up first that it was hard for him to be pleasant. A few minutes passed before the answer came. And Maya heard a thin, chirping voice rise out of the hole. For goodness' sake, do close the door up there! It's raining in! The beetle obeyed. He stood in an expectant attitude, his head cocked a little to one side, and squinted through the crack. Please hurry! He grumbled. Maya was tense with eagerness to see what sort of a creature would come out of the hole. She crept so far out on the edge of the blossom that a drop of rain fell on her shoulder and gave her a start. She wiped herself dry. Below her the withered leaf heaved. A brown insect crept out slowly. Maya thought it was the queerest specimen she had ever seen. It had a plump body, set on extremely thin, slow-moving legs, and a fearfully thick head, with little upright feelers. It looked flustered. Good morning, Effie, dear! The beetle went slim with politeness. He was all politeness, and his body seemed really slim. How did you sleep? How did you sleep, my precious, my all? Effie took his hand rather stonely. It can't be, Bobby, she said. I can't go with you. We're creating too much talk. We looked quite alarmed. I—I don't understand, he stammered. I don't understand. Is our newfound happiness to be wrecked by such nonsense? Effie, think. Think the thing over. What do you care what people say? You have your hole. You can creep into it whenever you like. And if you go down far enough, you won't hear a syllable. Effie smiled a sad, superior smile. Bobby, you don't understand. I have my own views in the matter. Besides, there's something else. You have been exceedingly indelicate. You took advantage of my ignorance. You let me think you were a rose-beetle, and yesterday the snail told me you were a tumble-bug—a considerable difference. He saw you engaged in—well, doing something I don't care to mention. I'm sure you will now admit that I must take back my word. Bobby was stunned. When he recovered from the shock, he burst out angrily. No, I don't understand. I can't understand. I want to be loved for myself and not for my business. If only it weren't Dung, said Effie, officially. Anything but Dung, and I shouldn't be so particular. And please remember, I'm a young widow who lost her husband only three days ago under the most tragic circumstances. He was gobbled up by the shoemouse. And it isn't proper for me to be gadding about. A young widow should lead a life of complete retirement, so good-bye. Pop into her hole went Effie, as though a puff of wind had blown her away. Maya would never have thought it possible that anyone could dive into the ground as fast as that. Effie was gone, and Bobby stared in blank bewilderment down the empty dark opening, looking so utterly stupid that Maya had to laugh. Finally he roused and shook his small round head in angry distress, his feelers drooping dismally like two rain-soaked fans. People nowadays no longer appreciate fineness of character and respectability, he sighed. Effie is heartless. I didn't dare admit it to myself, but she is. She's absolutely heartless. But even if she hasn't got the right feelings, she ought to have the good sense to be my wife. Maya saw the tears come to his eyes, and her heart was seized with pity. But the next instant Bobby stirred. He wiped the tears away and crept cautiously behind a small mound of earth which his friend had probably shoveled out of her dwelling. A little flesh-colored earthworm was coming along through the grass. It had the queerest way of propelling itself, by first making itself long and thin, then short and thick. Its cylinder of a body consisted of nothing but delicate rings that pushed and groped forward noiselessly. Suddenly startling Maya, Bobby made one step out of his hiding-place, got hold of the worm, bit it in two, and began calmly to eat the one half. Heedless of its desperate wriggling, or the wriggling of the other half in the grass, it was a tiny little worm. Patience! said Bobby. It will soon be over. But while he chewed his thoughts seemed to revert to Effie, his Effie, whom he had lost forever and I, and great tears rolled down his cheeks. Maya pitied him from the bottom of her heart. Dear me! she thought, there certainly is a lot of sadness in the world. At that moment she saw the half of the worm which Bobby had set aside making a hasty departure. Did you ever see the like? She cried, surprised into such a loud tone that Bobby looked around wondering where the sound had come from. Take way, he called. But I'm not in your way, said Maya. Where are you then? You must be somewhere. Up here, up above you, in the blue bell. I believe you, but I'm no grasshopper. I can't turn my head up far enough to see you. Why did you scream? The half of the worm is running away. Yes, said Bobby, looking after the retreating fraction. The creatures are very lively. I've lost my appetite. With that he threw away the remnant which he was still holding in his hand, and this worm portion also retreated in the other direction. Maya was completely puzzled, but Bobby seemed to be familiar with this peculiarity of worms. Don't suppose that I always eat worms, he remarked. You see, you don't find roses everywhere. Tell the little one at least which way its other half ran. Cried Maya in great excitement. Bobby shook his head gravely. Those whom fate has rent asunder, let no man join together again. He observed. Who are you? Maya of the Nation of Bees. I'm glad to hear it. I have nothing against the bees. Why are you sitting about? Bees don't usually sit about. Have you been sitting there long? I slept here. Indeed. There was a note of suspicion in Bobby's voice. I hope you slept well. Very well. Did you just wake up? Yes, said Maya, who had shrewdly guessed that Bobby would not like her having overhurt his conversation with Effie the Cricket and did not want to hurt his feelings again. Bobby ran hither and thither trying to look up and see Maya. Wait, he said, if I raise myself on my hind legs and lean against that blade of grass I'll be able to see you, and you'll be able to look into my eyes. You want to, don't you? Why, I do indeed. I'd like to very much. Bobby found a suitable prop, the stem of a buttercup. The flower tipped a little to one side so that Maya could see him perfectly as he raised himself on his hind legs and looked up at her. She thought he had a nice, dear, friendly face, but not so very young any more and cheeks rather too plump. He bowed, setting the buttercup a-rocking, and introduced himself. Bobby of the family of rose-bedals. Maya had to laugh to herself. She knew very well he was not a rose-bedal. He was a dung-bedal. But she passed the matter over in silence, not caring to mortify him. Would you mind the rain? She asked. Oh, no! I'm accustomed to the rain. From the roses, you know. It's usually raining there. Maya thought to herself. After all, I must punish him a little for his brazen lies. He's so frightfully vain. Bobby, she said with a sly smile, what sort of a hole is that one there, under the leaf? Bobby started. A hole? A hole, did you say? There are very many holes round here. It's probably just an ordinary hole. You have no idea how many holes there are in the ground. Bobby had hardly uttered the last word when something dreadful happened. In his eagerness to appear indifferent he had lost his balance and toppled over. Maya heard a despairing shriek, and the next instant saw the beetle lying flat on his back in the grass, his arms and legs waving pitifully in the air. I'm done for, he wailed. I'm done for. I can't get back on my feet again. I'll never be able to get back on my feet again. I'll die. I'll die in this position. Have you ever heard of a worse fate? He carried on so that he did not hear Maya trying to comfort him, and he kept making efforts to touch the ground with his feet, but each time he'd painfully get hold of a bit of earth it would give way and he'd fall over again on his high half-sphere of a back. The case looked really desperate, and Maya was honestly concerned. He was already quite pale in the face, and his cries were heart-rending. I can't stand it. I can't stand this position, he yelled. At least turn your head away. Don't torture a dying man with your inquisitive stares. If only I could reach a blade of grass or the stem of the butter-cup. You can't hold on to the air. Nobody can do that. Nobody can hold on to the air. Maya's heart was quivering with pity. Wait, she cried. I'll try to turn you over. If I try very hard, I am bound to succeed. But Bobby, Bobby, dear man, don't yell like that. Listen to me. If I bend a blade of grass over and reach the tip of it to you, will you be able to use it and save yourself? He had no ears for her suggestion. Frightened out of his senses he did nothing but kick and scream. So little Maya, in spite of the rain, flew out of her cover over to a slim green blade of grass beside Bobby and clung to it near the tip. It bent under her weight and sank directly above Bobby's wriggling limbs. Maya gave a little cry of delight. Catch hold of it, she called. He felt something tickle his face and quickly grabbed at it, first with one hand, then with the other, and finally with his legs, which had splendid sharp claws, two each. Bit by bit he drew himself along the blade until he reached the base, where it was thicker and stronger, and he was able to turn himself over on it. He heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. Good God! he explained, that was awful! But for my presence of mind I should have fallen a victim to your talkativeness. Are you feeling better? asked Maya. Bobby clutched his forehead. Thanks, thanks, when this dizziness passes I'll tell you all about it. But Maya never got the answer to her question. A field sparrow came hopping through the grass in search of insects, and the little bee pressed herself close to the ground and kept very quiet until the bird had gone. When she looked around for Bobby he had disappeared. So she too made off, for the rain had stopped and the day was clear and warm. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 The Acrobat. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Betsy Bush, January 2009. The Adventures of Maya the Bee by Voldemar Boncells. Translated by Adele Zold Seltzer and Arthur Gooderman. Chapter 5 The Acrobat. Oh, what a day! The dew had fallen early in the morning and when the sun rose and cast its slanting beams across the forest of grass there was such a sparkling and glistening and gleaming that you didn't know what to say or do for sheer ecstasy. It was so beautiful, so beautiful. The moment Maya awoke, glad sounds greeted her from all round. Some came out of the trees, from the throats of the birds, the dreaded creatures who could yet produce such a squizzet song. Other happy calls came out of the air, from flying insects or out of the grass and the bushes, from bugs and flies, big ones and little ones. Maya had made it very comfortable for herself in a hole in a tree. It was safe and dry, and stayed warm the greater part of the night because the sun shone on the entrance all day long. Once early in the morning she had heard a woodpecker rattatatting on the bark of the trunk and had lost no time getting away. The drumming of a woodpecker is as terrifying to a little insect in the bark of a tree as the breaking open of our shutters by a burglar would be to us. But at night she was safe in her lofty nook. At night no creatures came prying. She had sealed up part of the entrance with wax, leaving just space enough to slip in and out, and in a cranny in the back of the hole where it was dark and cool she had stored a little honey against rainy days. This morning she swung herself out into the sunshine with a cry of delight, all anticipation as to what the fresh lovely day might bring. She sailed straight through the golden air, looking like a brisk dot driven by the wind. I'm going to meet a human being today! she cried. I feel sure I am. On days like this human beings must certainly be out in the open air enjoying nature. Never had she met so many insects. There was a coming and going and all sorts of doings. The air was alive with a humming and a laughing and glad little cries. You had to join in, you just had to join in. After a while, Maya let herself down into a forest of grass where all sorts of plants and flowers were growing. The highest were the white tufts of yarrow and butterfly-weed, the flaming milkweed that drew you like a magnet. She took a sip of nectar from some clover, and was about to fly off again when she saw a perfect droll of a beast perched on a blade of grass curving above her flower. She was thoroughly scared. He was such a lean, green monster. But then her interest was tremendously aroused, and she remained sitting still, as though rooted to the spot, and stared straight at him. At first glance you'd have thought he had horns. Looking closer you saw it was his oddly protuberant forehead that gave this impression. Two long, long feelers, fine as the finest thread, grew out of his brows, and his body was the slimmest imaginable and green all over, even to his eyes. He had dainty forelegs and thin inconspicuous wings that couldn't be very practical, Maya thought. Oddest of all were his great hind legs, which stuck up over his body like two jointed stilts. His sly, saucy expression was contradicted by the look of astonishment in his eyes. And you couldn't say there was any meanness in his eyes, either. No, rather a lot of good humor. Well, Madam Waselle, he said to Maya evidently annoyed by her surprised expression. Never seen a grasshopper before? Or are you laying eggs? The idea, cried Maya in shocked accents. It wouldn't occur to me. Even if I could, I wouldn't. It would be usurping the sacred duties of our queen. I wouldn't do such a foolish thing. The grasshopper ducked his head and made such a funny face that Maya had to laugh out loud in spite of her chagrin. Madam Waselle, he began, then had to laugh himself and said, You're a case. You're a case. The fellow's behavior made Maya impatient. Why do you laugh? She asked in a not altogether friendly tone. You can't be serious expecting me to lay eggs, especially out here on the grass. There was a snap. Hoppity hop, said the grasshopper, and was gone. Maya was utterly nonplussed. Without the help of his wings he had swung himself up in the air in a tremendous curve. Foolhardiness bordering on madness, she thought. But there he was again, from where she couldn't tell. But there he was, beside her, on a leaf of her clover. He looked her up and down, all round, before and behind. No, he said then, Pertley, you certainly can't lay eggs. You're not equipped for it. You haven't got a borer. What borer? Maya covered herself with her wings and turned so that the stranger could see nothing but her face. Borer, that's what I said. Don't fall off your base, Madam Wazel. You're a wasp, aren't you? To be called a wasp, nothing worse could happen to Little Maya. I never, she cried. Hoppity hop, answered he, and was off again. The fellow makes me nervous, she thought, and decided to fly away. She couldn't remember ever having been so insulted in her life. What a disgrace to be mistaken for a wasp, one of those useless wasps, those tramps, those common thieves. It really was infuriating. But there he was again. Madam Wazel, he called, and turned round part way so that his long hind legs looked like the hands of a clock, standing at five minutes before half past seven. Madam Wazel, you must excuse me for interrupting our conversation now and then. But suddenly I am seized. I must hop. I can't help it. I must hop, no matter where. Can't you hop too? He smiled a smile that drew his mouth from ear to ear. Maya couldn't help keep from laughing. Can you? said the grasshopper, and nodded encouragingly. Who are you? asked Maya. You're terribly exciting. Why, everybody knows who I am, said the green oddity, and grinned almost beyond the limits of his jaws. Maya never could make out whether he's spoken fun or in earnest. I'm a stranger in these parts, she replied pleasantly. Else I'm sure I know you. But please note that I belong to the family of bees and am positively not a wasp. My goodness, said the grasshopper, one and the same thing. Maya couldn't utter a sound. She was so excited. You're uneducated, she burst out at length. Take a good look at a wasp once. Why should I? Answered the green one. What good would it do if I observed differences that exist only in people's imagination? You, a bee, fly around in the air, sting everything you come across, and can't hop. Exactly the same with a wasp. So where's the difference? Happity hop. And he was gone. But now I am going to fly away, thought Maya. There he was again. Madam Waselle, he called. There's going to be a hopping match tomorrow. It will be held in the Reverend Sinpeck's garden. Would you care to have a complimentary ticket and watch the games? My old woman has two left over. She'll trade you one for a compliment. I expect to break the record. I'm not interested in hopping acrobatics, said Maya in some disgust. A person who flies has higher interests. The grasshopper grin to grin you could almost hear. Don't think too highly of yourself, my dear young lady. Most creatures in this world can fly, but only a very, very few can hop. You don't understand other people's interests. You have no vision. Even human beings would like a great elegant hop. The other day I saw the Reverend Sinpeck hop a yard up into the air to impress a little snake that slid across his road. His contempt for anything that couldn't hop was so great that he threw away his pipe. And reverends, you know, cannot live without their pipes. I have known grasshoppers, members of my own family, who could hop to a height three hundred times their length. Now you're impressed. You haven't a word to say. And you're inwardly regretting the remarks you made and the remarks you intended to make. Three hundred times their own length. Just imagine. Even the elephant, the largest animal in the world, can't hop as high as that. Well, you're not saying anything. Didn't I tell you you wouldn't have anything to say? But how can I say anything if you don't give me a chance? All right then. Talk. I said the grasshopper pleasantly. Happity-hop! He was gone. Maya had to laugh in spite of her irritation. The fellow had certainly furnished her with a strange experience. Bafoon though he was, still she had to admire his wide information and worldly wisdom. And though she could not agree with his views of hopping, she was amazed by all the new things he had taught her in their brief conversation. If he had been more reliable she would have been only too glad to ask him questions about a number of different things. It occurred to her that often people who are least equipped to profit by experiences are the very ones who have them. He knew the names of human beings. Did he then understand their language? If he came back she'd ask him. And she'd also ask him what he thought of trying to go near a human being or of entering a human being's house. Man was ill. A blade of grass beside Maya was set swaying. Goodness gracious, where do you keep coming from? The surroundings. But do tell. Do you hop out into the world just so without knowing where you mean to land? Of course, why not? Can you read the future? No one can. See the tree toad. But he never tells. The things you know, wonderful, simply wonderful. Do you understand the language of human beings? That's a difficult question to answer, Madam Waselle, because it hasn't been proved as yet whether human beings have a language. Sometimes they utter sounds by which they seem to reach an understanding with each other. But such awful sounds, so unmolodious, like nothing else in nature that I know of. However, there's one thing you must allow them. They do seem to try to make their voices pleasanter. Once I saw two boys take a blade of grass between their thumbs and blow on it. The result was a whistle which may be compared with the chirping of a cricket, though far inferior in quality of tone, far inferior. However, human beings make an honest effort. Is there anything else you'd like to ask? I know a thing or two. He grinned his almost audible grin. But the next time he hopped off, Maya waited for him in vain. She looked about in the grass and the flowers. He was nowhere to be seen. CHAPTER VI. OF THE ADVENTURES OF MAYA THE BE. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Betsy Bush, January 2009. ADVENTURES OF MAYA THE BE. By Voldemar Boncells. Translated by Adele Zold Selzer and Arthur Gooderman. CHAPTER VI. Puck. Maya drowsy with the noonday heat flew leisurely past the glare on the bushes in the garden into the cool broad-leaved shelter of a great chestnut tree. On the trodden-sward in the shade under the tree stood chairs and tables evidently for an outdoor meal. A short distance away gleamed the red-tiled roof of a peasant's cottage, with thin blue columns of smoke curling up from the chimneys. Now at last thought Maya she was bound to see a human being. Had she not reached the very heart of his realm? The tree must be his property, and the curious wooden contrivances in the shade below must belong to his hive. Something buzzed. A fly alighted on the leaf beside her. It ran up and down the green veining in little jerks. You couldn't see its legs move, and it seemed to be sliding about excitedly. Then it flew from one finger of the broad leaf to another, but so quickly and unexpectedly that you might have thought it hadn't flown but hopped. Evidently it was looking for the most comfortable place on the leaf. Every now and then, in the suddenest way, it would swing itself up in the air a short space and buzz vehemently, as though something dreadfully untoward had occurred, or as though it were animated by some tremendous purpose. Then it would drop back to the leaf as if nothing had happened, and resume its jerky racing up and down. Lastly it would sit quite still, like a rigid image. Maya watched its antics in the sunshine, then approached it and said politely, How do you do? Welcome to my leaf. You're a fly, are you not? What else do you take me for? Said the little one. My name is Puck. I'm very busy. Do you want to drive me away? Why, not at all. I'm glad to make your acquaintance. I believe you," was all Puck said, and with that he tried to pull his head off. Mercy! cried Maya. I must do this. You don't understand. It's something you know nothing about. Puck rejoined calmly, and slid his legs over his wings till they curved round the tip of his body. I'm more than a fly, he added with some pride. I'm a housefly. I flew out here for the fresh air. How interesting! exclaimed Maya gleefully, then you must know all about human beings. As well as the pockets of my trousers, Puck threw out disdainfully. I sit on them every day. Didn't you know that? I thought you bees were so clever. You pretend to be at any rate. My name is Maya," said the little bee rather shyly, where the other insects got their self-assurance to say nothing of their insolence she couldn't understand. Thanks for the information. Whatever your name, you're a simpleton. Puck sat there tilted like a cannon in position to be fired off, his head and breast thrust upward, the hind tip of his body resting on the leaf. Suddenly he ducked his head and squatted down so that he looked as if he had no legs. You've got to watch out and be careful," he said. That's the most important thing of all. But an angry wave of resentment was surging in little Maya. The insult Puck had offered her was too much. Without really knowing what made her do it, she pounced on him quick as lightning, caught him by the collar, and held him tight. I will teach you to be polite to a bee," she cried. Puck set up an awful howl. Don't sting me, he screamed. It's the only thing you can do, but it's killing. Please remove the back of your body. That's where your sting is. And let me go. Please let me go, if you possibly can. I'll do anything you say. Can't you understand a joke, a mere joke? Everybody knows that the bees are the most respected of all insects and the most powerful and the most numerous. Only don't kill me, please don't. There won't be any bringing me back to life. Good God! No one appreciates my humor. Very well," said Maya, with a touch of contempt in her heart. I'll let you live on condition that you tell me everything you know about human beings. Gladly, cried Puck, I'd have told you anyhow. But please let me go now. Maya released him. She had stopped caring. Her respect for the fly and any confidence she might have had in him were gone. Of what value could the experiences of so low, so vulgar a creature be to serious-minded people? She would have to find out about human beings for herself. The lesson, however, had not been wasted. Puck was much more endurable now. Everything and growling he set himself to rights. He smoothed down his feelers and wings and the minute hairs on his black body, which were fearfully rumpled, for the girl bee had laid on good and hard, and concluded the operation by running his proboscis in and out several times. Something new to Maya. Out of joint, completely out of joint, he muttered in a pained tone, comes of your excited way of doing things. Look! See for yourself. The sucking disk at the end of my proboscis looks like a twisted pewter plate. Have you a sucking disk? Asked Maya. Good gracious, of course. No, tell me. What do you want to know about human beings? Never mind about my proboscis being out of joint. It'll be all right. I think I had best tell you a few things from my own life. You see, I grew up among human beings. So you'll hear just what you want to know. You grew up among human beings? Of course. It was in the corner of their room that my mother laid the egg from which I came. I made my first attempts to walk on their window shades, and I tested the strength of my wings by flying from Shilor to Gotah. What are Shilor and Gotah? Statues. Explained Puck, very superior. Others of two men who seem to have distinguished themselves, they stand under the mirror, one on the right hand and one on the left hand, and nobody pays any attention to them. What's a mirror, and why do the statues stand under the mirror? A mirror is good for seeing your belly when you crawl on it. It's very amusing. When human beings go up to a mirror, they either put their hands up to their hair or pull at their beards. When they are alone, they smile into the mirror, but if somebody else is in the room, they look very serious. What the purpose of it is, I could never make out. Seems to be some useless game of theirs. I myself, when I was still a child, suffered a good deal from the mirror. I'd fly into it and, of course, be thrown back violently. My applied Puck with more questions about the mirror, which he found very difficult to answer. Here, he said at last, you've certainly flown over the smooth surface of water, haven't you? Still a mirror is something like it, only hard and upright. The little fly, seeing that Maya listened most respectfully and attentively to the tale of his experiences, became a good deal pleasanter in his manners. And as for Maya's opinion of Puck, although she didn't believe everything he told her, still she was sorry she had thought so slightingly of him earlier in their meeting. Often people are far more sensible than we take them to be at first, she told herself. Puck went on with his story. It took a long time for me to get to understand their language. Now at last I know what they want. It isn't much, because they usually say the same thing every day. I can scarcely believe it, said Maya. Why, they have so many interests, and think so many things, and do so many things. Cassandra told me that they build cities so big that you can't fly round them in one day. There's as high as the nuptial flight of our queen. Houses that float on the water, and houses that glide across the country on two narrow silver paths, and go faster than birds. Wait a moment, said Puck energetically. Who is Cassandra? Who is she, if I may make so bold as to ask? Well... Oh, she was my teacher. Teacher, repeated Puck contemptuously. Who but a bee would overestimate human beings like that? Your Miss Cassandra, or whatever her name is, doesn't know her history. Those cities and towers and other human devices you speak of are none of them any good to us. Who would take such an impractical view of the world as you do? If you don't accept the premise that the earth is dominated by the flies, that the flies are the most widespread and most important race on earth, you will scarcely get a real knowledge of the world. Puck took a few excited zigzag turns on the leaf and pulled at his head to Maya's intense concern. However, the little bee had observed by this time that there wasn't much sense to be God out of his head anyway. Do you know how you can tell I am right? Asked Puck, rubbing his hands together as if to tie them in a knot. Count the number of people and the number of flies in a room. The result will surprise you. You may be right, but that's not the point. Do you think I was born this year? Puck demanded all of a sudden. I don't know. I passed through a winter, Puck announced all pride. My experiences date back to the Ice Age. In a sense they take me through the Ice Age. That's why I'm here. I'm here to recuperate. Whatever else you may be, you certainly are spunky, remarked Maya. I should say so, exclaimed Puck, and made an airy leap out into the sunshine. The flies are the boldest race in creation. We never run away unless it is better to run away, and then we always come back. Have you ever sat on a human being? No, said Maya, looking at the fly distrustfully out of the corner of her eye. She still didn't know quite what to make of him. No, I'm not interested in sitting on human beings. Ah, dear child, that's because you don't know what it is. Have ever you had seen the fun I have with the man at home? You'd turn green with envy, I'll tell you. In my room there lives an elderly man who cherishes the color of his nose by means of a peculiar drink, which he keeps hidden in the corner cupboard. It has a sweet intoxicating smell. When he goes to get it he smiles, and his eyes grow small. He takes a little glass, and he looks up to the ceiling while he drinks to see if I am there. I nod down to him, and he passes his hand over his forehead nose and mouth to show me where I am to sit later. Then he blinks and opens his mouth as wide as he can and pulls down the shade to keep the afternoon sun from bothering us. Finally he lays himself down on a something called a sofa, and in a short while begins to make dull snuffling sounds. I suppose he thinks the sounds are beautiful. We'll talk about them some other time. They are man's slumber song. For me they are the sign that I am to come down. The first thing I do is to take my portion from the glass, which he left for me. There's something tremendously stimulating about a drop like that. I understand human beings. Then I fly over and take my place on the forehead of the sleeping man. The forehead lies between the nose and the hair and serves for thinking. You can tell it does from the long furrows that go from right to left. They must move whenever a man thinks if something worthwhile is to result from his thinking. The forehead also shows if human beings are annoyed. But then the folds run up and down, and a round cavity forms over the nose. As soon as I settle on his forehead and begin to run to and fro in the furrows, the man makes a snatch at the air with his hands. He thinks I'm somewhere in the air. That's because I'm sitting on his think furrows, and he can't work out so quickly where I really am. At last he does. He mutters and jabs at me. Now then, Miss Maya, or whatever your name is, now then. You've got to have your wits about you. I see the hand coming, and I wait until the last moment. Then I fly nimbly to one side, sit down, and watch him feel to see if I am still there. We kept the game up often for a full half-hour. You have no idea what a lot of endurance the man has. Finally, he jumps up and pours out a string of words which show how ungrateful he is. Well what of it? A noble soul seeks no reward. I'm already up on the ceiling listening to his ungrateful outburst. I can't say I particularly like it, observed Maya. Isn't it rather useless? Do you expect me to erect a honeycomb on his nose? exclaimed Puck. You have no sense of humor, dear girl. What do you do that's useful? Little Maya went red all over, but quickly collected herself to hide her embarrassment from Puck. The time is coming, she flashed, when I shall do something big and splendid and good and useful, too. But first I want to see what is going on in the world. Deep down in my heart, I feel that the time is coming. As Maya spoke, she felt a hot tide of hope and enthusiasm flood her being. Puck seemed not to realize how serious she was and how deeply stirred. He zigzagged about in his flurried way for a while then asked, You don't happen to have any honey with you, do you, my dear? I'm so sorry, replied Maya. I'd gladly let you have some, especially after you've entertained me so pleasantly, but I really haven't got any with me. May I ask you one more question? Shoot, said Puck. I'll answer, I'll always answer. I'd like to know how I could get into the human being's house. Fly in, said Puck sagaciously. But how, without running into danger? Wait until a window is opened, but be sure to find the way out again. Once you're inside, if you can't find the window, the best thing to do is to fly toward the light. You'll always find plenty of windows in every house. You need only notice where the sun shines through. Are you going already? Yes, replied Maya, holding out her hand. I have some things to attend to. Goodbye. I hope you quite recover from the effects of the Ice Age. And with her fine, confident buzz that yet sounded slightly anxious, little Maya raised her gleaming wings and flew out into the sunshine across the flowery meadows to call a little nourishment. Puck looked after her and carefully meditated what might still be said. Then he observed thoughtfully. Well, now, well, well, why not? End of chapter 6.