Day Fifty-Seven: A Gamble (Part One)

I had slept from yesterday afternoon until now, only waking once in a daze. But even then, I drifted back into sleep, and it wasn’t until daylight had filled the sky that I truly awoke.

That matter rose again in my mind. The saying about human greed is certainly not wrong. Yet, every time, my reason helped me suppress the thought.

I can’t go! The risk is too great, and the reward isn’t worth it! Can you bear the consequences?

…

“Ahhh!” The feeling left me restless and uneasy.

Let me just go and take another look! I won’t make a move yet, surely that’s reasonable?

Finally, my thoughts aligned. Yes, I’ll just take another look, do some more careful research, and only then make a decision. I can’t be reckless—if they are what I fear, the consequences are truly unimaginable.

Still, it can’t hurt to observe a bit more. Caution is the key to longevity; losing my life over a failed attempt is far from worthwhile.

As I headed out, Little Black followed immediately, but worried about any accidents, I calmed him and sent him back. He didn’t insist, simply darted away to chase butterflies.

To be honest, I was anxious—excited, yet afraid and uneasy. The mix of emotions sped my steps, and before long, I reached my destination.

“This is the place!” I fixed my gaze on the dead tree in the woods ahead. It must have once been a giant, but for reasons unknown, it had come to this state—perhaps washed here by the sea. Who knows what hardships it endured; its trunk was now covered in green vines and vibrant mushrooms sprouting from decaying bark.

Of course, I’m not so foolish as to come for the mushrooms. Those colorful things—I wouldn’t eat them even if I were starving. I’d wager ninety-nine percent are poisonous. Maybe, in total despair, I’d consider them, but not now.

Today, my target was them—yes, these little creatures.

There were many of them around the dead tree, busy taking off and landing. I could see clearly a dark hole in the trunk.

Yes, they were bees.

At first, I feared they might be killer bees or wasps. Not that I’d ever seen killer bees, but I only glimpsed them that day, and didn’t dare approach, so I was terrified. Yet the allure of honey, honeycomb, and bee larvae far outweighed my fear.

After careful observation, I made a preliminary judgment: these bees were smaller than those I’d seen before—probably not the infamous killer bees. So I boldly drew closer and studied them.

Based on what I knew, these appeared to be honeybees, not wasps. The distinguishing feature was the fuzz on their bodies; only honeybees have that, as far as I recall. Wasps I’ve seen are usually smooth and somewhat hard-shelled, quite different from bees. Wasps are typically slender, while bees are shorter and stouter.

They must be honeybees. The thought of chewing on honeycomb, sipping honey water, and sitting leisurely on the swing in the yard, enjoying the cool sea breeze—my reason nearly failed me.

Fortunately, I pulled myself back at the last moment. These tiny creatures are not to be trifled with. Unlike wasps, whose stingers can be used repeatedly, bees die once they sting. But faced with so many bees, if I acted rashly, I’d meet a miserable end.

As I drew nearer, I must have caught the attention of a few bees. I noticed them buzzing toward me.

I didn’t run. Bees aren’t as terrifying as wasps. Had they been wasps, I’d have fled in panic. But as long as I didn’t show hostility, bees shouldn’t attack—at least, that’s what I hoped.

The bees hovered around me. One circled me continuously, while another, braver one, landed on my clothes. I kept still, afraid that any movement would provoke them. Still, I was only a little scared.

The circling bee flew away after five revolutions, while the one on my clothes seemed quite pleased, crawling about leisurely.

Standing still like that was exhausting. My mind even itched to flick it away, but I restrained myself.

“Whew…” Finally, it left. The wretched bee climbed off my clothes, and I retreated ten meters, exhaling deeply and flexing my joints. That bee had crawled on me for a full ten minutes—my legs were nearly cramping.

I admit, I’m a bit timid—or perhaps just cautious. Others might have left long before. I simply didn’t know when bees might attack, or under what circumstances they’d swarm.

Here, there is no one to teach me, no one to consult. I can only rely on my own trial and error to build experience.

I once saw a documentary online about people collecting wild honeycombs in the mountains, but my memory is hazy. I vaguely recall them using smoke to drive the bees away, and they didn’t seem to wear any protective gear. Still, I felt as though I’d forgotten something important.

I sat on the ground for a long time, trying to recall the details, even scratching my head in frustration, but with little result.

It was an aggravating feeling, like trying to grasp something just out of reach. Nearly an hour passed; I skipped lunch and just nibbled on some fruit.

It was getting late, and if I couldn’t remember, I’d be even more frustrated. “Wait… nightfall?” Smack! I slapped my head hard, and at once, it came to me.

Of course! They collected wild honey at night, lighting a certain kind of grass to smoke the bees out and quickly securing a huge honeycomb.

That’s right—it must be done at night, using smoke to drive them out.

Though, I may have slapped my head a bit too hard—now it hurts!

…

Now that I had a plan, I needed to prepare. But first, I had to feed my loudly protesting stomach.

Divider…

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