The Rooftop Beekeepers – Part 1: Swarm

The will had said the bees to my neighbours, and the lawyer had forgotten to say which ones.

Nadia stood on the rooftop in Brooklyn with a letter in one hand and a veil in the other, glaring at a man who held the same letter. They were both neighbours. They had both been left the bees. Three white hives sat in the sun, humming like tiny engines, above a skyline of water towers.

"I'm Owen," said the man. He was thirty-three, tall, in a faded band T-shirt, with curly dark hair and a nervous half-smile. "I live downstairs. I think we've been left a joint custody."

"Nadia. Fourth floor. I've never touched a bee."

"Neither have I."

They looked at the hives. Something shifted. A dark cloud rose from the nearest box, buzzing, vast and dreadful, swirling upward over the roof.

"That's a swarm," said Owen, faintly.

"Is that bad?"

"It's very, very big."

The cloud drifted toward the water tower and clung there, a pulsing black ball the size of a beanbag chair. Nadia grabbed a cardboard box. Owen grabbed a broom. They ran at the tower like two lunatics.

It took an hour, an old bedsheet and a ladder. At the end, the swarm sat in a cardboard box on the roof, humming contentedly, and the two of them lay flat on the hot tar, panting, covered in sweat and bee fuzz.

"I think the queen likes me," wheezed Nadia.

"I think the queen hates us."

"Maybe a little."

She laughed until she hiccuped. After a moment, Owen laughed too, a rich, startled rumble.

"Can I ask you something?" said Owen.

"Yes."

"Would you take the other hive? We can share the work."

"I'd love that."

"Green?" he said, a word from the beekeeping forum.

"Green," said Nadia, grinning. "Very green."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Honey Harvest.