CHAPTER 7 OF THE ADVENTURES OF MAYA THE BEE. After her meeting with Puck the Fly, Maya was not in a particularly happy frame of mind. She could not bring herself to believe that he was right in everything he had said about human beings, or right in his relations to them. She had formed an entirely different conception, a much finer, lovelier picture, and she fought against letting her mind harbor low or ridiculous ideas of mankind. Yet she was still afraid to enter a human dwelling. How was she to know whether or not the owner would like it? And she wouldn't, for all the world, make herself a burden to any one. Her thoughts went back once more to the things Cassandra had told her. They are good and wise, Cassandra had said. They are strong and powerful, but they never abuse their power. On the contrary, wherever they go they bring order and prosperity. We bees, knowing they are friendly to us, put ourselves under their protection and share our honey with them. They leave us enough for the winter, they provide us with shelter against the cold, and guard us against the hosts of our enemies among the animals. There are few creatures in the world who have entered into such a relation of friendship and voluntary service with human beings. Among the insects you will often hear voices raised to speak evil of man. If you don't listen to them, if a foolish tribe of bees ever returns to the wild and tries to do without human beings, it soon perishes. There are too many beasts that hanker for our honey, and often a whole bee-city, all its buildings, all its inhabitants, has been ruthlessly destroyed merely because a senseless animal wanted to satisfy its greed for honey. That is what Cassandra had told Maya about human beings, and until Maya had convinced herself of the contrary she wanted to keep this belief in them. It was now afternoon. The sun was dropping behind the fruit trees in a large vegetable garden through which Maya was flying. The trees were long past flowering, but the little bee still remembered them in the shining glory of countless blossoms, whiter than light, lovely pure and exquisite against the blue of the heavens, the delicious perfume, the gleam and the shimmer. Oh, she'd never forget the rapture of it as long as she lived. As she flew she thought of how all that beauty would come again, and her heart expanded with delight in the glory of the great world in which she was permitted to live. At the end of the garden shone the starry tufts of the jasmine, delicate yellow faces set in a wreath of pure white. Great perfume waffed to Maya on the soft wings of the breeze. Weren't there still some trees in bloom? Wasn't it the season for lindens? Maya thought delightedly of the big, serious lindens, whose tops held the red glow of the setting sun to the very last. She flew in among the stems of the blackberry vines, which were putting forth green berries and yielding blossoms at the same time. As she mounted again to reach the jasmine, something strange to the touch suddenly laid itself across her forehead and shoulders, and just as quickly covered her wings. It was the queerest sensation as if her wings were crippled, and she were suddenly restrained in her flight and were falling, helplessly falling. A secret, wicked force seemed to be holding her feelers, her legs, her wings in invisible captivity. But she did not fall. Though she could no longer move her wings, she still hung in the air rocking, caught by a marvelously yielding softness and delicacy, raised a little, lowered a little, tossed here, tossed there, like a loose leaf in a faint breeze. Maya was troubled. But not as yet actually terrified. Why should she be? There was no pain, nor real discomfort of any sort. Obviously that it was so peculiar, so very peculiar, and something bad seemed to be lurking in the background. She must get on. If she tried very hard, she could, assuredly. But now she saw a thread across her breast, an elastic, silvery thread, finer than the finest silk. She clutched at it quickly, in a cold wave of terror. It clung to her hand. It wouldn't shake off. And there ran another silver thread over her shoulders. It drew itself across her wings, and tied them together. Her wings were powerless. And there, and there, everywhere in the air and above her body, those bright, glittering, glowy threads. Maya screamed with horror. Now she knew. Oh, oh, now she knew. She was in a spider's web. Her terrified shrieks rang out in the silent dome of the summer day, where the sunshine touched the green of the leaves into gold, and insects flitted to and fro, and birds swooped gaily from tree to tree. Nearby the jasmine sent its perfume into the air, the jasmine she had wanted to reach. Now all was over. A small bluish butterfly, with brown dots gleaming like copper on its wings, came flying very close.  It cried, hearing Maya's screams and seeing her desperate plight. May your death be an easy one, lovely child. I cannot help you. Some day, perhaps this very night, I shall meet with the same fate. But meanwhile life is still lovely for me. Goodbye! Don't forget the sunshine in the deep sleep of death. And the blue butterfly rocked away, drugged by the sunshine and the flowers in its joy of living. The tears streamed from Maya's eyes. She lost her last shred of self-control. She tossed her captive body to and fro, and buzzed as loud as she could, and screamed for help, from whom she did not know. But the more she tossed, the tighter she enmeshed herself in the web. Now in her great agony Cassandra's warnings went through her head. Beware of the spider and its web. If we bees fall into the spider's power, we suffer the most gruesome death. The spider is heartless and tricky, and once it has a person in its toils, it never lets go. In a great flair of mortal terror, Maya made one huge, desperate effort. Somewhere one of the long, heavier suspension threads snapped. Maya felt it break, yet at the same time she sensed the awful doom of the cobweb. This was that the more one struggled in it, the more effectively and dangerously it worked. She gave up in complete exhaustion. At that moment she saw the spider herself, very near under a blackberry leaf. At sight of the great monster, silent and serious, crouching there as if ready to pounce, Maya's horror was indescribable. The wicked, shining eyes were fastened on the little bee in sinister, cold-blooded patience. Maya gave one loud shriek. This was the worst agony of all.  She would come rushing upon her, and then all would be over. Now a dreadful fury of anger came upon Maya, such as she had never felt before. Getting her great agony intent only upon one thing, selling her life as dearly as possible, she uttered her clear alarming battle cry, which all beasts knew and dreaded. You will pay for your cunning with death, she shouted at the spider. Just come and try to kill me. You'll find out what a bee can do. The spider did not budge.  Strong in her anger, Maya now made another violent, desperate effort. Snap! One of the long suspension threads above her broke. The web was probably meant for flies and gnats, not for such large insects as bees. But Maya got herself only more entangled. In one gliding motion, the spider drew quite close to Maya. She swung by her nimble legs upon a single thread, with her body hanging straight downward. What right have you to break my net? She rasped at Maya. What are you doing here? Isn't the world big enough for you? Why do you disturb a peaceful recluse? That was not what Maya had expected to hear. Most certainly not. I didn't mean to, she cried, quivering with glad hope. Ugly as the spider was, still she did not seem to intend any harm. I didn't see your web, and I got tangled in it. I'm so sorry. Please pardon me. The spider drew nearer.  She said, letting go of the thread first with one leg, then with the other. The delicate thread shook. How wonderful that it could support the great creature! Oh, do help me out of this, begged Maya. I should be so grateful. That's what I came here for, said the spider, and smiled strangely. For all her smiling she looked mean and deceitful. Her tossing and tugging spoils the whole web. Keep quiet one second, and I will set you free. Oh, thanks! Ever so many thanks! cried Maya. The spider was now right beside her. She examined the web carefully to see how securely Maya was entangled. How about your sting, she asked. Ug, how mean and horrid she looked! Maya fairly shivered with disgust at the thought that she was going to touch her, but replied as pleasantly as she could. Don't trouble about my sting. I will draw it in, and nobody can hurt himself on its then. I should hope not, said the spider. Now then, look out. Keep quiet. Too bad for my web. Maya remained still. Suddenly she felt herself being whirled round and round on the same spot, till she got dizzy and sick and had to close her eyes. But what was that? She opened her eyes quickly. Horrors! She was completely enmeshed in a fresh, sticky thread which the spider must have had with her. My God! cried little Maya softly in a quivering voice. That was all she said. Now she saw how tricky the spider had been. Now she was really caught beyond release. Now there was absolutely no chance of escape. She could no longer move any part of her body. The end was near. Her fury of anger was gone. There was only a great sadness in her heart. I didn't know there was such meanness and wickedness in the world! She thought, the deep night of death is upon me. Good-bye, dear bright sun! Good-bye, my dear friend bees! Why did I leave you? A happy life to you! I must die! The spider sat wary a little to one side. She was still afraid of Maya's sting. Well, she jeered, how are you feeling, little girl? Maya was too proud to answer the false creature. She merely said, after a while, when she felt she couldn't bear any more.  Really! said the spider, tying a few torn threads together. Really, do you take me to be as big a dunce as yourself?    She dropped down to the ground, laid the end of the newly spun thread about a stone, and pulled it in tight. Then she ran up again, caught hold of the thread by which little enmeshed Maya hung, and dragged her captive along. You're going into the shade, my dear, she said, so that you shall not dry up out here in the sunshine. Besides, hanging here you're like a scarecrow. You'll frighten away other nice little mortals who don't watch where they're going. And sometimes the sparrows come and rob my web. To let you know with whom you're dealing, my name is Thecla, of the family of cross-a-spiders. You needn't tell me your name, it makes no difference.  So little Maya hung in the shade of the blackberry vine, close to the ground, completely at the mercy of the cruel spider who intended her to die by slow starvation. Hanging with her little head downward, a fearful position to be in, she soon felt she would not last many more minutes. She whimpered softly, and her cries for help grew feebler and feebler. Who was there to hear? Her folk at home knew nothing of this catastrophe, so they couldn't come hurrying to her rescue. Suddenly down in the grass she heard someone growling. Make way! I'm coming! Maya's agonized heart began to beat stormily. She recognized the voice of Bobby, the dung beetle. Bobby! she called as loud as she could. Bobby, dear Bobby! Make way! I'm coming! But I'm not in your way, Bobby! cried Maya. Oh, dear! I'm hanging over your head! The spider has caught me! Who are you? asked Bobby. So many people know me. You know they do, don't you? I'm a Maya, Maya the Bee. Oh, please, please, help me! Maya! Maya! Ah, no, I remember! You made my acquaintance several weeks ago. The deuce! You are in a bad way, if I must say so myself. You certainly do need my help. As I happen to have a few moments' time, I won't refuse. Oh, Bobby, can you tear these threads? Tear those threads? Do you mean to insult me? Bobby slapped the muscles of his arm. Look, little girl, hard as steel. No match for that in strength. I can do more than smash a few cobwebs.  Bobby crawled up on the leaf, caught hold of the thread by which Maya was hanging, clung to it, then let go of the leaf. The thread broke, and they both fell to the ground. That's only the beginning, said Bobby. But Maya, you're trembling.  Now who would be so afraid of death?  So I'll unwrap you now. Maya could not utter a syllable. Great tears of joy ran down her cheeks. She was to be free again, fly again in the sunshine wherever she wished. She was to live. But then she saw the spider coming down the blackberry vine. Bobby, she screamed, the spider's coming! Bobby went on, unperturbed, merely laughing to himself. He really was an extraordinarily strong insect. She'll think twice before she comes nearer, he said. But there the vile voice rasped above them. Robbers, help! I'm being robbed!  What are you doing with my prey? Don't excite yourself, madam, said Bobby. I have a right, haven't I, to talk to my friend. If you say another word to displease me, I'll tear your whole web to shreds. Well, why so silent all of a sudden? I am defeated, said the spider. That has nothing to do with the case, observed Bobby. Now you'd better be getting away from here.  But glancing up at her web, she reconsidered, and turned away slowly, furious, scolding and growling under her breath, fangs and stings were of no avail. They wouldn't even leave a mark on armor such as Bobby wore. With violent denunciations against the injustice in the world, the spider hid herself away inside a withered leaf, from which she could spy out and watch over her web. Meanwhile Bobby finished the unwrapping of Maya. He tore the network and released her legs and wings. The rest she could do herself. She preened herself happily. But she had to go slow, because she was still weak from fright. You must forget what you have been through, said Bobby. Then you'll stop trembling. Now see if you can fly. Maya lifted herself with a little buzz. Her wings worked splendidly, and to her intense joy she felt that no part of her body had been injured. She flew slowly up to the jasmine flowers, drank avidly of their abundant scented honey-juice, and returned to Bobby, who had left the blackberry vines and was sitting in the grass. I thank you with my whole heart and soul, said Maya, deeply moved and happy in her regained freedom. Thanks are in place, observed Bobby, but that's the way I always am, always doing something for other people.  Have you far to go? No, said Maya, only a short way. I live at the edge of the beech-woods. Good-bye, Bobby. I'll never forget you, never, never, as long as I live. Good-bye." End of chapter 7. CHAPTER 8. 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 Seltzer and Arthur Gooderman. CHAPTER 8. THE BUG AND THE BUTTERFLY. Her adventure with the spider gave Maya something to think about. She made up her mind to be more cautious in the future, not to rush into things so recklessly. Cassandra's prudent warnings about the greatest dangers that threaten the bees were enough to give one pause.  Oh, there was a great deal to make a little bee stop and think. It was in the evening particularly, when twilight fell and the little bee was all by herself. That one consideration after another stirred her mind. But the next morning, if the sun shone, she usually forgot half the things that had bothered her the night before, and allowed her eagerness for experiences to drive her out again into the gay world of life. One day she met a very curious creature. It was angular and flat as a pancake, but had a rather neat design on its sheath. And whether its sheath were wings or what, she couldn't really tell. The odd little monster sat absolutely still on the shaded leaf of a raspberry bush. Its eyes half closed, apparently sunk in meditation. The scent of the raspberries spread around it deliciously. Maya wanted to find out what sort of an animal it was. She flew to the next door leaf and said, How do you do? This stranger made no reply. How do you do again? And Maya gave its leaf a little tap. The flat object, peeled one eye open, turned it on Maya and said, A bee. A world is full of bees, and closed its eye again. Unique, thought Maya, and determined to get at the stranger's secret. For now it excited her curiosity more than ever, as people often do who pay no attention to us. She tried honey. I have plenty of honey, she said. May I offer you some? The stranger opened its one eye and regarded Maya contemplatively a moment or two. What is it going to say this time, Maya wondered? This time there was no answer at all. The one eye merely closed again, and the stranger sat quite still, tight on the leaf, so that you couldn't see its legs, and you'd have thought it had been pressed down flat with a thumb. Maya realized, of course, that the stranger wanted to ignore her. But you know how it is. You don't like being snubbed, especially if you haven't found out what you wanted to find out. It makes you feel so cheap. However you are, cried Maya, permit me to inform you that insects are in the habit of greeting each other, especially when one of them happens to be a bee. The bug sat on without budging. It did not so much as open its one eye again. It's ill, thought Maya. How horrid to be ill on a lovely day like this. That's why it's staying in the shade, too. She flew over to the bug's leaf and sat down beside it. Aren't you feeling well? She asked, so very friendly. At this the funny creature began to move away. Move is the only word to use, because it didn't walk or run or fly or hop. It went as if moved by an invisible hand. It hasn't any legs, that's why it's so cross, thought Maya. When it reached the stem of the leaf it stopped a second, moved on again, and to her astonishment Maya saw that it had left behind a little brown drop. How very singular, she thought, and clapped her hand to her nose and held it tight shut. The various stench came from the little brown drop. Maya almost fainted. She flew away as fast as she could and seeded herself on a raspberry, where she held on to her nose and shivered with disgust and excitement. Serves you right! Someone above her called and laughed. Why take up with a stink bug? Don't laugh! cried Maya. She looked up. A white butterfly had alighted overhead on the slender swaying branch of the raspberry bush and was slowly opening and closing its broad wings, slowly, softly, silently, happy in the sunshine. Black corners to its wings, round black marks in the center of each wing, four round black marks in all. Ah, how beautiful, how beautiful! Maya forgot her vexation, and she was glad too to talk to the butterfly. She had never made the acquaintance of one before, even though she had met a great many. Oh, she said, you probably are right to laugh. Was that a stink bug? It was, he replied, still smiling, the sort of person to keep away from. You're probably very young still. Well, observed Maya, I shouldn't say I was exactly. I've been through a great deal.  Can you imagine doing such a thing? The butterfly had to laugh. You see, he explained, stink bugs like to keep to themselves. They are not very popular, so they use the odiferous drop to make people take notice of them. We'd probably soon forget the fact of their existence if it were not for the drop. It serves as a reminder, and they want to be remembered, no matter how. How lovely, how exquisitely lovely your wings are, said Maya, so delicate and white. May I introduce myself, Maya, of the Nation of Bees. The butterfly laid his wings together to look like only one wing, standing straight up in the air. He gave a slight bow. Fred, he said, leconically, Maya couldn't gaze her fill. Fly a little, she asked. Shall I fly away? Oh, no, I just want to see your great white wings move in the blue air. But never mind, I can wait till later. Where do you live? Here especially. A settled home is too much of a nuisance. Life didn't get to be really delightful until I turned into a butterfly.  Just what do you mean? Asked Maya, mystified. I used to be a caterpillar, explained Fred. Her, cried Maya. Now, now, now, said Fred, pointing both feelers straight at Maya. Everyone knows a butterfly is first a caterpillar. Even human beings know it. Maya was utterly perplexed. Could such a thing be? You must really explain more clearly. She said, I couldn't accept what you say just so, could I? You wouldn't expect me to. The butterfly perched beside the little bee on the slender swaying branch of the raspberry bush, and they rocked together in the morning wind. He told her how he had begun life as a caterpillar, and then, one day, when he had shed his last caterpillar skin, he came out a pupa or chrysalis. At the end of a few weeks, he continued, I woke up out of my dark sleep and broke through the wrappings or pupa case. I can't tell you, Maya, what a feeling comes over you when, after a time like that, you suddenly see the sun again. I felt as though I were melting in a warm golden ocean, and I loved my life so that my heart began to pound. I understand, said Maya. I understand. I felt the same way the first time I left our humdrum city and flew out into the bright scented world of blossoms. The little bee was silent a while, thinking of her first flight. But then she wanted to know how the butterfly's large wings could grow in the small space of the pupa case. Fred explained. The wings are delicately folded together like the petals of a flower in the bud. When the weather is bright and warm, the flower must open. It cannot help itself, and its petals unfold. So with my wings they were folded up, then unfolded. No one can resist the sun when it shines. No, no, one cannot. One cannot resist the sunshine. Maya mused, watching the butterfly, as he perched in the golden light of the morning, pure white against the blue sky. People often charge us with being frivolous, said Fred. We're really happy, just that, just happy.  Tell me what all you think. Oh, said Fred, I think about the future. It's very interesting to think about the future. But I should like to fly now. The meadows on the hillside are full of yarrow and canterberry bells. Everything's in bloom. I'd like to be there, you know. This Maya understood. She understood it well, and they said good-bye and flew away in different directions. The white butterfly rocking silently as if waffed by the gentle wind. Little Maya, with that uneasy zoom-zoom of the bees, which we hear upon the flowers on fair days, and which we always recall when we think of the summer. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of The Adventures of Maya the Bee. Read by Betsy Bush, January 2009. The Adventures of Maya the Bee by Voldemar Boncells. Chapter 9 The Lost Leg. Near the hole where Maya had set herself up for the summer lived a family of bark-boring beetles. Fridolin, the father, was an earnest industrious man who wanted many children and took immense pains to bring up a large family. He had done very well. He had fifty energetic sons to fill him with pride and high hopes. Each had dug his own meandering little tunnel in the bark of the pine-tree, and all were getting on and were comfortably settled. My wife, Fridolin said to Maya, after they had known each other some time, has arranged things so that none of my sons interferes with the others. They are not even acquainted. Each goes his own way. Maya knew that human beings were none too fond of Fridolin and his people, though she herself liked him and liked his opinions and had found no reason to avoid him. In the morning, before the sun arose and the woods were still asleep, she could hear his fine tapping and boring. It sounded like a delicate trickling, or as if the tree were breathing in its sleep. Later she would see the thin brown dust that he had emptied out of his corridor. Once he came at an early hour, as he often did, to wish her good morning and ask if she had slept well. "'Not flying today?' he inquired. "'No, it's too windy.' It was windy. The wind rushed and roared and flung the branches into a mad tumult. The leaves looked ready to fly away. After each great gust the sky would brighten, and in the pale light the trees seemed balder. The pine in which Maya and Fridolin lived shrieked with the voices of the wind as in a fury of anger and excitement. Fridolin sighed. "'I worked all night,' he told Maya, all night. "'But what can you do? You've got to do something to get somewhere. And I'm not altogether satisfied with this pine. I should have tackled a fir tree.' He wiped his brow and smiled in self-pity. "'How are your children?' asked Maya pleasantly. "'Thank you,' said Fridolin. Thank you for your interest. But,' he hesitated, "'but I don't supervise the way I used to. Still I have reason to believe they are all doing well.'  But she knew he was a dangerous beetle, who could do immense harm to the mighty trees of the forest, and if his tribe attacked a tree in numbers then the green needles were doomed. The tree would turn sear and die. It was utterly without defences against the little marauders who destroyed the bark and the sapwood. And the sapwood is necessary to the life of a tree because it carries the sap up to the very tips of the branches. There were stories of how whole forests had fallen victims to the race of boring beetles. Maya looked at Fridolin reflectively. She was awed into solemnity at the thought of the great power these little creatures possessed and of how important they could become. Fridolin sighed and said in a worried tone, "'Ah, life would be beautiful if there were no woodpeckers.' Maya nodded. "'Yes, indeed, you're right. The woodpecker gobbles up every insect he sees.' "'If it were only that,' observed Fridolin, "'if it were only that he got the careless people who fool around on the outside, on the bark, I'd say very well a woodpecker must live, too. But it seems all wrong that the bird should follow us right into our corridors, into the remotest corners of our homes.' "'But he can't. He's too big, isn't he?' Fridolin looked at Maya with an air of grave importance, lifting his brow and shaking his head two or three times. It seemed to please him that he knew something she didn't know. "'Too big? What difference does his size make? No, my dear. It's not his size we are afraid of. It's his tongue.' Maya made big eyes. Fridolin told her about the woodpecker's tongue, that it was long and thin and round as a worm and barbed and sticky. "'He can stretch his tongue out ten times my length,' cried the bark beetle, flourishing his arm. "'You think. Now, now, he has reached the limit. He can't make it the tiniest bit longer. But no. He goes on stretching and stretching it. He pokes it deep into the cracks and crevices of the bark, on the chance that he'll find somebody sitting there. He even pushes it into our passageways, actually into our corridors and things stick to it, and that's the way he pulls us out of our homes.' "'I'm not a coward,' said Maya. "'I don't think I am.  You with your sting are safe. A person'll think twice before he'll let you sting his tongue. Anybody'll tell you that. But how about us bark beetles? How do you think we feel? A cousin of mine got caught. We had just had a little quarrel on account of my wife. I remember every detail perfectly. My cousin was paying us a visit and hadn't yet got used to our ways or our arrangements. All of a sudden we heard woodpecker scratching and boring. One of the smaller species. It must have begun right at our building, because as a rule we hear him beforehand and have time to run to shelter before he reaches us. Suddenly I heard my poor cousin scream in the dark. Fridolin, I'm sticking!" Then all I heard was a short desperate scuffle, followed by complete silence, and in a few moments the woodpecker was hammering at the house next door. My poor cousin. Her name was Agatha. "'Feel how my heart is beating,' said Maya in a whisper. "'You oughtn't to have told it so quickly. My goodness, the things that do happen!' And the little bee thought of her own adventures in the past and the accidents that might still happen to her. A laugh from Fridolin interrupted her reflections. She looked up in surprise. "'See who's coming,' he cried. Coming up the tree. "'Here's the fellow for you. I tell you. He's a—but you'll see.' Maya followed to the direction of his gaze and saw a remarkable animal slowly climbing up the trunk. She wouldn't have believed such a creature was possible if she had not seen it with her own eyes. "'Hadn't we better hide?' She asked, alarm getting the better of astonishment. "'Obsurd,' replied the bark-beetle. "'Just sit still and be polite to the gentleman. He is very learned, really, very scholarly, and what is more, kind and modest, like most persons of his type, rather funny. See what he's doing now.' "'Probably thinking,' observed Maya, who couldn't get over her astonishment. "'He's struggling against the wind,' said Fridolin, and laughed. I hope his legs don't get entangled.' "'Are those long threads really his legs?' asked Maya, opening her eyes wide. "'I've never seen the like.' Meanwhile the newcomer had drawn near, and Maya got a better view of him. He looked as though he were swinging in the air. His rotund little body hung so high on his monstrously long legs, which groped for a footing on all sides like a movable scaffolding of threads. He stepped along cautiously, feeling his way, the little brown sphere of his body rose and sank, rose and sank. His legs were so very long and thin that one alone would certainly not have been enough to support his body. He needed all at once unquestionably. As they were jointed in the middle, they rose high in the air above him. Maya clapped her hands together. "'Well,' she cried, "'did you ever! Would you have dreamed that such delicate legs, legs as fine as a hair, could be so nimble and useful, that one could really use them! And they'd know what to do! Freedolin! I think it's wonderful, simply wonderful!' "'Aba!' said the bark beetle. Don't take things so seriously. Just laugh when you see something funny, that's all. But I don't feel like laughing. Often we laugh at something and later find out it was just because we haven't understood.' By this time the stranger head joined them and was looking down at Maya from the height of his pointed triangles of legs. "'Good morning!' he said. "'A real windstorm! A pretty strong draft, don't you think? Or no? You're of a different opinion?' He clung to the tree as hard as he could. Freedolin turned to hide his laughing. But little Maya replied politely that she quite agreed with him, and that was why she had not gone out flying. Then she introduced herself. The stranger squinted down at her through his legs. "'Maya of the Nation of Bees!' he repeated. "'Delighted. Really? I have heard a great deal about bees. I, myself, belong to the general family of spiders—species daddy-long legs—and my name is Hannibal!' The word spider has an evil sound in the ears of all smaller insects, and Maya could not quite conceal her fright, especially as she was reminded of her agony in Thekola's web. Hannibal seemed to take no notice, so Maya decided, "'Well, if need be, I'll fly away, and he can whistle for me. He has no wings, and his web is somewhere else.' "'I am thinking,' said Hannibal, thinking very hard. "'If you will permit me, I will come a little closer. That big branch there makes a good shield against the wind.' "'Why, certainly,' said Maya, making room for him. Freedolin said goodbye and left. Maya stayed. She was eager to get at Hannibal's personality. "'The many, many different kinds of animals there are in the world,' she thought, every day a fresh discovery.' The wind had subsided some, and the sun shone through the branches, from below rose the song of a robin-red breast filling the woods with joy. Maya could see it perched on a branch, could see its throat swell, and pulse with the song, as it held its little head raised up to the light. "'If only I could sing like that robin-red breast,' she said, I had perched on a flower and keep it up the live-long day.' "'You'd produce something lovely, you would, with your humming and buzzing.' "'The bird looks so happy.' "'You have great fancies,' said the daddy-long legs. Supposing every animal were to wish he could do something that nature had not fitted him to do, the world would be all topsy-turvy. Supposing a robin-red breast thought he had to have a sting, a sting above everything else, or a goat wanted to fly about gathering honey. Having a frog were to come along and languish for my kind of legs.' Maya laughed. "'That isn't just what I mean. I mean it seems lovely to be able to make all beings as happy as the bird does with his song.' "'But goodness gracious,' she exclaimed suddenly. "'Mr. Hannibal, you have one leg too many.' Hannibal frowned and looked into space, vexed. "'Well, you've noticed it,' he said glumly. "'But as a matter of fact, one leg too few, not too many.' "'Why do you usually have eight legs?' "'Permit me to explain. We spiders have eight legs. We need them all. Besides, eight is a more aristocratic number. One of my legs got lost. Too bad about it. Whatever you manage, you make the best of it.' "'It must be dreadfully disagreeable to lose a leg,' Maya sympathized. Hannibal propped his chin on his hand and arranged his legs to keep them from being easily counted. "'I'll tell you how it happened. Of course, as usual, when there's mischief, a human being is mixed up in it. We spiders are careful and look what we're doing, but human beings are careless. They grab you sometimes as though you were a piece of wood. Shall I tell you?' "'Oh, yes, please,' said Maya, settling herself comfortably. It would be awfully interesting. You must certainly have gone through a great deal.' "'I should say so,' said Hannibal. "'Now, listen. We daddy long legs, you know, hunt by night. I was then living in a green garden-house. It was overgrown with ivy, and there were a number of broken window-pains, which made it very convenient for me to crawl in and out. The man came at dark. In one hand he carried his artificial sun, which he calls lamp. In the other hand a small bottle, under his arm some paper, and in his pocket another bottle. He put everything down on the table and began to think, because he wanted to write his thoughts on the paper. You must certainly have come across paper in the woods or in the garden. The black on the paper is what man has excogitated, excogitated. "'Marvellous!' cried Maya, all aglow, that she was to learn so much. For this purpose,' Hannibal continued, "'Man needs both bottles. He inserts a stick into the one, and drinks out of the other. The more he drinks, the better it goes. Of course it is about us insects that he writes.  But the result is not much to boast of, because up to now man has found out very little in regard to insects. He is absolutely ignorant of our soul-life, and hasn't the least consideration of our feelings. You will see.' "'Don't you think well of human beings?' asked Maya. "'Oh, yes, yes. But the loss of a leg,' the daddy-long legs looked down slant-wise, is apt to embitter one, rather. "'I see,' said Maya. One evening I was sitting on a window-frame, as usual, prepared for the chase, and the man was sitting at the table, his two bottles before him, trying to produce something.  "'Well,' observed Maya, "'I think I'd look at a thing like that myself.' "'Look, for all I care.  Just watch once and see the silly jig they dance around a lamp. It's nothing for them to butt their heads about twenty times. Some of them keep it up until they burn their wings, and all the time they stare and stare at the light. Poor creatures! Evidently they lose their wits.' And they had better stay outside on the window-frame or under the leaves. They're safe from the lamp there, and that's where I can catch them. "'Well, on that fateful night I saw from my position on the window-frame that some gnats were lying scattered on the table beside the lamp, drawing their last breath. The man did not seem to notice or care about them, so I decided to go and take them myself. That's perfectly natural, isn't it?' And yet it was my undoing. I crept up the leg of the table very softly on my guard, until I could peep over the edge. The man seemed dreadfully big. I watched him working, then slowly, very slowly, carefully lifting one leg at a time. I crossed over to the lamp. As long as I was covered by the bottle all went well, but I had scarcely turned the corner when the man looked up and grabbed me.  Just see what's here!' And he grinned the brute. He grinned with his whole face, as though it were a laughing matter. Hannibal sighed, and little Maya kept quite still. Her head was in a whirl. "'Have human beings such immense eyes?' She asked at last. "'Please think of me in the position I was in,' cried Hannibal vexed. Try to imagine how I felt.  Well, what do you think?' "'Awful, perfectly awful!' If the Lord my leg broke off. There's no telling what might have happened if my leg had not broken off. I fell to the table, and then I ran, I ran as fast as my remaining legs would take me and hid behind the bottle. There I stood, and hurled threats of violence at the man. They saved me, my threats did. The man was afraid to run after me. I saw him lay my leg on the white paper, and I watched how it wanted to escape, which it can't do without me. "'Was it still moving?' asked Maya, prickling at the thought. "'Yes, our legs always do move when they're pulled out. My leg ran, but I not being there it didn't know where to run to, so it merely flopped about aimlessly on the same spot, and the man watched it, clutching at his nose and smiling, the heartless wretch at my leg's sense of duty. "'Impossible!' said the little bee, quite scared. An often leg can't crawl. "'An often leg? What is an often leg?' "'A leg that has come off,' explained Maya, staring at him. "'Don't you know? At home we children used the word often for anything that had come off. You should drop your nursery slang when you're out in the world and in the presence of cultured people,' said Hannibal severely. "'But it is true that our legs totter along after they have been torn from our bodies. I can't believe it without proof.  Hannibal's tone was ugly. I see you're not a fit person to associate with. I'd like you to know nobody has ever doubted my word before.'" Maya was terribly put out. She couldn't understand what had upset the daddy-long leg so, or what dreadful thing she had done. "'It isn't altogether easy to get along with strangers,' she thought. "'They don't think the way we do and don't see that we mean no harm.' She was depressed and cast a troubled look at the spider with his long legs and soured expression. "'Really?  Hannibal had evidently mistaken Maya's good nature for weakness, for now something unusual happened to the little bee. Suddenly her depression passed and gave way, not to alarm or timidity, but to a calm courage. She straightened up, lifted her lovely transparent wings, uttered her high, clear buzz, and said with a gleam in her voice, "'I'm a bee, Mr. Hannibal!' "'I beg your pardon,' said he, and without saying goodbye, turned and ran down the tree-trunk, as fast as a person can run who has seven legs. Maya had to laugh willy-nilly. From down below Hannibal began to scold, "'You're bad. You threaten helpless people.  But your hour is coming, and when you're in a tight place, you'll think of me and be sorry.' Hannibal disappeared under the leaves of the colt's foot on the ground. His last words had not reached the little bee. The wind had almost died away, and the day promised to be fine. White clouds sailed aloft in a deep, deep blue, looking happy and serene like good thoughts of the Lord. Maya was cheered. She thought of the rich shaded meadows by the woods and of the sunny slopes beyond the lake. A blithe activity must have begun there by this time. In her mind she saw the slim grasses waving and the purple iris that grew in the rills at the edge of the woods. From the flower of an iris she could look across to the mysterious night of the pine forest and catch its cool breath of melancholy. She knew that its forbidding silence, which transformed the sunshine into a reddish half-light of sleep, was the home of the fairytale. Maya was already flying. She had started off instinctively. In answer to the call of the meadows and their gay carpeting of flowers, it was a joy to be alive. CHAPTER 10 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. February 2009. THE ADVENTURES OF MAYA THE BE by Voldemar Bond Cells. THE ADVENTURES OF MAYA THE BE CHAPTER 10 THE WONDERS OF THE NIGHT Thus the days and weeks of her young life passed for little Maya, among the insects in a lovely summer world, a happy roving in garden and meadow, occasional risks and many joys. For all that she often missed the companions of her early childhood and now and again suffered a pang of homesickness and ache of longing for her people in the kingdom she had left. There were hours, too, when she yearned for regular, useful work and association with friends of her own kind. However, at bottom she had a restless nature little Maya had, and was scarcely ready to settle down for good and live in the community of the bees. She wouldn't have felt comfortable. Even among animals as well as human beings there are some who cannot conform to the ways of the others. Before we condemn them we must be careful and give them a chance to prove themselves, for it is not always laziness or stubbornness that makes them different, far from it. At the back of their peculiar urge is a deep longing for something higher or better than what everyday life has to offer. And many a time young runaways have grown up into good, sensible, experienced men and women. Little Maya was a pure sensitive soul and her attitude to the big, beautiful world came of a genuine eagerness for knowledge and a great delight in the glories of creation. Yet it is hard to be alone even when you are happy and the more Maya went through the greater became her yearning for companionship and love. She was no longer so very young. She had grown into a strong, superb creature with sound, bright wings, a sharp, dangerous sting, and a highly developed sense of both the pleasures and the hazards of her life. Through her own experience she had gathered information and stored up wisdom which she now often wished she could apply to something of real value. There were days when she was ready to return to the hive and throw herself at the queen's feet and sue for pardon and honorable reinstatement. But a great burning desire held her back, the desire to know human beings. She had heard so many contradictory things about them that she was confused rather than enlightened. Yet she had a feeling that in the whole of creation there were no beings more powerful or more intelligent or more sublime than they. A few times in her wanderings she had seen people, but only from afar, from high up in the air, big and little people, black people, white people, red people, and such as dressed in many colors. She had never ventured close. Once she had caught the glimmer of red near a brook and thinking it was a bed of flowers had flown down. She found a human being fast asleep among the brookside blossoms.  It was dreadfully large, of course, but still it looked so good and sweet that Maya thrilled and tears came to her eyes. She lost all sense of her whereabouts. She could do nothing but gaze and gaze upon the slumbering presence. All the horrid things she had ever heard against man seemed utterly impossible. Lies they must have been. Mean lies that she had been told against creatures as charming as this one, asleep in the shade of the whispering birch trees. After a while a mosquito came and buzzed greetings. Look, cried Maya, hot with excitement and delight. Look, just look at that human being there. How good, how beautiful. Doesn't it fill you with enthusiasm? The mosquito gave Maya a surprised stare, then turned slowly round to glance at the object of her admiration. Yes, it is good. I just tasted it. I stung it. Look, my body is shining red with its blood. Maya had to press her hand to her heart. So startled was she by the mosquitoes' daring. Will it die? She cried. Where did you wound it? How could you? How could you screw up your courage to sting it? And how vile.  The mosquito tittered. Why, it's only a very little human being. It answered in its high, thin voice. It's the size called girl, the size at which the legs are covered half way up with a separate colored casing. My sting, of course, goes through the casing, but usually doesn't reach the skin. Your ignorance is really stupendous. Do you actually think that human beings are good? I haven't come across one who willingly let me take the tiniest drop of his blood. I don't know very much about human beings, I admit, said Maya humbly. But of all the insects you bees have most to do with human beings, that's a well-known fact. I left our kingdom, Maya confessed timidly. I didn't like it. I wanted to learn about the outside world. Well, well, what do you think of that? The mosquito drew a step nearer. How do you like your freelancing? I must say I admire you for your independence. I, for one, would never consent to serve human beings. But they serve us, too, said Maya, who couldn't bear a slight to be put upon her people. Maybe. To what nation do you belong? I come of the nation in the castle park.  Indeed, said the mosquito and bowed low, in enviable lineage, my deepest respects. There was a revolution in your kingdom not so long ago, wasn't there? I heard it from the messengers of the rebel swarm. Am I right? Yes, said Maya, proud and happy that her nation was so respected and renowned. Homesickness for her people awoke again, deep down in her heart, and she wished she could do something good and great for her queen and country. Carried away on the wings of this dream she forgot to ask about human beings. Or, like as not, she refrained from questions, feeling that the mosquito would not tell her things she would be glad to hear. The might of a creature impressed her as a saucy miss, and people of her kind usually had nothing good to say of others. Besides, she soon flew away. I'm going to take one more drink, she called back to Maya. Later I and my friends are going flying in the light of the western sun. Then we'll be sure to have good weather tomorrow. Maya made off quickly. She couldn't bear to stay and see the mosquito hurt the sleeping child. And how could she do this thing and not perish?  Maya still remembered every detail of this incident with the child and the mosquito, but her craving to know human beings well had not been stilled. She made a permined to be bolder and never stopped trying until she had reached her goal. At last Maya's longing to know human beings was to be satisfied and in a way far, far lovelier and more wonderful than she had dreamed. Once on a warm evening, having gone to sleep earlier than usual, she woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, something that had never happened to her before. When she opened her eyes, her astonishment was indescribable. Her little bedroom was all steeped in a quiet blueish radiance. It came down through the entrance and the entrance itself, shown as if hung with a silver blue curtain. Maya did not dare to budge at first, though not because she was frightened, no. Somehow along with the light came a rare lovely peacefulness and outside her room, the air was filled with sound finer, more harmonious than any music she had ever heard. After a time she rose timidly, awed by the glamour and the strangeness of it all and looked out. The whole world seemed to lie under the spell of an enchantment. Everything was sparkling and glittering in pure silver. The trunks of the birch trees, the slumbering leaves were overlaid with silver. The grass, which from her height seemed to lie under delicate veils, was set with a thousand pale pearls. All things near and far, the silent distances, were shrouded in this soft blueish sheen. This must be the night, Maya whispered and folded her hands. High up in the heavens, partly veiled by the leaves of a birch tree on the full clear disc of silver, from which the radiance poured down that beautified the world. And then Maya saw countless bright, sharp little lights surrounding the moon in the heavens. Oh, so still and beautiful, unlike any shining things she had ever seen before. To think, she beheld the night, the moon and the stars, the wonders, the lovely wonders of the night. She had heard of them, but never believed in them. It was almost too much. Then the sound rose again, the strange night sound that must have awakened her. It came from nearby, filling the welkin, a soaring chirp with a silvery ring that matched the silver on the trees and leaves and grass, and seemed to come reeling down from the moon on the beams of silver light. Maya looked about for the source in vain. In the mysterious drift of light and shadow, it was difficult to make out objects in clear outline. Everything was draped so mysteriously, and yet everything showed up true and in such heroic beauty. Her room could keep her no longer. Out she had to fly into this new splendor, the night splendor. The good Lord will take care of me, she thought. I am not bent upon wrong. As she was about to fly off through the silver light to her favorite meadow, now lying full under the moon, she saw a winged creature, a light on a birch tree leaf not far away. Scarcely alighted, it raised its head to the moon, lifted its narrow wings, and drew the edge of one against the other for all the world as though it were playing on a violin. And sure enough, the sound came, the silvery chirp that filled the whole moonlit world with melody. Exquisite, whispered Maya. Heavenly, heavenly, heavenly. She flew over to the leaf. The night was so mild and warm that she did not notice it was cooler than by day. When she touched the leaf, the chirper broke off playing abruptly. And to Maya, it seemed as if there had never been such a stillness before, so profound was the hush that followed. It was uncanny. Through the dark leaves filtered the light, white and cool. Good night, said Maya politely, thinking good night was the greeting for the night like good morning for the morning. Please excuse me for interrupting, but the music you make is so fascinating that I had to find out where it came from. The chirper stared at Maya wide eyed. What sort of a crawling creature are you? It asked after some moments had passed. I have never met one like you before. I am not a crawling insect. I am Maya of the Nation of Bees. Oh, of the Nation of Bees, indeed. You live by day, don't you? I have heard of your race from the hedgehog.  Yes, said Maya with a faint chill of apprehension. That's so, Cassandra told me about him. She heard of him from the sentinels. He comes when twilight falls and snouts in the grass looking for dead bodies. But do you associate with the hedgehog? Why, he's an awful brute. I don't think so. We tree crickets get along with him splendidly. We call him uncle. Of course, he always tries to catch us, but he never succeeds. So we have great fun teasing him. Everybody has to live, doesn't he? Just so he doesn't live off me, what do I care? Maya shook her head. She didn't agree. But not caring to insult the cricket by contradicting, she changed the subject.  Yes, a snowy tree cricket. But I must play, so please don't keep me any longer. It's full moon, a wonderful night. I must play. Oh, do make an exception this once. You play all the time. Tell me about the night. A midsummer night is the loveliest in the world, answered to the cricket. It fills the heart with rapture. But what my music doesn't tell you, I shan't be able to explain. Why need everything be explained? Why know everything? We poor creatures can find out only the tiniest bit about existence, yet we can feel the glory of the whole wide world. And the cricket set up its happy silvery strumming. Heard from close by where Maya sat, the music was overpowering in its loudness. The little bee sat quite still in the blue summer night, listening and musing deeply about life and creation. Silence fell. There was a faint whirr, and Maya saw the cricket fly out into the moonlight. The night makes one feel sad, she reflected. Her flowery meadow drew her now. She flew off. At the edge of the brook stood the tall irises brokenly reflected in the running water. A glorious sight. The moonlight was whirled along in the braided current. The wavelets winked and whispered. The irises seemed to lean over a sleep. A sleep from sheer delight, thought the little bee. She dropped down on a blue petal in the full light of the moon, and could not take her eyes from the living waters of the brook. The quivering flash, the flashing come and go of countless sparks. On the bank opposite, the birch trees glittered as if hung with the stars. Where is all that water flowing to? She wondered. The cricket is right. We know so little about the world. Of a sudden, a fine little voice rose in song from the flower of an iris close beside her, ringing like a pure clear bell, different from any earthly sound that Maya knew. Her heart throbbed. She held her breath. Oh, what is going to happen? What am I going to see now? The iris swayed gently. One of the petals curved in at the edge, and Maya saw a tiny, snow-white human hand holding on to the flower's rim with its wee little fingers.  A human being in miniature was coming out of the iris. Words cannot tell Maya's awe and rapture. She sat rigid. The tiny being climbed to the edge of the blossom, lifted its arms up to the moonlight and looked out into the bright, shining night with a smile of bliss lighting up its face. Then a faint quiver shook its luminous body, and from its shoulders two wings unfolded whiter than the moonlight, pure as snow, rising above its blonde head and reaching down to its feet. How lovely it was, how exquisitely lovely! Nothing that Maya had ever seen compared with it in loveliness. Standing there in the moonlight, holding its hands up to heaven, the luminous little being lifted its voice again and sang. The song rang out in the night, and Maya understood the words. My home is light, the crystal bowl of heaven's blue, I love it so.  My soul is that which breathes anew from all of loveliness and grace, and as it flows from God's own face, it flows from His creations too. Maya burst into sobs, what it was that made her so sad, and yet so happy she could not have told. The little human being turned around. Who is crying? he asked in his chiming voice. It's only me, stammered Maya.  I don't know, perhaps just because you are so beautiful. Who are you? Oh, do tell me if I'm not asking too much.  You must be. Oh no, said the little creature, quite serious. I am only a sprite, a flower sprite, but dear little bee, what are you doing out here in the meadow so late at night? The sprite flew over to a curving iris blade beside Maya and regarded her long and kindly from his swaying perch in the moonlight.  When she finished, he stroked her head and looked at her so warmly and lovingly that the little bee, beside herself with joy, had to lower her gaze. We sprites, he explained, live seven nights, but we must stay in the flower in which we are born, else we die at dawn. Maya opened her eyes wide in terror. Then hurry, hurry, fly back into your flower. The sprite shook his head, sadly. Too late, but listen, I have more to tell you. Most of us sprites are glad to leave our flowers never to return because a great happiness is connected with our leaving. We are endowed with a remarkable power. Before we die, we can fulfill the dearest wish of the first creature we meet. It is when we make up our minds seriously to leave the flower for the purpose of making someone happy that our wings grow. How wonderful, cried Maya. I'd leave the flower too then. It must be lovely to fulfill another person's wish that she was the first being whom the sprite on his flight from the flower had met did not occur to her.  The sprite nodded, but not sadly this time. We live to see the dawn still, he said. But when the dew falls, we are drawn into the fine cobwebby veils that float above the grass and the flowers of the meadows. Haven't you often noticed that the veils shine white as though a light were inside them? It's the sprites, their wings and their garments. When the light rises, we change into dew drops. The plants drink us and we become a part of their growing and blooming until in time we rise again as sprites from out their flowers. Then you were once another sprite? Asked Maya, tense, breathless with interest. The earnest eyes said yes. But I have forgotten my earlier existence. We forget everything in our flower's sleep. Oh, what a lovely fate. It is the same as that of all earthly creatures when you really come to think of it, even if it isn't always flowers out of which they wake from their sleep of death. But we won't talk of that tonight. Oh, I'm so happy, cried Maya. Then you haven't got a wish? You're the first person I've met, you know. And I possess the power to grant your dearest wish. I? But I'm only a bee. No, it's too much. It would be too great a joy. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve that you should be so good to me. No one deserves the good and the beautiful. The good and the beautiful come to us like the sunshine. Maya's heart beats stormily. Oh, she did have a wish, a burning wish, but she didn't dare confess it. The elf seemed to guess. He smiled so you couldn't keep anything a secret from him. Well, he stroked his golden hair off his pure forehead. I'd like to know human beings at their best and most beautiful, said the little bee. She spoke quickly and hotly. She was afraid she would be told that so great a wish could not be granted. But the sprite drew himself up. His expression was serious and serene. His eyes shone with confidence. He took Maya's trembling hand and said, come, we'll fly together. Your wish shall be granted. End of chapter 10, chapter 11 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, February 2009. The Adventures of Maya the Bee by Voldemar Boncells, translated by Adele Zold-Seltzer and Arthur Gooderman. Chapter 11, With the Sprite. And so Maya and the flower sprite started off together in the bright mid-summer night, flying low over the blossoming meadow. His white reflection crossing the brook, shown as though a star were gliding through the water. How happy the little bee was to confide herself to this gracious being. Whatever he were to do, wherever he were to lead her would be good and right, she felt. She would have liked to ask him a thousand questions had she dared. As they were passing between a double row of high poplar trees, something word above them, a dark moth as big and strong as a bird crossed their way. One moment, wait one moment please, the sprite called. Maya was surprised to see how readily the moth responded. All three alighted on a high poplar branch from which there was a far view out upon the tranquil moonlit landscape. The quaking leaves whispered delicately. The moth, perching directly opposite Maya in the full light of the moon, slowly lifted his spread wings and dropped them again softly, as if gently fanning, fanning a cool breath upon someone. Broad diagonal stripes of a gorgeous bright blue marked his wings. His black head was covered as with dark velvet.  How wonderful were the creatures of the night. A little cold shiver ran through Maya. She felt she was dreaming the strangest dream of her life. You are beautiful, she said to the moth. Beautiful really. She was odd and solemn. Who is your companion? The moth asked the sprite. A bee, I met her just as I was leaving my flower. The moth seemed to realize what that meant. He looked at Maya almost enviously. You fortunate creature. Are you sad? Asked Maya out of the warmth of her heart. The moth shook his head. No, not sad. His voice sounded friendly and grateful and he gave Maya such a kind look that she would have liked to strike up a friendship with him then and there. Is the bat still abroad or has he gone to rest? This was the question for which the sprite had stopped the moth. Oh, he's gone to rest long ago.  The sprite nodded. Maya was dying to find out what a bat was, but the sprite seemed to be in a hurry. With a charming gesture of restlessness, he tossed his shining hair back from his forehead. Come, Maya, he said, we must hurry. The night is so short. Shall I carry you part of the way? Asked the moth. The sprite thanked him but declined. Some other time, he called. Then it will be never, thought Maya as they flew away, because at dawn the flower sprite must die. The moth remained on the leaf looking after them until the glimmer of the fairy garments grew smaller and smaller and finally sank into the depths of the blue distance.  He sank into a reverie. So often I have heard that I'm gray and ugly, he said to himself, and that my dress is not to be compared with the superb robes of the butterfly. But the little bee saw only what is beautiful in me, and she asked me if I was sad. I wonder whether I am or not. No, I am not sad, he decided, not now. Meanwhile Maya and the flower sprite flew through the dense shrubbery of a garden. The glory of it in the dimmed moonlight was beyond the power of the mortal lips to say. An intoxicatingly sweet cool breath of dew and slumbering flowers transformed all things into unutterable blessings. The lilac grapes of the acacias sparkled in freshness. The June rose tree looked like a small blooming heaven hung with red lamps. The white stars of the jasmine glowed palely, sadly, and poured out their perfume as if in this one hour to make a gift of their all. Maya was dazed. She pressed the sprite's hand and looked at him, a light of bliss shown from his eyes. Who could have dreamed of this, whispered the little bee. Just then she saw something that sent a pang through her.  It's straying about and can't find its way back to its place in the sky. That's a firefly, said the flower sprite without a smile. Now in the midst of her amazement, Maya realized for the first time why the sprite seemed so dear and kind. He never laughed at her ignorance. On the contrary, he helped her when she went wrong. They are odd little creatures, the sprite continued. They carry their own light about with them on warm summer nights and in live in the dark under the shrubbery where the moonlight doesn't shine through so firefly can keep trist with firefly even in the dark. Later, when we come to the human beings, you will make the acquaintance of one of them. Why? asked Maya. You'll soon see. By this time, they had reached an arbor completely overgrown with jasmine and woodbine. They descended almost to the ground. From close by, within the arbor, came the sound of faint whisperings. The flower sprite beckoned to a firefly. Would you be good enough, he asked, to give us a little light? We have to push through these dark leaves here. We want to get to the inside of the jasmine arbor. But your glow is much brighter than mine. I think so too, put in Maya, more to hide her excitement than anything else. I must wrap myself up in a leaf, explained the sprite. Else the human beings would see me and be frightened. We sprites appear to human beings only in their dreams. I see, said the firefly. I am at your service. I will do what I can. Won't the great beast with you hurt me? The sprite shook his head no, and the firefly believed him. The sprite now took a leaf and wrapped himself in it. The gleam of his white garments was completely hidden.  The only bit of him left exposed was his face, which was so small that surely no one would notice it. He asked the firefly to perch on his shoulder and with its wings to dim its lamp on the one side so as to keep the dazzle out of his eyes. Come now, he said, taking Maya's hand. We had better climb up right here. The little bee was thinking of something the sprite had said as they clambered up the vine. She asked, do human beings dream when they sleep? Not only then, they dream sometimes even when they are awake. They sit with their bodies a little limp, their heads bent a little forward and their eyes searching the distance as if to see into the very heavens. Their dreams are always lovelier than life. That's why we appear to them in their dreams. The sprite now laid his tiny finger on his lips, bent aside a small blooming sprig of jasmine and gently pushed Maya ahead. Look down, he said softly. You will see what you have been wishing to see. The little bee looked and saw two human beings sitting on a bench in the shadows cast by the moonlight, a boy and a girl, and the girl with her head leaning on the boy's shoulder and the boy holding his arm around the girl as if to protect her. They sat in complete stillness, looking wide-eyed into the night. It was as quiet as if they had both gone to sleep. Only from a distance came the chirping of the crickets and slowly, slowly, the moonlight drifted through the leaves. Maya transported out of herself, gazed into the girl's face. Although it looked pale and wistful, it seemed to be transfused by the hidden radiance of a great happiness. Above her large eyes lay golden hair, like the golden hair of the sprite, and upon it rested the heavenly sheen of the midsummer night. From her red lips, slightly parted, came a breath of rapture and melancholy, as if she wanted to offer everything that was hers to the man by her side for his happiness. And now she turned to him, pulled his head down, and whispered a magical something that brought a smile to his face, such as Maya thought no earthly being could wear. In his eyes gleamed a happiness and a vigor as if the whole big world were his to own, and suffering and misfortune were banished forever from the face of the earth. Maya somehow had no desire to know what he said to the girl in reply. Her heart quivered as though the ecstasy that emanated from the two human beings was also hers. Now I have seen the most glorious thing that my eyes will ever behold, she whispered to herself. I know now that human beings are most beautiful when they are in love. How long Maya stayed behind the leaves without stirring, lost in looking at the boy and girl she did not know. When she turned round, the firefly's lamp had been extinguished, the sprite was gone. Through the doorway of the arbor far across the country on the distant horizon, showed a narrow streak of red. End of chapter 11. Chapter 12 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. February 2009. The Adventures of Maya the Bee by Voldemar Boncells. Translated by Adele Zold-Seltzer and Arthur Gooderman. Chapter 12. Aloys, Lady Bird and Poet. The sun was risen high above the tops of the beach trees when Maya awoke in her woodland retreat. In the first moments, the moonlight, the chirping of the cricket, the mid-summer night meadow, the lovely sprite, the boy and the girl in the arbor, all seemed the perishing fancies of a delicious dream. Yet here it was almost midday, and she remembered slipping back into her chamber in the chill of dawn. So it had all been real. She had spent the night with the flower sprite and had seen the two human beings with their arms round each other in the arbor of woodbine and jasmine. The sun outside was glowing hot on the leaves, a warm wind was stirring, and Maya heard the mixed chorus of thousands of insects. Ah, what these knew, and what she knew! So proud was she of the great thing that had happened to her that she couldn't get out to the others fast enough. She thought they must read it in her very looks. But in the sunlight everything was the same as ever. Nothing was changed. Nothing recalled the blue moonlit night. The insects came, said how do you do, and left. Yonder, the meadow, was a scene of bustling activity. The insects, birds and butterflies, hopped, flew and flitted in the hot, flickering air around the tall, gay mid-summer flowers. Sadness fell upon Maya. There was no one in the world to share her joys and sorrows. She couldn't make up her mind to fly over and join the others in the meadow. No, she would go to the woods. The woods were serious and solemn. They suited her mood. How many mysteries and marvels lie hidden in the dim depth of the woods? No one suspects who hurries unobservant along the beaten tracks. You must bend aside the branches of the underbrush, or lean down and peep between the blackberry briars through the tall grasses and across the thick moss. Under the shaded leaves of the plants, in holes in the ground and tree trunks, in the decaying bark of stumps, in the curl and twist of the roots that coil in the ground like serpents, there is an active, multi-form life by day and by night, full of joys and dangers, struggles and sorrows and pleasures. Maya divined only a little of this as she flew low between the dark brown trunks under the leafy roof of green. She followed a narrow trail in the grass, which made a clear path through thicket and clearing. Now and then the sun seemed to disappear behind clouds. So deep was the shade under the high foliage and in the close shrubbery. But soon she was flying again through a bright shimmer of gold and green, above the broad-leaved miniature forests of bracken and blackberry. After a long stretch, the woods opened their columned and overarched portals. Before Maya's eyes lay a wide field of grain in the golden sunshine. Butterfly weed flamed on the grassy borders. She alighted on the branch of a birch tree at the edge of the field and gazed upon the sea of gold that spread out endlessly in the tranquility of the placid day. It rippled softly under the shy summer breeze, which blew gently so as not to disturb the peace of the lovely world. Under the birch tree, a few small brown butterflies, using the butterfly weed for corners, were playing Puss in the Corner, a favorite game with butterfly children. Maya watched them awhile. It must be lots of fun, she thought, and the children in the hive might be taught to play it, too. The cells would do for corners, but Cassandra, I suppose, wouldn't permit it. She's so strict. Ah, now Maya felt sad again because she had thought of home and she was about to drift off into homesick reverie when she heard someone beside her say, Good morning, you're a beast, it seems to me. Maya turned with a start. No, she said, decidedly not. There, sitting on her leaf, was a little polished terracotta half-sphere with seven black dots on its cupolo of a back, a minute black head and bright little eyes, peeping from under the dotted dome and supporting it as best they could, Maya detected thin legs, fine as threads. In spite of his queer figure, she somehow took a great liking to the stout little fellow he had distinct charm. May I ask who you are? I myself am Maya of the Nation of Bees. Do you mean to insult me? You have no reason to. Why should I? I don't know you, really I don't. Maya was quite upset. It's easy to say you don't know me. Well, I'll jog your memory. Count. And the little rotundity began to wheel round slowly. You mean I'm to count your dots? Yes, if you please. Seven, said Maya. Well, you still don't know? All right then, I'll tell you. I'm called exactly according to what you counted. The scientific name of our family is septum punctata. Septum is Latin for seven. Punctata is Latin for dots. Points, you see? Our common name is Ladybird. My own name is Alois. I am a poet by profession. You know our common name, of course. Maya, afraid of hurting Alois's feelings, didn't dare to say no. Oh, said he, I live by the sunshine, by the peace of the day, and by the love of mankind. But don't you eat, too? Asked Maya, quite astonished. Of course, plantlice, don't you? No, that would be, that is, is what, is what. Not usual, said Maya shyly. Of course, of course, cried Alois, trying to raise one shoulder, but not succeeding, on account of the firm set of his dome. As a bourgeoisie, you would, of course, do only what is usual. We poets would not get very far that way. Have you time? Why, yes, said Maya. Then I'll recite you one of my poems.  The poem is called Man's Finger, and is about a personal experience. Are you listening? Yes, to every word. Well, then, since you did not do me wrong, that you found me doesn't matter.  Up above you wear a flatter, pointed, polished sheath or platter, which you move as swift as light, but below you're fastened tight. Well, asked Alois after a short pause, there were tears in his eyes and a quaver in his voice. Man's Finger gripped me very hard, replied Maya in some embarrassment. She really knew much lovelier poems. How do you find the form? Alois questioned with a smile of fine melancholy. He seemed to be overwhelmed by the effect he had produced. Long and round, you yourself said so in the poem. I mean the artistic form, the form of my verse. Oh, oh yes, yes, I thought it was very good. It is, isn't it? cried Alois. What you mean to say is that Man's Finger may be ranked among the best poems you know of, and one must go way back in literature before one comes across anything like it. The prime requisite in art is that it should contain something new, which is what most poets forget, and bigness too. Don't you agree with me? Certainly, said Maya. I think the firm belief you express in my importance as a poet really overwhelms me. I thank you, but I must be going now for solitude is the poet's pride. Farewell. Farewell, echoed Maya, who really didn't know just what the little fellow had been after. Well, she thought, he knows. Perhaps he's not full grown yet. He certainly isn't large. She looked after him as he hastened up the branch. His wee legs were scarcely visible. He looked as though he were moving on low rollers. Maya turned her gaze away, back to the golden field of grain over which the butterflies were playing. The field and the butterflies gave her ever so much more pleasure than the poetry of Alois, Ladybird and Poet. End of chapter 12. Chapter 13 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, February 2009. The Adventures of Maya the Bee by Voldemar von Selz, translated by Adele Zold Selzer and Arthur Guderman. Chapter 13. The Fortress. How happily the day had begun, and how miserably it was to end. Before the horror swept upon her, Maya had formed a very remarkable acquaintance. It was in the afternoon, near a big old water-butt. She was sitting amid the scented elder blossoms, which lay mirrored in the placid, dark surface of the but, and a robin-red breast was warbling overhead, so sweetly and merrily that Maya thought it was a shame, a crying shame that she, a bee, could not make friends with the charming songsters. The trouble was, they were too big and ate you up. She had hidden herself in the heart of the elder blossoms, and was listening and blinking under the pointed darts of the sunlight, when she heard someone beside her sigh. Turning round, she saw, well, now it really was the strangest of all the strange creatures she had ever met. It must have had at least a hundred legs along each side of its body, so she thought at first glance. It was about three times her size, and slim, low, and wingless. For goodness' sake, mercy on me! Maya was quite startled. You must certainly be able to run. The stranger gave her a pondering look. I doubt it, he said. I doubt it, there's room for improvement. I have too many legs. You see, before all my legs can be set in motion, too much time is lost. I didn't use to realize this, and often I wished I had a few more legs, but God's will be done. Who are you? Maya introduced herself. The other one nodded and moved some of his legs. I am Thomas of the family of millipedes. We are an old race, and we arouse admiration and astonishment in all parts of the globe. No other animal can boast anything like our number of legs. Eight is their limit, so far as I know.  Have you got a family? Why no, why should I? What good would a family do me? We millipedes crawl out of our eggs, that's all. If we can't stand on our own feet, who should? Of course, of course, Maya observed thoughtfully, but have you no relations? No, dear child, I earn my living and doubt. I doubt. Oh, what do you doubt? I was born doubting. I must doubt. Maya stared at him in wide-eyed bewilderment. What did he mean? What could he possibly mean? She couldn't for the life of her make-out, but she did not want to pry too curiously into his private affairs. For one thing, said Thomas after a pause, for one thing I doubt whether you have chosen a good place to rest in. Don't you know what's over there in the big willow? No. You see, I doubted right away if you knew. The city of the hornets is over there. Maya turned deathly white and nearly fell off the elder blossoms. In a voice shaking with fright, she asked just where the city was. Do you see that old nesting box for starlings there in the shrubbery near the trunk of the willow tree? It's so poorly placed that I doubted from the first whether starlings would ever move in. If a birdhouse isn't set with its door facing the sunrise, every decent bird will think twice before taking possession. Well, the hornets have entrenched themselves in it. It's the biggest hornet's fortress in the country. You as a bee certainly ought to know of the place. Why, the hornets are brigands who lie in wait for the bees. So at least I have observed. Maya scarcely heard what he was saying. There, showing clear against the green, she saw the brown walls of the fortress. She almost stopped breathing. I must fly away, she cried. Too late, behind her sounded a loud, mean laugh. At the same moment, the little bee felt herself caught by the neck so violently that she thought her joints were broken. It was a laugh she would never forget, like a vile taunt out of hellish darkness. Mingling with it was another gruesome sound, the awful clanking of armor. Thomas let go with all his legs at once and tumbled head over heels through the branches into the water-butt. I doubt if you get away alive, he called back. But the poor little bee no longer heard. She couldn't see her assailant. Her neck was caught in too firm a grip. But a guilt-sheathed arm passed before her eyes, and a huge head and dreadful pincers suddenly thrust itself above her face. She took it at first to belong to a giant wasp, but then realized that she had fallen into the clutches of a hornet. The black-and-yellow-striped monster was surely four times her size. Maya lost sight, hearing, speech. Every nerve in her body went faint. At length, her voice came back, and she screamed for help. Never mind, girly, said the hornet in a honey-sweet tone that was sickening. Never mind, it'll last until it's over. He smiled a baleful smile. Let go, cried Maya. Let me go, or I'll sting you in your heart. In my heart right away, very brave. But there's time for that later. Maya went into a fury, summoning all her strength. She twisted herself around, uttered her shrill battle cry, and directed her sting against the middle of the hornet's breast. To her amazement and horror, the sting, instead of piercing his breast, swerved on the surface. The brigand's armor was impervious. Wrath gleamed in his eyes.  I would indeed, but for our queen. She prefers fresh bees to dead carcasses. So a good soldier saves a juicy morsel like you to bring to her alive. The hornet, with Maya still in his grip, rose into the air and made it directly for the fortress.  No one can stand this. She fainted. When she came to her senses, she found herself in half darkness in a sultry dusk permeated by a horrid, pungent smell. Slowly everything came back to her, a great paralyzing sadness settled in her heart. She wanted to cry. The tears refused to come. I haven't been eaten up yet, but I may be any moment, she thought in a trumble. Through the walls of her prison, she caught the distinct sound of voices, and soon she noticed the little light filtered through a narrow chink. The hornets made their walls not of wax like the bees, but of a dry mass resembling porous gray paper. By the one thread of light, she managed, bit by bit, to make out her surroundings. Horror of horrors. Maya was almost congealed with fright. The floor was strewn with the bodies of dead insects. At her very feet lay a little rose beetle turned over on its back. To one side was the skeleton of a large locust broken in two, and everywhere were the remains of slaughtered bees, their wings and legs and sheaths.  She did not dare to stir the fraction of an inch and pressed herself shivering into the farthest corner of this chamber of horrors. Again, she heard voices on the other side of the wall. Impelled by mortal fear, she crept up to the chink and peeped through. What she saw was a vast hall crowded with hornets and magnificently illuminated by a number of captive glowworms. Enthroned in their midst sat the queen. She seemed to be holding an important counsel. Maya caught every word that was said. If those glittering monsters had not inspired her with such unspeakable horror, she would have gone into raptures over their strength and magnificence. It was the first time she had had a good view of any of the race of brigands, tigers they looked like, superb tigers of the insect world, with their tawny, black-barred bodies. A shiver of awe ran through the little bee. A sergeant at arms went about the walls of the hall, ordering the glowworms to give all the light they could. They must strain themselves to the utmost. He muttered his commands in a low voice, so as not to interrupt the deliberations and thrusted them with a long spear, hissing as he did so. Light up, or I'll eat you. Terrible the things that were done in the fortress of the Hornets. Then Maya heard the queen say, "'Very well, we shall abide by the arrangements we have made. Tomorrow, one hour before dawn, the warriors will assemble and sally forth to the attack on the city of the bees in the castle park. The hive is to be plundered and as many prisoners taken as possible. He who captures queen Helen the Eighth and brings her to me alive will be dubbed a knight. Go forth and be brave and victorious and bring back rich booty. The meeting is herewith adjourned. Sleep well, my warriors, I bid you good night." The queen Hornet rose from her throne and left the hall accompanied by her bodyguard. Maya nearly cried out loud. My country, she sobbed. My bees, my dear, dear bees. She pressed her hands to her mouth to keep herself from screaming. She was in the depths of despair. Oh, would that I had died before I heard this. No one will warn my people. They will be attacked in their sleep and massacred. Oh, God, perform a miracle. Help me, help me and my people. Our need is great. In the hall the glowworms were put out and devoured. Gradually the fortress was wrapped in a hush. Maya seemed to have been forgotten. A faint twilight crept into her cell and she thought she caught the strumming of the cricket's night song outside was anything more horrible than this dungeon with its carcasses strewn on the ground. End of chapter 13.