Carolina

It was the last weekend of August, and we were camping with some friends on the shore of Lake Hartwell, South Carolina. I was were flipping some steaks on the grill while the children were playing around us. It was really hot, and the vicinity of the grill didn’t help at all. I reached for a beer in the cooler nearby when I saw a giant butterfly with an intricate red and black design flying around. I called my son to have a look at it, and, to my infinite surprise, the butterfly came straight to him and sat on his outstretched finger.

I took my phone out to take a picture – it was a great pose, with the nose of an 8-year old boy just inches away from the insect and the lake’s water in the background. Then, I remembered. It was a feeling hard to describe. I think it’s like it happens to amnesiac people who don’t remember much of their past, and suddenly a key word or a scent unlocks the deeply buried memories.

“Daddy, are you crying?” my son asked.

“No, it’s just the smoke”. I couldn’t stop my tears, so I ran into the tent to hide and weep freely, without anyone seeing me.

***

The memories were flooding my mind. It was a lifetime ago, when I was just a child, the same age as my son today.

I was lost. I went exploring the surrounding forest and I was simply lost. I never thought I might get into trouble, but look, it was actually happening to me. I wasn't afraid, but I was worried that my father might have been, as he had no idea where I went.

During the first week of summer vacation, my father had taken his hives to the edge of an acacia forest, about an hour and a half's drive north of Bucharest. Two days earlier, before leaving the city, we stopped by his sister, Leanna, who lived in a house near the airport. She was always happy to see us. While my father went to the shed to take the things he needed in the apiary and did not want to leave them in Carolina, I climbed like a cat to the top of the cherry tree in the backyard, where the riper cherries were frolicking. Leanna saw me and she was about to faint. She was shouting something at me, she probably wanted me to get down, but I couldn't know for sure. The cherries were too good, so I couldn't hear what my aunt was saying. In fact, she was panicking and fearing for me because few years earlier she had lost a child, who had been electrocuted while trying to fix a lamp. I don't remember him; I was only two years old when he died. Her other child was ten years older than me, and he was in the military.

We left from Leanna with me sitting in the front seat of the white Renault 12, my eyes almost glued to the windshield. I was waiting to see those tall furnaces of the refinery at the outskirts of Ploiesti, on top of which there was always burning an enormous flame. Then I knew it wasn't long until we arrived at Carolina. Sometimes, when it was only the two of us going somewhere, if he was in the mood to talk, my father would tell me about all kinds of things; some other times he would sink into his thoughts and let me talk, rarely giving me an anemic reply. He had retired for medical reasons three years earlier, and he knew he had a thin thread left. But I was too young to understand this thing. That day, he wanted us to practice the multiplication table. He skipped the pairs of numbers, trying to catch me on the wrong foot, but no chance at all. I sometimes got confused at six times nine and at the multiples of seven, but my father was satisfied in the end, and that was a big deal.

I used to go to the apiary with him for a few days, maybe a week, at the end of the season for each type of flower. Just the two of us and the hives, four times a year. The first time in June, like now, right after school ended, for acacia honey. Then for the linden tree. My favorite, though, was the sunflower in August. That was the time when my mother came with us, when she took her vacation, and from there we went straight to the sea. Early September, before school started, my father took the hives near the Danube for the canola flowers. He would take me with him when the time came to extract the honey, to help him as much as I could.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a child of the asphalt, born and raised in the center of the big city. For me, going to the hives with my father was just like a holiday adventure, and for him, the opportunity to spend more time with me. I liked the forest, especially the smell of earth and grass. Now that smell seemed stronger and the foliage thicker. I touched a spider's web with my face and shook quickly, scared. I had seen the movie Spider-Man at the cinema about two months earlier, but I didn't think that if one of them bit me, I would gain any superpowers, only that it would hurt damn hard. I ran my hands through my hair, making sure that the hideous critter hadn't caught on to me. I felt it on the back of my neck, like a tickle, and I was frightened. What if it was poisonous? Who knows what creatures lived in the forest, away from human eyes? I tried to take him down, but I felt him come down on my back. Actually, I heard it. It made a metallic noise, like an ungreased toy. I quickly took off my T-shirt and tapped my back with it in an attempt to get rid of the eight-legged beast.

I had a scratch on my thumb, made the day before, because I hadn't paid attention to a nail when I repaired a honeycomb frame. I had almost forgotten about it, but now that I had touched that spot, it started to irritate me again. I looked at the T-shirt carefully to make sure the spider was gone and put it back on. It was wet, soaked with sweat. I took a stick from the ground and began to shake it hard in front of me, to break any spider webs in my way.

I didn't know where to go. I wished I could fly, like Superman, up to the sky and see where Carolina was. I clenched my fists and pointed them upward. Nothing happened, the ground was still beneath my feet. I closed my eyes, slowly, and then I flew. I floated lightly over the forest. Everywhere I looked, I could only see the endless thicket of the forest. Carolina wasn’t anywhere in sight. I flew in wider and wider circles, hoping to see it, but in vain. And I felt a tear run down my right cheek. Now I was really scared. Where was I? Where was my father?

I opened my eyes and right in front of me I saw a big, thick tree. It looked like a human face, with tousled hair, a hole instead of the mouth and a stump for the nose. It laughed at me:

“Ho-ho-ho, you are lost, my boy! Now you will stay here with me, because I am still very much alone, and it would be good for me to have someone to talk to.”

Its bark was dark gray, and the leaves had a silvery tinge, spreading a faint, incense odor in the air. I touched it lightly with my fingertips. It was unnaturally warm, almost hot, like an iron bar left in the sun during the day.

“Do you know where my father is? Do you know how I can reach him?” I asked.

But it remained silent. After all, it was just an ignorant tree, I told myself, and moved on.

I was thirsty and I had nothing to drink, because I had just left to explore the surroundings. I looked at the sun, high in the sky, above my head. The next day was the longest day of the year, the summer solstice. It was almost noon, and my father was about to set the table. I was afraid he’d be upset with me; he had a lot of work to do, and he certainly didn't feel like wasting his time looking for me in the woods. And the thought of relying on me to help him with the honeycombs kept buzzing my mind.

I wandered through the grove for more than an hour and, exhausted, sat down on a stump of roots. The forest was silent - the wind was not blowing at all, and the heat of summer had enervated even the birds. I don't know how long I've been like this. One minute? Maybe ten? I wish the fairy of the forest would come - the nice one, not the ugly one - to hold me in her arms and take me to my father. I opened my eyes at last. I got up, undecided where to go. I looked around, and I thought I saw a path a little further on. The grass was lying down, and a few twigs were broken, nothing more. I remembered from a book I read about the Indians in the Wild West that a path always leads somewhere. So, I followed it, and after a while I came to some ruins. It seemed to me that it had been an old fortress. Who could know?

I ventured through the rocks beyond what appeared to be the gate. I smelled incense again. I wondered what taste would have the honey made of flowers having such flavor? I continued to climb on the stones until I reached the top. The fortress stretched over an area about twice the size of the school yard, surrounded by forest. However, the trees were too tall to see beyond them.

As I descended back to the ground, the stone on which I had laid my weight moved and I slipped, hitting myself in the fall. I opened my eyes at last, not knowing at first what had happened and where I was.

Something was moving just a few feet from me. It was a large and beautiful butterfly, almost as big as my palm, with silver wings and blue iridescence. It sat down on a flower and closed its wings. I could hardly breathe, for fear of scaring it. I was curious to have a better look, so I waited motionless. Finally, it spread its wings and I could better admire the elegant design, like a lace. It stayed like that, with its wings outstretched, for almost a minute. Then it got up and came towards me, then turned abruptly. Did it seem to me, or did I hear it squeak? I don't know what happened to me, but I got up, thinking of following it. It didn't fly fast, and I moved slowly, very carefully. At one point I had to make room among some branches, and I lost sight of it. I stopped, disappointed. I glanced around and concluded that I was completely lost, but I’ve noticed the trees seemed rarer. The butterfly appeared in front of me again, almost touching me. I held out my hand toward it and it sat on my finger. I brought my hand closer to my eyes, slowly, and studied it carefully. There was something strange about it, looking more like a tin toy than an insect. The butterfly fluttered its wings slowly, three or four times, and rose, but did not leave me. Now I was sure — its wings had even made a metallic, hinge-like noise. It continued to fly in front of my eyes, less than an arm's length.

The surrounding forest was almost gone. It was now just me and the butterfly in the whole universe. I was staring at the butterfly in front of me, constantly moving my head to keep it in front of my eyes.

I don't know how long I've followed him. I made my way through the shrubs with the stick I was winding, breaking the fragile shoots that held my way.

At one point, I came to a clearing. I had become thirstier, and my stomach began to tingle, but at least I wasn't afraid anymore. I stopped, in the bright sunlight, and looked around. I noticed a lot of blue flowers, the kind my mother liked. I thought that if I had stopped to pick them, they would have dried up by the time we got home. So, I turned my attention back to the butterfly. I knew that Lepidoptera - as I had read they were called - lived only for a few days. I was already sorry that my flying guide had his days numbered. Maybe this was its last day, who could tell? But it had lived long enough to give me a chance to admire it, otherwise it would have died alone, in a clearing, unknown to anyone. I continued to follow it, playing with my imaginary sword. Suddenly I heard "Vuum, vuuum" - the noise was coming from very close, right next to me. I stopped, motionless. The noise stopped too. I took a step, then a second one. Quiet. I wanted to make room with the stick, and then I saw how my wooden stick had turned into a real sword, with its long blade shining in the sun. Overwhelmed, I began to rotate it. "Vuum, vuuum", the sword replied.

I looked for the butterfly. It was still beside me, looking at me.

“Are you one of them?!” it said astonished sounding more like an exclamation rather than a question, with an unnaturally thin voice.

I stopped breathing for a moment. I could swear that the butterfly had spoken to me, but this was impossible to believe, even for a child like me, with a very rich imagination.

"Boy," it said, "I know you can hear me." It was now sitting on the hilt of my sword, close to my hand. I could feel its feet tickling my fingers. “Yes, you are one of them, no doubt.”

"One of them?" I muttered; mouth dry.

"Those who see the silver forest. Many, many years have passed since someone like you set foot here. Follow me."

The little being rose a bit above my head, and, keeping it in my sight, I saw the edge of the forest between the trees, right in front of me. I knew that Carolina was somewhere between the forest and the wheat field, and all I had to do now was reach back to her.

“Goodbye!” I told the butterfly.

“Take care of yourself, boy!” he replied. It fluttered a few more times from its metal wings and disappeared back behind the trees.

I felt, as I had never felt before, a shiver running down my neck and spreading rapidly to my shoulders and legs, like an unseen energy flowing through me. I ran the few hundred feet and, yes, I saw her! Carolina was there! Quite far away, but I had managed to get back to her.

My father was outside, and he eventually saw me. He had been taking out the combs since morning. My job was to remove the thin layer of wax capping the honey. It was a very... sweet activity for me, but only a respite from the hard work of spinning the centrifuge. After three or four days, I had wefts on my palms, but I never made a fuss out of that. The only thing I had complained about was the bee stings. My father had become immunized, he had been stung so many times that he no longer swelled. He walked past the hives dressed in a white robe, with a mask on his head and a fumigant in his hand, to flap away the bees. I thought he looked like a ghost from a horror movie. If a bee was going to sting me, I was going to suffer in silence, while the poor insect was going to die, defending the hive. That summer, I decided that I had become a big boy and that only toddlers were whining.

"Come on, kiddo, I've set the table," he told me without the slightest hint of anger. “Go wash your hands. And before that, go inside and get me the pack of cigarettes, please. It's on the bed.”

I climbed the few metal steps with unnatural ease and entered Carolina. The hum of bees could be heard like an idling engine. It was their busiest hour. "If I ever own a spaceship, I'll name her Carolina," I swore in my mind. The “cockpit” was at the end of the trailer’s narrow aisle. I slipped through the seventy-two hives - twelve in a row times three rows vertically, on one side, equal to thirty-six, multiplied by two, a total of seventy-two. I had just finished second grade and now I was the multiplication master. The pack of Marlboro, almost full, was on the bed covered with a garnet quilt.

Dad fixed on a camping table some cheese with tomatoes and cold chicken steak. I tossed the cigarettes from a distance, with a high arch, like he taught me. He caught the pack with one hand. He took one out and lit it from the fumigant. He tactfully inhaled a smoke, then another one.

“What would a beer do now ... What do you want, drum or breast?”

I grabbed the drum without answering and bit into it with gusto.

“Take some bread. And some tomato slices. Are you thirsty?”

I had drunk some water when I washed my hands, but I thought I'd make a joke.

“What would a soda do now...”

He took another puff of smoke, set his cigarette aside, and pulled out a knife with a deer antler handle. He cut a piece of cheese, took a slice of tomato and chewed them without haste.

“Listen, when you're done, go to the car; I want you to bring me something from the trunk. I would go myself, but I feel a little tired. I'll take a nap, let the heat soften a bit. You start working the honeycombs, OK?”

I took the last bite of meat and walked slowly to the car. It was parked into the shade; my father must have moved it when I was gone, because it had been somewhere else in the morning. I was about to lift the hood of the trunk when I heard my father shouting:

“Only one, yes? Save the other one for tomorrow.”

Three bottles of beer and two bottles of Pepsi were floating in a tin bucket, among large ice cubes. Daddy...

I joined my father in the apiary only the following summer – his last one.

***

The steaks were done – I could tell by the smell – and I came out of my tent.

“Where were you hiding? Come on, help me set the table” my wife asked. “Anything happened?”

“Yeah, I had my eyes irritated by the smoke, that’s all.”

Somebody had set up a Bluetooth speaker and turned on the music. I simply couldn’t believe my ears hearing Bobby Womack:

...Sweet Caroline,

Good times never seemed so good...