Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 18 Who Said Cheese

Qwilleran mounted the crumbling brick steps with caution and rang the doorbell. When there was no answer, he walked around the side of the house, saying, "Good dog! Good dog!" The animal nuzzled and whimpered and looked forlorn; Qwilleran wished he had brought some stale doughnuts from the Dimsdale Diner.

"Hello! Hello? Is anyone here?" he shouted in the direction of the weathered shed. The door stood open, and a bulky white-haired figure materialized from the interior gloom. Aubrey seemed bewildered.

Qwilleran said, "I was here yesterday, when Mr. Limburger fell down the steps. I'm Jim Qwilleran, remember? I told you I'd return to ask you all about beekeeping."

"I di'n't think you'd come back," the young man said. "Folks say they'll come back, and they never show up. A man ordered twelve jars of honey, and I had 'em all packed up in a box. He never showed up. I don't understand it. It's not friendly. D'you think it's a friendly thing to do?" The plaint was recited in a high whining voice.

"Some people don't have consideration for others," Qwilleran said with sympathy. "How is Mr. Limburger? Do you know?"

"I just come from the hospital. He was in bed and yellin' his head off about the food. He likes rabbit stew and pigs' feet and stuff like that. He likes lotsa fat. I seen him eat a pound of butter, once, like candy. It made me sick."

Qwilleran pointed to the shed. "Is that part of your honey operation?"

"That's where I draw the honey off."

"Do you have any for sale? I'd like to buy a couple of jars."

"Pints or quarts? I don't have no quarts. I sold 'em all to Toodle's Market. Mrs. Toodle is very friendly. She knows my mom." He disappeared into the dark shed and returned with two oval jars containing a clear, thick amber fluid.

"Why are honey jars always flat?" Qwilleran asked. Cynically he thought, Makes them look like more for the money; makes them tip over easily.

"Flat makes the honey look lighter. Most people want light honey. I don't know why. I like the dark. It has lots a taste. This is wildflower honey. I took some to Lois, and she give me a big breakfast. Di'n't have to pay a penny. She give me prunes, turkey hash, two eggs, toast, and coffee."

Aubrey rambled on until Qwilleran suggested that they sit on the porch and turn on the tape recorder. First, Aubrey had to find something for Pete to eat. Pete was the reddish-brown dog. Qwilleran waited in Limburger's creaking rocker, which was situated on a squeaking floorboard. He rocked noisily as he thought about the poor old dog, coming every day to be fed at the back door and stoned at the front door - not that the old man ever struck his target. Still, the treatment must have confused Pete, and it was not surprising that he dirtied the brick walk.

When Aubrey appeared, he had walked through the house and come out the front door, carrying a large book which he handed to Qwilleran. It was a very old, leather-bound, gold-tooled Bible with text printed in Old German. The beekeeper explained, "It came from Austria more'n a hunerd years ago. The old man's gonna leave it to me when he kicks the bucket. The cuckoo clock, too. It di'n't work, but I fixed it. Wanna see the cuckoo clock? It's on the wall."

"Later," Qwilleran said firmly. "Sit down and let's talk about bees. Do you ever get stung?"

Aubrey shook his head gravely. "My bees ain't never stung me. They trust me. I talk to 'em. I give 'em sugar-water in winter."

"Would they sting me?"

"If you frighten 'em or act unfriendly or wear a wool cap. They don't like wool. I don't know why. Bees never sting me. I seen a swarm of wild honeybees go inside an old tree, once. I went to look, and they swarmed allover me. I think they liked me. They was all over my face and in my ears and down my neck. It was a crazy feeling."

"I'll bet!" Qwilleran said grimly.

"I went home and come back with an empty hive. I hived the whole swarm. I think they was glad to get a good home. Bees are smart. If there's an apple tree and a pear tree, they go to the apple tree. It's got more sugar. The old man don't like honey. He likes white sugar. I seen him eat a whole bowl of sugar with a spoon, once. It made me sick. Would it make you sick?"

Piecemeal, with numerous digressions, the interview filled the reel of tape: A bee hive was like a little honey factory. Every bee had a job. The workers built honeycombs. The queen laid eggs. The field workers collected nectar and pollen from flowers. They brought it back to the hive to make honey. The door keepers guarded the hives against robbers. The drones didn't make honey; they just took care of the queen. If the hive got crowded, the drones were thrown out to die.

Qwilleran asked, "How do they get the nectar back to the hive?"

"In their bellies. They carry pollen in little bags on their legs."

Skeptically Qwilleran asked, "Are you telling me the truth, Aubrey?"

"Cross my heart," said the big man solemnly. "Wanna see the hives?"

"Only if you lend me a bee veil. They might think my moustache is made of wool."