Remember the Bees

The grandfather gazes at the sky, now a vivid red against the bright earth. The heat, which arrived early this year, remains intense despite the approach of dusk. He breathes deeply, imitating the rhythm of the landscape around him. Mountains are covered in argan, carob, and olive trees, along with patches of thyme and cypress. He knows he should return home; mosquitos will soon annoy his arms and ankles, and Anir and his wife are waiting for him.

Yet, it seems as if she has grown detached, just like the mountains. Memories of her fill him with longing whenever he thinks of her. He reminds himself not to dwell on those thoughts and instead focuses on the beauty of the landscape. He revels in the heat, allowing himself to relax and almost merge with the sand and light. The old man opens his eyes and reveals his white teeth, fully aware of the bees' return from their daily work at the Saint's Apiary.

They retire to their hives, filled with pollen and nectar, as if guided by an unknown force. In the past, each family in Inzerki had their own apiary compartments, passed down from generation to generation. Today, only a few apiculturists return to the apiary during the bloom season, migrating with their bees. The grandfather recalls when each hive was home to thousands of bees, their constant buzzing audible from afar.

Just before he stands, he mutters, "The flowers are almost gone now." He rises from his seat and surveys the mountain, where darkness will soon consume it. He intends to share his knowledge of honey and the apiary with his grandson this year. He closes his eyes and relishes the bees' drone for a moment longer. "When I was Anir's age, their music filled the entire valley," he muses.

Anir despises dusk; night quickly replaces the colors and landscape outside his window—his sole connection to the world beyond. As the sky turns pink, darkness engulfs everything, and Anir's daughter begins to whimper and scream, losing sight of the sun's return. At dusk, she forgets the cycle of day and night, fixated on the fading light.

Anir, in turn, has become disenchanted with dusk as he witnesses his mother's anguish. Her fear and anxiety consume her, rendering her incapable of recognizing her son. Anir stands by the door, clutching the handle, hoping to prevent his mother's descent into despair. Once the door is closed, he regains his breath, takes deep breaths, and finally dislodges the knot of anxiety in his chest.