Memories come to my mind without
any invitation. My wife and I were cleaning up the flat. I can’t even imagine how many unnecessary jars are in the kitchen. But the jar of honey with the script “2019” is an exception. I wash my hands and open it. The same smell, as in childhood. I take a spoon. What a feeling of nostalgia!
I feel the divine smell of honey for kilometers on the road to the village. It meets me much earlier than the house owner. It’s everywhere and it seems to me that all the village is soaked with this smell. Bees are humming over hives and grandpa is working in the garden. Both without any rest. I have only 5 minutes to enjoy the high concentration of honey smell in the air near the hives. It’s high time to work.
Oh, there was a time, when I was afraid of bees. But my granddad repeated that bees are our friends and can’t bring harm. I have believed in this fact only in some years. I was giggling, when I saw my granddad’s suit “for bees”. Of course, compared him with a magician. I believed that he was a wizard. Because the honey with divine taste and smell is magic. But then I wore this funny suit myself. Bees are not enemies, they are little assistants in the difficult process of honey producing. And their bites are not harmful. Nobody died of it.
The library of a granddad is a separate story. Books about bees, beekeeping and honey producing is a half of it. There were some magazines “Beekeeping” even for 1980th. And guess, what is the smell of these books? Honey, of course. All the pages are sticky, because we were sitting together, reading and eating honey after hard day in the garden. We believed that honey can give force. I took these books to school and my classmates often asked what spread the smell of honey. Me, of course.
My grandpa wanted me to study at the best school. There were rumors that our village school can’t give good education. Every day we moved to the city – me with books and granddad with jars of honey. His pension is too small to feed 2 persons. And the business helps in any difficult situation. I had never known my parents, and he was the only person, who could save me from loneliness. My classmates from gymnasium had thousands reasons to tease me. Not so rich. From the village. Etc. I even got used to it.
I had to work harder than others. I have tried anything—from producing honey to ruling my own company. I know how to solve troubles. But unfortunately not all. When I heard the verdict of doctors to my granddad, I was more than shocked. The last stage of cancer. Even the best specialist can’t do anything. Only repeat the day of his death. But I have no wish to believe in it. I was googling the best clinics of the world to save the closest person. We have sold his house in the village and presented all the library to the neighbours. I still hoped to get money for operation.
The hardest is to reconcile. With the fact that the bar of honey in my hands is the last result of my dad’s work. I look at it and feel the aroma of childhood. I wish there were no end of this smell.
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