Prevod

Once upon a time, in a hive, there lived a bee who did not want to work. That is to say, she went from tree to tree gathering nectar from the flowers, but instead of saving it to turn into honey, she drank it all herself.

She was, in short, a lazy bee. Every morning, as soon as the sun warmed the air, the little bee would peek out of the hive, see that the weather was fine, comb herself with her legs, as flies do, and then take wing, delighted with the lovely day. She buzzed from flower to flower in sheer delight, went into the hive, came out again, and spent the whole day that way, while the other bees worked themselves to death filling the hive with honey, because honey is the food of newborn bees.

Since bees are very earnest creatures, they began to resent their lazy sister’s behavior. There are always a few bees standing guard at the entrance to a hive, making sure that no other creatures get in. These bees are usually very old, with a great deal of experience of life, and their backs are bare because all their hairs have worn away from so much rubbing against the hive entrance.

One day, then, they stopped the lazy bee as she was about to enter and said, “Sister, you must work, because all of us bees must work.”

The little bee replied, “I fly around all day, and I get very tired!” “It is not a question of getting very tired,” they answered, “but of doing a little work. This is your first warning.”

And with that they let her through. But the lazy bee did not mend her ways. So the following afternoon, the bees on guard said to her:

“You must work, sister.” And she answered at once, “One of these days I will!” “It is not a question of doing it one of these days,” they replied, “but tomorrow. Remember that.”

And they let her through. At dusk the next day, the same thing happened again. Before they could say anything, the little bee exclaimed, “Yes, yes, sisters! I remember what I promised!”

“It is not a question of remembering what you promised,” they replied, “but of working. Today is April 19. Very well: see to it that tomorrow, the twentieth, you bring back at least one drop of honey. Now come in.”

And with that they stepped aside to let her enter. But April 20 was wasted like all the other days. The only difference was that at sunset the weather turned bad and a cold wind began to blow.

The lazy little bee hurried back to her hive, thinking how warm it would be inside. But when she tried to enter, the bees on guard barred her way.

“No admittance,” they told her coldly. “I want to come in!” cried the little bee. “This is my hive.” “This is the hive of some poor, hardworking bees,” the others replied. “There is no room here for idlers.”

“Tomorrow I’ll work without fail!” the little bee insisted. “There is no tomorrow for those who do not work,” replied the bees, who know a good deal of philosophy.

And with that they pushed her out. Not knowing what to do, the little bee flew about for a while longer, but night was falling, and she could barely see. She tried to cling to a leaf and fell to the ground. Her body was numb from the cold air, and she could fly no farther.

So she crawled along the ground, climbing up and down little sticks and stones that seemed like mountains to her, until she reached the hive entrance just as cold drops of rain began to fall.

“Oh, dear God!” cried the helpless little creature. “It’s going to rain, and I’ll freeze to death!” And she tried to enter the hive. But once again they barred her way.

“Forgive me!” the bee moaned. “Let me in!” “It is too late,” they replied. “Please, sisters! I’m sleepy!” “It is later still.” “Sisters, have mercy! I’m cold!”

“Impossible.” “Just this once! I’m going to die!” Then they told her, “No, you will not die. In a single night you will learn what it means to earn your rest through work. Go.”

And they drove her away. Then, shivering with cold, her wings wet and her feet stumbling, the bee crawled and crawled until suddenly she tumbled into a hole—or rather, tumbled down to the bottom of a cavern.

She thought she would never stop falling. At last she reached the bottom and suddenly found herself face-to-face with a snake, a green snake with a brick-red back, coiled up and watching her, ready to strike.

In fact, this cavern was the hole left by a tree that had been transplanted some time before, and the snake had chosen it for her den. Snakes eat bees and are very fond of them. So when the little bee found herself facing her enemy, she closed her eyes and murmured:

“Farewell, my life! This is the last time I shall ever see the light.” But much to her surprise, the snake not only refrained from devouring her, but said:

“Well, little bee? You can’t be much of a worker to be here at this hour.” “That’s true,” murmured the bee. “I don’t work, and I have only myself to blame.”

“In that case,” the snake added mockingly, “I shall rid the world of a good-for-nothing like you. I’m going to eat you, bee.” Trembling, the bee exclaimed:

“That isn’t fair! It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair for you to eat me just because you’re stronger than I am. Human beings know what justice is.” “Aha!” exclaimed the snake, swiftly coiling herself up. “You know human beings well, do you? You think the people who steal your honey are fairer than I am, you great fool?”

“No, that isn’t why they take our honey,” replied the bee. “Then why?” “Because they’re more intelligent.” So said the little bee. But the snake burst out laughing and exclaimed:

“Very well! Fair or not, I’m going to eat you. Get ready.” And she drew back to strike at the bee. But the bee cried, “You’re doing that because you’re less intelligent than I am.”

“Me, less intelligent than you, you little brat?” laughed the snake. “That’s right,” the bee declared. “Very well,” said the snake, “we shall see. We shall each perform a feat. Whoever performs the more remarkable one wins. If I win, I eat you.” “And if I win?” asked the little bee.

“If you win,” her enemy replied, “you have the right to spend the night here until daylight. Does that suit you?” “Agreed,” answered the bee.

The snake laughed again, because she had thought of something a bee could never do. And here is what she did: she slipped outside for a moment, so quickly that the bee had no time to do anything, and came back carrying a eucalyptus seed capsule from a eucalyptus tree that stood beside the hive and shaded it.

Children spin these capsules like tops and call them little eucalyptus tops. “This is what I’m going to do,” said the snake. “Watch closely! Pay attention!”

And briskly winding her tail around the little top like a string, she unwound it at full speed, so fast that the top spun and hummed like mad.

The snake laughed, and with good reason, for no bee has ever set a little top spinning, or ever will. But when the top, which had been spinning so steadily that it seemed asleep, humming all the while as orange-wood tops do, finally fell to the ground, the bee said:

“That is a very fine feat, and I shall never be able to do it.” “Then I shall eat you,” exclaimed the snake. “One moment! I can’t do that, but I can do something no one else can.”

“What is that?” “Disappear.” “What?” exclaimed the snake, giving a start of surprise. “Disappear without leaving this place?” “Without leaving this place.” “And without hiding in the earth?”

“Without hiding in the earth.” “Very well, do it! And if you don’t, I’ll eat you at once,” said the snake. The fact was that while the little top was spinning, the bee had had time to examine the cavern and had noticed a little plant growing there. It was a tiny shrub, scarcely more than a weed, with broad leaves the size of a two-centavo coin.

The bee approached the little plant, taking care not to touch it, and said, “Now it is my turn, Mrs. Snake. Kindly turn around and count to three. When I say ‘three,’ look for me everywhere. I shall be gone!”

And that was just what happened. The snake quickly said, “One... two... three,” then turned around and opened her mouth as wide as it would go in astonishment: there was no one there. She looked up, down, and from side to side, searched the corners and the little plant, and felt everywhere with her tongue. All in vain: the bee had disappeared.

The snake realized then that, though her feat with the little top had been very good, the bee’s feat was simply extraordinary. What had become of her? Where was she?

There was no way to find her. “Very well!” she exclaimed at last. “I admit defeat. Where are you?” A barely audible voice—the little bee’s voice—came from the middle of the cave.

“You won’t hurt me?” said the voice. “Can I have your solemn promise?” “Yes,” replied the snake. “I swear it. Where are you?” “Here,” answered the little bee, suddenly emerging from within one of the plant’s closed leaves.

What had happened? Something very simple: the little plant in question was a sensitive plant, which is also very common here in Buenos Aires, and whose leaves have the peculiar habit of closing at the slightest touch. But this adventure took place in Misiones, where the vegetation is very lush and the leaves of sensitive plants are therefore very large. So when the bee touched them, the leaves closed, hiding her completely.

The snake had never been clever enough to notice this phenomenon, but the bee had observed it and was using it to save her life.

The snake said nothing, but she was so annoyed at her defeat that the bee spent the whole night reminding her enemy of her promise not to harm her.

It was a long, endless night, which the two of them spent huddled against the highest wall of the cavern, for the storm had broken and water was pouring in like a river.

It was very cold, too, and utterly dark inside. From time to time the snake felt an urge to spring at the bee, and then the bee thought the end of her life had come.

Never, ever had the little bee imagined that a night could be so cold, so long, so dreadful. She remembered her former life, sleeping night after night in the warm hive, and wept silently.

When daylight came and the sun rose, for the weather had cleared, the little bee flew back and once again wept silently before the entrance to the hive built by her family’s labor. The bees on guard let her through without a word, because they understood that the bee returning was not the lazy wanderer, but one who had learned a hard lesson about life in a single night.

And so it proved. From then on, no bee gathered more pollen or made more honey than she did. And when autumn came, and with it the end of her days, she still had time before she died to give one last lesson to the young bees gathered around her:

“It is not our intelligence but our work that makes us so strong. I used my intelligence only once, and that was to save my life. I would never have needed to make that effort if I had worked like everyone else. I grew just as tired flying here and there as I did working. What I lacked was a sense of duty, and that was what I gained that night.

“Work, sisters, remembering that the goal of our efforts—the happiness of all—is far greater than the weariness of each. This is what human beings call an ideal, and they are right. There is no other philosophy in the life of a human being or a bee.”