Darius Bell and the Crystal Bees by Odo Hirsch Read Free Book Online Page B

stack, the older and more yellow were the pages.
    The stories Darius heard about always seemed to mirror very closely events that had happened at Bell House, and to feature people who seemed very similar to the people who lived there – including Darius himself. But Darius had never actually read any of them, and nor had Cyrus. His mother had, but whenever Darius asked her about them she always said something like ‘They’re very . . . interesting,’ or ‘Your father really tries very hard, you know,’ which didn’t really tell him anything about them. And she didn’t encourage him to try to persuade his father to let him read some. ‘He’ll show you in his own good time,’ she would say, almost as if she felt that Darius was lucky that time hadn’t arrived.
    Sometimes Darius wondered how his father ever managed to produce those yellowing stacks of stories. There was a desk in his writing room, but that didn’t necessarily mean that Hector spent all his time sitting at it. Or even most of his time. Whenever Darius knocked to come in, his father never showed any hesitation in throwing his pen down as if he had only been waiting for the distraction. And that was when he was even at his desk. More often Darius found him sitting in the armchair that was in the room, munching on a snack and gazing dreamily out the window, and more often than that, he would be lying on the long sofa that stood opposite the armchair, having a snooze.
    This time his father was at his desk, but a plate of dates and pistachios and a little bowl of dipping honey were waiting. As soon as the door opened Hector threw down his pen.
    â€˜Perfect!’ he cried, rubbing his hands together gleefully. ‘A companion for my afternoon snack.’
    â€˜Hello, Papa,’ said Darius.
    Hector took the plate and bowl to the sofa. ‘Come on,’ he said.
    Darius sat beside him.
    Hector picked up a date, expertly extracted the stone with a small thin implement he kept specifically for the purpose, stuffed a pistachio inside it, dipped it in honey, and held it out to Darius.
    â€˜Thank you, Papa,’ said Darius.
    Hector prepared a date for himself. Together, they popped the dates in their mouths. Darius chewed slowly, savouring the sweet stickiness and salty nuttiness of the concoction. Hector did the same. They smiled at each other, then Hector prepared two more.
    These were moments Darius had loved since he was a little boy, sitting with his father on the long sofa in the writing room and eating sweet, sticky treats. He allowed himself to enjoy them now, putting out of his mind the reason he had come. He tasted the soft, dark flesh of the dates, and the crunch of the nuts, all coated in the sweetness of pumpkin-flower honey with its slight, almost imperceptible tinge of burntness. Neither he nor his father spoke. Sometimes even Hector Bell – who never used only one word when three words would do – knew when it was better to use no words at all.
    Eventually the dates were eaten. A few extra pistachios remained, and Darius and his father dipped these as well.
    Then Hector sat back and heaved a long, satisfied sigh.
    Darius gazed at the honey bowl. There was only a thin film of honey left, a light coating of golden-brown.
    â€˜Go on,’ said Hector.
    Darius shook his head.
    â€˜Go on,’ said his father again, smiling.
    Darius picked up the bowl and ran his finger over the inside, then sucked the honey off his finger, as he had done ever since he was a little boy.
    Hector picked up the bowl when Darius had finished and poked his finger at a couple of spots of honey that Darius had missed, then sucked the honey off it as well. ‘Pumpkin-flower honey,’ he said, raising the finger he had just cleaned and waving it expressively. ‘Can you think of any honey more delicious? Any honey more delicately scented, more delightfully flavoured, more