Beth sat on the dusty ground, head in hand, next to the crushed remains of the native Paper wasp nest. Anger and sorrow gripped her so tightly she found it hard to draw breath. Mark’s ignorant act of destruction was a vile finale to a day she began with such high hopes. She struggled to find a way to deal with what he had done. The power of her grief over the massacre of the harmless little native insects surprised even her. Their death was so unjustified and unfair. Their queen’s extraordinary maternal industry and devotion – all gone to waste. These wasps, so welcome – annihilated. The true culprits, the European wasps, still flourished in the fallen tree, their illegitimate claim to dominance only strengthened by Mark’s misguided violence. The irony overwhelmed her and she began to cry, softly at first. Soon she wailed like a child, tears streaming down her face and clogging her nose. Tiny flies, attracted to the salty liquid, alighted unnoticed on her cheek.
In a little while, she rose from her seat amidst the carnage. Several European wasps arrived to investigate the remains of their hapless competitors. Beth swiped angrily at the little vultures, but the smell of insecticide drove them swiftly off in any case. They were too wise to scavenge these contaminated corpses. Eventually her loud cries weakened, replaced by racking sobs that periodically shook her body.
Her empathy with the wasps heightened her appreciation of her own position. She must not lose her children as the unfortunate wasps had lost theirs. The destruction of the nest contained powerful symbolism for Beth. She faced the same enemy. After all, Mark did not understand what he destroyed with his hasty, ill-thought custody grab. The deeply satisfying, loving relationship shared by Beth and her children was invisible to him. His search for happiness through acquiring things had damaged his ability to connect with people, even with his own kids, on any but the most superficial level. She had no doubt that he would carelessly ruin her life, as completely and thoughtlessly as he’d wiped out the wasps.
Still seeking some comfort, Beth carefully inspected the eaves, hopeful of finding a nest that had escaped Mark’s ruinous rampage. Not a one. She felt the tears welling again in her eyes but choked them back. Taking some deep breaths she attempted to compose herself. Each time her thoughts wandered to the plight of the helpless wasplings, she checked them. Each time her eyes wandered towards the now empty stable eaves, she averted them. She tried not to ponder whether the insects died quickly or endured a slow, suffering death. These thoughts only served to hamper her ability to deal with her current situation – and deal with it she must. Mark was still at the house and it was imperative that she alienate him no further.
It was a long time before Beth felt calm enough to return inside. She feared that if she took too long, Mark would come looking for her, and she wanted to encounter him on her own terms. Eventually she made her way slowly back up the path. Her heart broke at the sight of a foraging paper wasp, buzzing jauntily towards the stable with a fat blowfly gripped proudly in her jaws. Beth tried not to imagine the wasp’s confusion upon arrival at the nest site, only to find all sign of her home and family obliterated. Without the security and motivation of her mother and sisters, she too would soon die of despair. Beth shook her head as if to ward off such thoughts. As she reached the top of the path, she knew the worst thing about confronting Mark, was that he would be unaware that there was even a problem. She marvelled at the depth of the chasm between them which, despite its magnitude, was entirely invisible to Mark. It occurred to Beth that she might be able to use this to her advantage.
On entering the house her face was a mask of control. Her self-discipline must be complete if she was to avoid a lapse into anger. Mark appeared at the kitchen doorway, an expectant look on his sun flushed face. Beth did not yet trust herself to speak. Silently she condemned him. Reaching for the kettle, she poured herself a strong coffee and checked to see if the children were about. They were holed-up in Rick’s room, waiting for the fire-works to begin. As minutes ticked by, Mark became puzzled by Beth’s silence.
Finally Mark spoke. “Aren’t you even going to thank me?” he asked.
“What for?” responded a measured Beth.
“What for? For getting rid of those wasps of course. You and the kids could have been seriously hurt. Look how badly I was stung.”
Mark proffered his forearm on which could be seen several painful looking, large, red welts. Beth was thrilled. Her wasp friends had not died without a fight. Mark then turned his back to her and pulled down his collar to reveal another angry-looking swelling on his neck. Beth knew she was expected to respond sympathetically, but could not quite bring herself to do so.
“You killed the wrong wasps, you know,” she said.
“Killed the wrong wasps? What do you mean? A wasp is a wasp.”
Provoked by Mark’s foolish words, Beth’s mask momentarily fell away, and a look of loathing passed across her features. She turned suddenly aside to drink her coffee, hide her feelings and plan her words.
Mark laid one hand on her shoulder and spun her round with force, showering them both with spilt coffee. Beth’s composure did not falter. After all, she had herself on a very tight rein.
“I’m sorry you were stung,” she lied. “But you did kill the wrong wasps. The European wasp nest is in the wood pile. I’ve known where it was for some time. I’m going to need a professional pest exterminator to get rid of it.”
Mark’s anger abated. Now he understood. Beth wasn’t ungrateful. She was merely disappointed that he hadn’t disposed of all of the wasps. He drained his glass and gave her his most dazzling smile.
“Oh well. No harm done then eh? Oh, except to me of course!”
He was clearly still fishing for sympathy. Beth’s steely self control was slipping.
“Actually, I really liked those native wasps,” she said, struggling to say no more.
Mark was charmed. Why, this woman couldn’t harbour an unkind thought, not even for wasps and snakes. As he looked at her, he felt a surge of love and a desire to protect her. Beth met his gaze coolly, with her hatred still well concealed. But she realised that she could not keep up appearances for ever. Her anger was growing.
“It’s not such a good idea that the kid’s go with you this afternoon,” angled Beth.
“After all, you and Helen have got some things to sort out. Why don’t you just get going and give me a ring later in the week. You can borrow the old truck to get home if you like.”
Beth’s mention of Helen shifted Mark’s attention in a most unpleasant way. Oh, yes, Helen. He supposed he had better go and talk to her, yet he was loath to leave Beth. Rick and Sarah emerged from the bedroom, amazed to find their parents being civil to each other. Reluctantly Mark kissed his children goodbye, apologising for changing their holiday plans. Beth took his cue and offered her own, gracious apologies for the lunch fiasco. The children watched, incredulous. Beth noted, in a detached kind of way that Mark was well on the way to being drunk. Under normal circumstances she would have discouraged him from getting behind the wheel. As it was she endured his clumsy kiss, stony faced, and watched him drive away with much relief.