"...he still has something to live on - he has his garden, he has bees, hens. ....Ya to help me. Stand here and watch that bee, it will soon be swarming. I'll go check on the others, and you, as soon as you see a swarm pop out, call me. ... Nah, the swarm blurted out. Indeed, a swarm of bees was playing on a large black ball in the air. ...Bodura held a bunch of lemon balm in one hand and sprinkled it on the swarm, and a pleasant smell spread throughout the air. In his other hand, he held an empty basket on a high pole, and at the same time, he was playing with his mouth, playing something peculiar, monotonous, but insistently, the same sound as when a spout flows. And he kept sprinkling lemon balm. The swarm rose high, buzzed, and Hristo thought he was about to run away. He had not noticed that some flies had already entered the basket, and after a while the whole swarm, breaking and landing lower, was drawn into the basket as well. A living black ball was already blackening at its bottom. Bodura was still playing with his mouth, his face contorted. There were bees on his arms and neck, but they didn't sting him. "They know me," he said, "they don't say anything to me."
Quote from the short story "Deception" by Yordan Stefanov Yovkov (1880-1937), Bulgarian writer of the interwar period.
