Revenge on the Fly

by Sylvia McNicoll

  I walked a little farther up the hill. Even though it was bad news I was bringing him, he needed to know quickly so we could find another place to live.

  “Father!” I called as I drew near the stable at the back. Instead, a plump short woman with a white bonnet peeked out the back door.

  “Here now, stop your yellin’. Your father is working in the big house right now. Step in and you can have tea with him.”

  Back at school, lunch hour would be over by now. I was late anyway so I followed the woman down the stairs to the kitchen. I’d never seen so many cupboards, or pots dangling from the cupboards, in my life.

  “Sit,” the woman told me, pointing to a chair at a large wooden table. She brought a teapot, three teacups, a plate of scones, and some preserves to the table and then sat down herself.

  “Milk and sugar?” she asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Help yerself.” She pushed the plate of scones toward me.

  I couldn’t believe my good fortune! I reached for one and smiled as my hand touched the firm floury edge; it was still warm. “Might I have some jam?” I asked.

  “I told ye to help yerself.”

  I grabbed for the preserves before she could change her mind, spread the red berries on the scone, and bit in. I was starving, and the biscuit made me forget my troubles.

  Till Father joined us. “School is over early today?”

  I should have told him I had skipped out during lunch but he gave me no chance.

  “I see you have met Mrs. Swanson, our cook. Mrs. Swanson, this is my son, William.”

  “Father, Madame Depieu kicked us out this afternoon because she found my container of flies under our bed.”

  Mrs. Swanson sputtered out some biscuit.

  “What? You kept the flies under our bed?”

  “Three hundred and eighty-nine of them. For the contest. But they are all gone because Madame threw them out. I checked the trash, but the container isn’t there either.”

  “Finish your tea, Will. We need to get back to the stable.” Father gave me a sharp look, as though I wasn’t to discuss the matter in front of Mrs. Swanson.

  I savored my last bit of scone, wondering what my chances for a second were. Mrs. Swanson began clearing the table. No chance. I frowned.

  Then suddenly she turned and handed me one. “For the road.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Just as Father stood up from the table, a loud mechanical roar started up. I jumped.

  “That will be Ellie with the vacuum cleaner,” Mrs. Swanson explained. “Mr. Moodie enjoys every new contraption there is out there. He has that new bicycle and a motorcar. Of course, he has his maids use the vacuum cleaner.”

  “I wonder how it works,” I said, thinking about how Souter advertised the machine as a good fly catcher.

  “You can ask Ellie to show you Saturday,” Father suggested. “Come along now.” I followed him up the stairs and out the door, through the back yard to the stable.

  “I am sorry the witch found my flies, Da. Where are we going to sleep now? Any word from Uncle Charlie?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s wonderful! Can we move in with him tonight?”

  “No. Unfortunately your Uncle Charlie is in St. Joseph’s Hospital under quarantine for typhoid.”

  “But how did you find out?”

  “I told Mrs. Swanson the story of that strange woman who denied that Charlie lived at her establishment and she explained to me how the same thing had happened to a friend of hers. She had gone to visit a sister, but the landlady at the rooming house claimed to have no knowledge of her. Her sister was in the hospital. None of them want to lose business over a boarder’s disease.”

  “So you visited him at the hospital?”

  “Actually, I walked over to the City Health Department, where they gave me a list of quarantined patients. Charles Alton was on the list.”

  “Is it bad, Father?” I swallowed hard. My lucky red-headed uncle, always ready for an adventure. How could he fall ill? “Will he die?”

  “It’s not like typhus, but it’s bad. His fever can go high and he’ll be laid up a month at least.” Father winced as he shrugged his shoulders. It took him a few moments to form words. “I have heard that some people survive.”

  Up to now, our family had not had a good record with surviving illness. “What are we going to do?” I stared down at my feet and noticed that my shoe was beginning to split, just like Ginny’s boot.

  “We will pray for him, of course. As for ourselves, tonight we’ll just bunk down in the stable. You can take the seat of the carriage, if you find that comfortable, and I will spread out on the floor.”

  Just then a fly landed on Father’s arm. Without saying a word, I snatched just above it with my fist. I got it! It was a new start. One fly. Somehow, I would think of something to ensure that Fred Leckie would not win. For my family I would destroy the disease-carrying monsters. And if I could win the fly-killing competition, perhaps my Uncle Charlie could win his competition with typhoid.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning I awoke with a stiff neck and cramped legs, wondering where I was. Then I heard the familiar snort of the horses and smelled their strong earthy scent. I heard my father’s voice. “There you go Blue, enjoy your oats.” For a moment I felt safe and warm.

  Then another thought pricked at my conscience. The letter of apology for Fred! Because of our eviction from Madame Depieu’s rooming house and the bad news about Uncle Charlie, the fight with Fred had slipped to the back of my mind. Irish scum. How could anyone expect me to apologize to someone who had called me that?

  Right then and there, I knew what I had to do. I would not return to school. Instead, I would go door to door to the shops and factories close by and catch flies. If I spent the day working at it, surely I would have a chance at overtaking Fred.

  I washed myself as best as I could under the pump and Father got us some tea and a scone from the manor for breakfast. Then, just as usual, I left for school. I followed the same pathway as I had for the past two days, crossing between Blink Bonnie and Central Public.

  When I arrived in the schoolyard, I intended to march straight on to the park with the marvelous fountain, where I thought I had seen Mum and Colleen. Only someone tapped my shoulder.

  I turned. It was Rebecca Edwards. She wore a blue dress and matching bonnet, looking for all like a piece of heaven dropped out of the sky. She smiled and held out a large jar. “I caught these for you. The servants helped me.”

  I stared through the glass at the dead insects, the finest gift a girl had ever given me—the only present, in fact. “But how can I take them? I didn’t catch them myself.” Still, I couldn’t help myself. I already had the jar in my hands.

  “These will just replace those that were stolen from you by Ginny Malone.”

  “Ginny! But I thought it was Fred Leckie who took them.”

  “Well, of course he’s the one to benefit from them. Certainly he didn’t return them to you when he realized they were yours.”

  I smiled at Rebecca. Mostly I felt comforted to know that I hadn’t lost her friendship, even if she had been walking with Fred yesterday. But I also realized how much this gesture meant, since she had never stooped to catch a fly before. I thought she detested touching them for the germs. I wanted to show my gratitude in some way. “Thank you, Rebecca.”

  “It was entirely my pleasure, William Alton.” She leaned over and gave my cheek a quick kiss.

  It felt wonderful. Tingly and warm. I felt happy for the first time since before Mum died. Here was a fair girl who had nice clothes and pretty hair ribbons. She was loved and well looked after. Nothing like any of the girls I’d ever met in London. With such a girl’s lips touching against your skin, sure wouldn’t anything be possible from here on in. “Rebecca, in order to return to class, I must write a note of apology to Fred for bloodying his nose.” I shook my head. “And I just cannot.”
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  “But, Will, you have to come back.”

  “Yes.” I swallowed. “But there’s something more. We found out yesterday that my Uncle Charlie is in quarantine with typhoid fever.”

  “No!” Rebecca clasped her hands to her mouth.

  “So now there is even more reason for me to kill flies. I intend to take the day to kill so many”—I made a fist and shook it—“that I can vanquish disease. And hold my head up high when they count my numbers against Fred’s—especially if I must write that apology.”

  Rebecca looked at me, blue eyes wide. “To vanquish disease, you will skip school. Are you sure? My father attended university many long years to do the same. Is it not simply so that you can beat Fred Leckie?”

  I twisted my mouth as I thought about her question, and realized she was right. “He needs to be beaten,” I finally answered. “I will see you on Monday.”

  “If not before,” she answered.

  Before, before. My heart thumped the double beat as I marched down Hunter Street. Where would I possibly see Rebecca if not in school? I wondered. Still, I hoped and my heart pounded harder.

  I walked briskly, checking over my shoulder to make sure Mr. Morton was not in view, or worse, following. Then I turned north up the street. Beating Fred Leckie had become everything to me, I realized as I passed a gray stone mansion.

  I sighed, looking at it. With two chimneys and many large, shuttered windows, perhaps that house was even Fred’s home—if not then certainly one like it. I wanted Father and me to live in a house with pillars and a balcony over the entrance. I wanted to wear crisp white shirts and boots without holes and to eat oranges for a recess snack. I wondered what it would be like to have all of that and then wondered whether I would ever know. I sighed and then continued till I saw the park. Water spouts from the fountain were leaping toward the sky and made me want to reach up too. I could beat Fred Leckie, I knew I could.

  Down the street, the first shop I stopped at had a window display of large hocks of raw red meat. A couple of flies buzzed near the windowpane. Even though a CLOSED sign still hung on the door, I knocked.

  “Excuse me, sir. May I come in and kill flies for you?”

  The man with the bloody apron around his neck looked more than a bit surprised. “Why? We use flypaper. I am about to change it now.”

  “Can I have your old one?” I asked. Taking these strips would not help in the war against flies and germs, only in the war against Fred. I hoped Dr. Roberts would count the bodies on the sticky tape if I brought it in.

  “You can have all three. What is this about?”

  I explained about the contest. I also asked if I could kill any flies loose around the shop now.

  “Only until the shop opens at ten o’clock. We don’t want the customers to see you in action. Mind you’re careful that none of your victims fall into the meat.”

  With those rules in mind, I borrowed the butcher’s fly swatter and set about annihilating all the flies in the store. I carefully slapped and caught the ones in the window first, then worked on the back room. When I finished there, I headed for the trash shed. I swatted at least fifty but one flew up and away. Always wait till the fly lands. Ginny Malone’s advice came back to me. I frowned when her name came into my thoughts. I could understand Ginny working for Fred—she couldn’t help whom she liked—but to steal my flies right from the cubby at school was too great a betrayal for me to accept. I would show her that I could win despite her sabotage—that people like us did have a chance.

  The creature circled and dove at me, back up and down, buzzing brazenly. “Well, I have had loads of practice now.” I watched it do another turn in the air and then snatched where I thought it would fly next.

  Nothing. Ginny was right. I let that method go for another day.

  I collected 378 flies from the meat shop, a fairly good catch. If I continued swatting at this rate—and with Rebecca’s jar added in—I would regain everything I’d lost and certainly give Fred some competition. Before I left, the butcher pressed a nickel into my hand. I smiled at it, imagining a whole bag full of hard butterscotch candy. I would eat them for lunch. No, I would save some to share with Rebecca—better yet, Ginny Malone’s little brother and sister. Then she would see that she didn’t have to steal my flies to gain Fred’s favor. He wasn’t the only person who could make treats possible for her family.

  The next stop was a shirt manufacturer. The foreman I approached told me that they used Wilson’s Fly Pads and did not need my assistance in getting rid of the creatures.

  “Really, sir? May I see one?” I asked.

  “There, on the window ledge. Go ahead. Mind you don’t pester the ladies at work.”

  I walked quickly around a row of sewing machines to the window ledge at the back. There sat a round container with a picture of a fly on one side and a large hole on the other. It didn’t look like a pad so much as a trap.

  I heard the frustrated buzzing coming from the inside and smiled. I wondered how much the trap cost. The cluster of flies in the corner of the room I slapped and collected with my hand. When one stubborn fly escaped, I waited patiently till it landed on a sewing table. I guessed the direction of flight and scooped it from behind, slightly above the table, squeezing and dropping it in my jar. Just as Ginny had told me to do.

  “Here now. I told you I don’t need you to get rid of the little buggers,” the foreman called. “I’m not going to pay you.”

  “My goal was to capture and kill more flies not to earn money.” I walked back toward the front. “May I come back after school every day and collect the bodies from the trap though?”

  He thought about that for a moment. “Don’t see any reason why not.”

  “Good.” I thought for a moment. Saturday was the official opening day of the competition, the registration, and the first count-in. “Are you open tomorrow? Can I come in at three o’clock?”

  “If you like.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I left with one jar full of flies and another just started. Walking away from Gore Park, westward, I visited a grocery store, two stables, and a furniture shop. As I walked by the chairs and lamps, I realized that this was Souter’s, the store Father had pointed out when he spoke about the owner’s unusual way of catching flies.

  I stopped and the owner, Mr. Souter, came out. When I asked about his vacuum cleaning method, he insisted on demonstrating. I followed Mr. Souter to the back room. The machine looked like a broomstick stuck into a hatbox with a bagpipe attached. Mr. Souter pushed the machine toward the front window. There, he plugged it in and connected a hose.

  Grinning, he switched the vacuum cleaner on and aimed the rubber tube toward a corner where two flies sat. The flies disappeared into the nozzle. “It’s a Hoover Type O. Don’t you think everyone should own one of these? For hygiene and health?”

  “Certainly, sir. And I’ll tell everyone to come here and buy one. May I borrow your machine to demonstrate to the other shop owners?”

  Mr. Souter shook his finger at me. “I like the way you think, but I cannot loan it out like that. Once you borrow this machine, I will have to discount it as used.”

  “But you demonstrate the method with it, do you not?”

  “Yes, but only in this store. We would discount it only a little and call it a demonstrator model.”

  I scrunched up my mouth. I didn’t really understand Mr. Souter’s thinking, but that happened to me often with adults. So I tried something different. “May I use the machine in your store only? And can I empty the flies into my container?”

  “Certainly, my boy. And if someone comes in to shop, you can be the person who demonstrates.” Mr. Souter smiled. “Check around all the windows and the back stockroom.”

  I agreed. The vacuum sucked noisily but successfully. I liked this new way of killing the creatures. No touching or squeezing needed. The nozzle aimed for the creatures and—schlumpf—they were gone. After I had visited the storeroom, Mr. Souter helped me unload the fli
es.

  He also flipped me another nickel.

  I filled two more jars but my stomach rumbled. I fingered the two nickels in my pocket. Should I buy myself something to eat? I didn’t want to waste time shopping for food. And I imagined those butterscotch candies again. Later, I told myself, later.

  For now, I visited the dustbins in the back laneway.

  I killed and missed many flies landing and lifting off from the trash. It took forever. I needed to leave bait and traps everywhere to speed up the catching process. Every once in a while I tried to snatch the insects straight from the air like Ginny and her dog. Not once did I succeed.

  I checked the clocks in the shops, and just before the usual dismissal time, trudged back to Blink Bonnie Manor using my regular route from school. I headed to the back of the building where I thought he might be working.

  “Father?” I called when I saw him sitting on the carriage, a small leafless tree branch across his lap.

  “Where were you today?”

  My mouth dropped open. Hot as I was from fly catching, I suddenly felt my blood chill.

  “Why did you not attend school?” Father leaped from the carriage and grabbed my arm, hard.

  “I wanted to catch flies so that I could win the Hamilton Spectator competition.”

  “You missed school to catch flies!” he said, low and angry. He swung the switch in my direction. It whistled past my ear.

  “I meant to tell you. I couldn’t go to class unless I wrote a letter of apology to Fred Leckie.”

  Father swung the switch again, but it came nowhere near me. “You bloodied that lad’s nose. Mr. Morton told me when I came to get you for lunch today.” He swung again. This time he would have hit, only I ducked.

  “You don’t understand! He thinks he owns the world because his parents are wealthy.”

  “You must attend school!” He threw the switch at me and this time it found its mark.