And then a wonderful thing happened. The flies began shifting from the garbage to the manure. I had to resist the urge to bang at them all with the shovel. I didn’t want to harm the babies already there. Instead, I watched and wondered just how long it would take till I had a new generation to kill for the competition.
“Will, Will?” a girl’s voice called.
“Ginny?” I answered back.
“Will?” Her voice sounded closer now. “What are you doing back there?”
I wiped the tears from my eyes quickly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
I explained about Maureen and she hugged me tightly. Then I told her about my plan to grow and kill baby flies.
“Brilliant!” she gasped. “You kill their children because they killed ours.” She stared at the aisle of horse dung behind the shed. “And maybe you’ll beat Fred Leckie in the bargain.”
“Exactly,” I said. “But we’ll need to borrow some screen from your brother tomorrow.
“That should be fine. Can we go for a walk?” She smiled at me.
“I’d like that. Let me just wash up a bit.” We strode back to the stable where Ginny pumped the water for me. I hoped I didn’t smell again but if I did Ginny didn’t seem to notice or care. “Where are Bea and Ian?”
“Sunday, my mum doesn’t work so she can look after them.” She began walking and I followed along. “Do you want to go to the lake?”
“Yes. I’ve never been.”
“Well,” she flicked a braid, “you haven’t lived in Hamilton that long.”
I had no idea even which direction the lake was so I just followed her down the hill, through Gore Park, and even farther along King Street. Sweat poured off of my forehead. When we turned onto a street called Ferguson, I peered ahead, hoping for a glimpse of blue. No such luck. Just some sheds and in the distance a railway.
As we crossed the tracks, Ginny explained how her father had just gotten a job working on building the harbor. Things were going to be wonderful for her family from now on.
Unless someone gets sick, I thought to myself. Things had always gone well for our family till Colleen had taken that fever.
It was as if Ginny heard my thoughts. “I had a baby brother who died last summer. The illness came on sudden-like and there was nothing anyone could do.”
“Do you think it was the flies?” I asked. I still couldn’t see the lake but I could certainly smell something foul.
She shrugged her shoulders. “We didn’t have enough to eat. My ma was too tired to feed him right.”
“But you’re helping me catch flies,” I said as we passed more houses and a grocery store. At the end of the street the stench became stronger. On the corner was a large brick building with the words Sewage Disposal Works over the front door.
“Killing bugs can’t hurt, can it? Especially if you were to beat Fred Leckie. Just once it would be nice if the rich didn’t beat us.”
Finally, we arrived at the water. In the far distance, I could make out the shape of buildings on another shore. Another town? The air felt cooler even though the odor of sewage and seaweed hung heavy in it. The lake appeared two shades bluer than the cloudless sky and the water lapped gently along the wooden posts holding up the pier. We walked onto it.
“That’s the boathouse,” Ginny told me as she pointed to the large wooden building at the end of the pier. Ahead, white sailboats danced across the blue.
A young couple stood near the edge of the pier. The man wore a black-and-white striped undershirt—at least that’s what it looked like—along with some tight black shorts that ended just above his knee. The young woman, wearing dark tights and a short dress styled to look like a sailor’s uniform, giggled and held his hand. I couldn’t help staring.
“Haven’t you ever seen anyone in a bathing suit?” Ginny asked me. “My aunt has one. The latest thing.”
I looked at the costume again. “We didn’t bring anything to change into.”
“Who cares?” Ginny took off her boots and then her dress. She dove over the side wearing nothing but her slip.
Dare I strip too? I took off my shirt and shoes, but didn’t have the courage to show Ginny my underwear. I jumped into the water. It didn’t smell fresh but it was cool, and splashing in it felt wonderful. Ginny swam like a frog but I just floated on my back, forgetting everything to stare up at the sky.
Afterwards we found a dead fish along the shore. “Quick, get something out of the bin so we can get the flies,” Ginny said.
I rifled in the big round tin of garbage and found a piece of wood and a can. Together we smacked against the creatures buzzing along the scales. We managed to scoop another hundred dead flies that afternoon when we hadn’t even set out looking. Too late for Colleen, too late for Mum, too late for Maureen. I only prayed it was soon enough for Uncle Charlie.
Chapter 22
The next day we visited the market stables again, this time the third building. In between tending the horses, even Tom joined in as we worked steadily to smack and swat in the heat. It was comforting to have Ginny, Bea, and Ian along side of me—a hint of what it might have been like if Mum had lived and had more children.
Five hours later, my arms ached and the odor of rot stuck in my nostrils. We had filled both pails and a potato sack. Tom also gave me a bolt of screen for my new fly trap. From the market we made the short walk across the street to City Hall. It was later than usual, a quarter to five, but that worked in our favor. The line had dwindled down. We didn’t need to wait long at all before we could pile our catch on the table.
We hadn’t seen Fred Leckie or heard his final count.
Dr. Roberts grouped the flies into tens and swished them into a bushel basket as usual, marking lines and crossing them through as he always did. When all the flies were cleared away, he spent a few minutes counting the marks on his page. He frowned and re-tallied. Then finally he looked up and smiled. “Congratulations. That’s the record. For today and the whole contest. You’ve brought in 22,000.”
Ginny and Bea jumped in the air, cheering. Ian slapped me on the back and I hugged Ginny and Bea as they jumped. Victory tasted as sweet as that orange we had shared back in Gore Park.
The hall was fairly empty as we left and I found myself looking around. Where was Rebecca? I wanted to share this moment with her too, but couldn’t see her anywhere.
The Malones and I walked up the hill together again and, as usual, when we reached Hunter Street, they headed down to Corktown while I headed back to the Blink Bonnie. I arrived in the kitchen just as tea was being served and sat down at the bench behind the table. Father sat there with the parlor maid, the cook, and the butler, chatting and laughing, but it all sounded like birdsong in the distance. As I ate my chicken and potatoes and carrots, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. I would be glad when the contest was over—everything ached, I was so tired of chasing flies. My head nodded down twice. Then I felt someone shaking my arm.
“Will, Will. You have a visitor,” Mrs. Swanson told me.
“What? Who?” I rose. As I turned toward the door, I saw Rebecca standing just inside of it. She was wearing a lavender-colored shirtwaist and skirt today, her hair held back with matching ribbons. I found myself blinking hard to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I quickly opened the door and guided her outside so we could be alone.
“I couldn’t come today,” she told me. “Instead, I brought you a present.” She held out a large box.
“I won the count,” I told her.
“Oh, Will! That’s wonderful.” She hugged me with the gift between us.
I took the box hesitantly. I hoped it wasn’t some expensive trinket that would make me feel awkward. I lifted the lid and grinned at the pile of dried black bodies. “But, but…you told Fred you didn’t want to catch flies.”
“Nor did I. But it seemed the only thing I could do for you.”
For a wealthy girl she sure understood me well. “We’re going to beat him, Rebecca. I
know we are.”
“If anyone can, it shall be you.” She smiled and lifted her chin.
There was a moment in which I wanted to hug her, but in the time it took me to wonder if I should, the moment passed. “Would you like to see my latest fly trap?” I asked.
“Very much,” Rebecca replied.
I took her elbow and led her back to the garbage shed. “You must hold your nose.” I walked around behind it and she followed. I had weighted down the corners of the screen with other garbage. Flies continued to buzz over it.
“Ugh, what an awful stink.” She winced and fanned her hand in front of her face.
“It’s horse manure. Of course it smells.” I coughed myself at the heavy odor. “I waited till all the flies laid their eggs. Can you make out the slivers of white through the screen, there?” I didn’t wait for her answer. “And I trapped other flies birthing even more when I laid down the screen. Once they grow into insects, I will just dump water on them and kill them all. An effortless catch. Should be good for thousands.”
“But you’re not catching flies here, Will.”
I heard criticism in her voice and stepped back. “Certainly! Every one of those fly babies will be trapped, I assure you.”
“Yes, I mean you are catching them…but you’re keeping the manure here for them to feed.”
“Brilliant, eh?” I looked at her face and saw her blue eyes widen, large as the lake. Only they had widened in horror—not in delight. Why? What was wrong with her? I thought she understood. “Rebecca, today I found out another baby died. The daughter of a good friend.”
She shook her head at me.
“Don’t you see, Rebecca. I must get even. They’ve killed two children that I know. Ginny’s brother died too. And now, in return, I am killing their babies.”
“But Will, if you’re breeding the flies, you’re no longer saving any babies. You’re raising them for slaughter.”
My mouth dropped. I didn’t think I’d ever felt as angry with anyone before. I wanted to yell out at her about her being rich and not understanding. My fingers curled into fists. I forced them open again and slapped the wall of the garbage shed. “I can win. You said it yourself.”
“But you’ll be no better than Fred Leckie. You’ve even used the Malone girl and her family…Fred stops at nothing to get his victory. And neither do you!”
“I’ve never used anyone! Not the way Fred Leckie does. Ginny wanted to help. Just as you did.” At this moment, pride told me I should return her gift, but then I remembered my earlier victory. How sweet it had felt. I longed for another win, the big win. So instead, I turned from Rebecca and walked back toward the house.
“Will?” she called.
“What would you have me do?” I moaned. I stopped and looked back at her.
“Nothing. You’re doing a wonderful job of killing thousands of flies. You don’t need to raise more to kill.”
“We need the prize money to buy a home.”
“I’ve told you before, Will. None of the boys like writing and you’re good at it. You know you are.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “You want me to enter the essay contest.”
“The prize isn’t as great, I know. But if you really want to save children, you can give your winnings to the Babies’ Dispensary Guild. The pure milk they provide keeps children healthy.”
I shook my head. Her family could probably afford to buy milk for all the poor in Hamilton. She really didn’t understand me at all.
I strode back inside the house to the room Father and I shared and threw myself onto the bed, bone-achingly exhausted.
Pure milk, pure milk, the words tumbled around my head until suddenly I had a picture of another time floating in my head. Far away and yet coming closer. In London. My sister and I are alone in a large yellow room, our flat. Mum and Father must be at work. Colleen pats my shoulder with a plump hand, cooing like a dove, her velvety head heavy against my neck. Then, suddenly, she is fussing, the way babies do, and I know I have to give her a bottle. I heat it in a pan of water on the stove but in a blink the bottle becomes too hot. I stand it on the counter. Colleen screams, waving at the milk, and I bounce her on my hip till I can’t stand it anymore. I reach for the bottle. A fly sits on the nipple, rubbing its front legs together. Huge. I brush against its hairy body as I swish it away. Wash the nipple. Wash the nipple, I think to myself, but instead I put the bottle straight to Colleen’s mouth. No, no! My mind cries out, but it is as though I am frozen. She sucks at it immediately and is soothed into a blissful sleep. Quiet relief. Too much quiet. Time speeds ahead and a different scene plays in my mind.
Colleen is no longer crying. She’s on fire—limp, not bouncing or waving—the scene speeds ahead again, and this time she lies still and gray in my mum’s arms.
“William, love, can ye pry the poor babe from her?” Mrs. Gale’s words. She holds the burial shroud ready for my sister. A white-veiled bag to send her to her grave.
“Mum, Mum, let me have her. I know what to do,” I lie to my mother. My father has already failed to pull my sister away.
She smiles at me, trusting, and hands over her baby. Colleen is no longer limp. She’s stiff, and her skin is cold, tinged with blue. Forgive me, Mum. I give my sister’s body to Mrs. Gale and she slips her into the bag.
I awoke the next morning feeling as heavy and sad as the day I stole my sister from my mum. What could I do? There was no returning to sleep even though it was still early. Rebecca’s words still played in my mind, but different ones this time: None of the boys like writing and you’re good at it. I grabbed the pen and some paper from the bureau. I opened the jar of ink, dipped my pen, and began writing:
Why We Must Kill the Fly
In the autumn, when baby Colleen was born, I didn’t know what to make of her. She was tiny and slept much of the time, but on the rare occasion she would stare into my eyes till I believed I was someone important, her big brother. By spring, she liked to stand on my lap and bounce, bending her dimpled knees and pushing off from her tiny feet. I would hold her tight so she would never fall. I was always going to protect her.
By summer, the flies were plentiful but no one thought anything of it. Colleen even seemed to like them. When one landed on her hand, she only laughed, and didn’t her laughter sound like the bells on horses on Christmas Day.
When she fell sick, no food stayed in her. Every limb fell slack, her skin turned hot and her eyes glazed. Within the week, summer complaint killed her. The flies continued to buzz. In the fall my mother started coughing. The flies went to sleep, but it was too late. By the winter Mum was spitting up blood. By spring, she was dead too.
Father and I didn’t know that germs traveled on these insects’ feet till we arrived in Canada and Dr. Roberts came and talked to my class. For every fly killed at the beginning of summer, five hundred remain unborn. Perhaps if I had killed just one fly, Colleen would still be alive and Mother would not have started coughing. You know now, too, about the germs on these deadly creatures’ legs. You can save your own family. That is why you must kill the fly.
I bawled right through the writing and had to wipe my sleeve across my face several times so that my tears would not soak the paper. Father awoke to the sight and, rubbing his own eyes, squinted at me.
“What are you writing, lad?”
“It’s for a contest. You don’t want to see it.”
“Of course I do.” He smiled and took the paper from me. As his eyes moved over the page, his breath grew heavy. He wiped at his eyes too. “It was not your fault, Will. Never. We were just too poor.” He shook his head and stared at the essay again. “Today, I will deliver this to the Hamilton Spectator for you.” He sighed heavily, clapped his hand on my shoulder and then kissed my cheek.
Chapter 23
“Tom said he had to order some boys away from the stable this morning. Fred Leckie has his friends as well as his dad’s employees all out catching.” Ginny seemed to be avoiding my question as
we headed toward City Hall for the Tuesday count-in. Finnigan, Bea, and Ian scampered ahead.
“I didn’t ask you about what Fred was doing,” I insisted. “I asked you if you thought I was raising flies with my manure pile traps.”
“Of course you are! And so what? You have to take every advantage. You have to win, Will. We’re so close now!”
“Rebecca says I’m not saving any babies from dying. She says I’ve become just like Fred.”
“What does she know, anyway?” Ginny threw one arm open wide. The other held up a bag of dead flies. “Fred is rich. You want to be rich, don’t you, William Alton?”
I remembered what Mr. Moodie had predicted the day I confessed about vacuuming flies from the stable: “You’re going to be a wealthy man someday.” It would be nice to have enough money for a fine house like Mr. Moodie’s. Imagine Fred’s power over all of our classmates, all because his father had money. I wanted to take that power away from him, to have that power myself. Ginny was right. Winning was the important thing right now.
We had stayed extra late at the stable to maximize our kill. As a result we arrived at the health department a moment shy of five o’clock. Dr. Roberts was taking off his gloves for the day. He sighed. “Why don’t you children just come back tomorrow? That way you’ll have an even greater number to record.”
Revenge on the Fly Page 13