The Fly

Editedversion Katherine Mansfield

1. "Y'ARE very snug in here, "piped old Mr. Woodifield to his former boss, and now best friend. It wastime for him to be off. But he did not want to go. Since he had retired, thewife and the girls kept him in the house every day of the week except Tuesday.On Tuesday he was allowed to go outside. Though what he did there the wife andgirls did not know, luckily.

2. "Yes, it's comfortableenough," agreed the boss; he liked to have it admired, especially by hisfriend old Woodifield."There was something I wanted to tell you," said old Woodifield, and his eyes grew dim remembering. "Now what was it? I had it in my mind when I started out thismorning."His hands began to tremble. "Poor old chap, he's on his last pins", thought the boss.And, feeling kindly, he said jokingly: "I tell you what. I've got a littledrop of something here that'll do you good before you go out into the coldagain." He unlocked a cupboard and drew forth a dark bottle.

3. Old Woodifield's mouth fellopen at the sight of it. "It's whisky, ain't it?" Whisky it was. "Theywon't let me touch it at home…" "Drink it down." the boss said. "It'll doyou good." True, it warmed mr. Woodifield like it always had—he remembered. Then the old man brightened wonderfully and relaxed. "I guess it's ok to forgetthings sometimes", he said. The boss saw the old fellow out when he finishedhis whiskey. Woodifield was gone.

4. For a long moment the boss keptstaring at the door through which Woodifield left afterwards, while his office messenger was watching him. "I'll see nobody for half an hour, Macey,nobody at all." said the boss." "Very good, sir."His fatbody plumped down in his chair. He wanted, he intended, he had arranged, to weep...

5. Although over six years hadpassed, he never had gotten over it. "My son!" groaned the boss. But no tears came. They never did. Six years ago Maceyhad handed him the telegram thatbrought the whole place crashingabouthis head. "Deeply regret to inform you ..."Six years ago, six years... How quickly time passed! It might have happened yesterday. The boss was puzzled. Something seemed to be wrongwith him. He wasn't feeling as he wanted to feel.

6. At that moment the boss noticedthat a fly had fallen into his inkpot,and was trying desperately to climb out again. Help! help! said thosestruggling legs. But the sides of the inkpot were wet and slippery; it fell back again and began to swim. The boss took up apen, picked the fly out of the ink, and shook it on to a piece of paper. For a fraction of a second it lay still. Then the front legs waved, took hold, and, pulling its small bodyup, it began cleaning the ink from its wings.

7. Then there was a pause, whilethe fly, seeming to stand on the tips of its toes, started to clean itself rigorously.After a short while, it tried to expand first one wing and then theother. It succeeded! I The horrible danger was over; it had escaped; it was soonready for life again. But just then the boss had an idea. He plunged his pen back into the ink, anddropped a large amount of ink back on the poor fly.

8. The little fellow seemedabsolutely cowed, afraid to movebecause of what would happen next. But then it dragged itself forward. Thefront legs waved and, more slowly this time, the task of cleaning himself beganfrom the beginning. "He's a plucky little devil", thought the boss, and he felt a real admiration for the fly'scourage. That was the way to tackle things; that was the right spirit. Never say die; it was only a question of ...But the fly had again finished its laborious task, and the boss was just in time to drop more ink on the new-cleaned body.

9. What about it this time? Apainful moment of suspense followed.But behold, the front legs were again waving; the boss felt a rush of relief. He leaned over the flyand said to it tenderly, "You artful little creature…!" The boss decided that this time should be the last. It was. Hedropped the last blot of ink fell onthe fly. It did not even make an effort anymore to clean itself. "Come on,"said the boss "Look sharp!". Nothing happened. The fly was dead. The boss threwthe corpse into the rubbish bin.

10. Suddenly such a grinding feeling of wretchedness seized him that he felt frightened, but in the good way. He pressedthe bell for Macey."Bring me some fresh blotting-paper,"he said, sternly."And while he sunk in thought, he started wondering what it was he had been thinkingabout before he saw the fly. What was it? For the life of him he could not remember.