Revenge on the Fly

by Sylvia McNicoll

  Ginny chewed at the end of a braid. “Forty-eight.”

  “Correct. So, Miss Edwards, please make the chart. How long will it take for all of these students to have a turn, Master Leckie?”

  “Till the end of school, sir.”

  “Correct.”

  Fred gave me his smug smile.

  “During the balance of class time, no other students will move to catch any insects. Is that clear?”

  Again the group answered as one: “Yes, Mr. Samson.”

  Fred raised his hand.

  “Yes, Master Leckie?”

  “I would like to give my time slot to Ginny Malone.” By now Fred must have recognized Ginny’s superior fly-catching skills.

  Ginny smiled, something I had never seen her do before, and it opened her face like a flower. Ginny might look sloppy with her loose braids and worn clothing, but her eyes had a golden fire when she was happy. And at this moment, that golden fire lighted on Fred.

  I felt sorry for her. You couldn’t help whom you liked.

  “Admirable of you to be so generous with your fly-catching time slot, Master Leckie.” Mr. Samson raised one shaggy black eyebrow at Fred. “But everyone participating will take their own turn.”

  “Yes, Mr. Samson.”

  “While Rebecca prepares our chart, the rest of you will turn to page fifty-three in your arithmetic book. You will copy out problems one to seventeen and solve them.”

  Desk drawers opened, papers shuffled, pages flipped. Finally there was a quiet scratching of pencil tips against paper.

  I was calculating sums when I heard Rebecca’s voice.

  “Sir, I have the chart prepared.”

  “Excellent. Which two students should be up catching these deadly insects today?” Mr. Samson asked.

  “William Alton and Henry Best, sir.”

  It made sense, Alton and Best, a and b being the first two letters of the alphabet. Still, every head seemed to turn to look at me. Fred Leckie’s glare carried a warning.

  “William and Henry, since you missed the opportunity to catch flies this morning before everyone arrived, would you care to take your turns now?” Mr. Samson asked.

  I knew I couldn’t say no, but I wanted to. I didn’t need everyone watching me. Why did no one enjoy spying on Henry? I looked around for a fly-swatting tool of some sort. No newspaper anywhere. What would Mr. Samson say if I used my notebook? I frowned. He wouldn’t like fly-smeared sums. Instead, I picked up the wooden ruler from the ledge of the chalkboard and headed for the window. Slap! I missed the fly buzzing there. Slap, slap, I missed two more times.

  Fred Leckie snickered.

  I flung down the ruler and swatted with my hand. Missed again. The tiny menace dove for me, buzzing just beneath my nose. I sneezed twice.

  My sneeze splatted the fly against the glass.

  The whole class laughed now.

  I felt my face growing red, but I snatched up the body anyway.

  “William,” Mr. Samson called. “Henry.”

  “Yes sir,” we answered together.

  “I have reconsidered. You will take your turn at recess instead, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” I sat down, happy to stop flailing for an audience. Between now and recess I wouldn’t get any better at fly catching, but at least fewer people would be around watching and laughing.

  Fred snickered. Henry smirked too.

  I sat at our desk and turned slightly, smiling back at Fred as if I didn’t have a care. Let him think I was no match for him in this competition. If he let his guard down, it would only help me. At recess, Fred again offered up his orange in exchange for flies.

  I inhaled the smell but swallowed the longing.

  “I have two hundred flies here for you,” Ginny said.

  “But I only have one piece left,” Fred told her.

  “You can owe me the rest then.” Ginny blushed and looked at her shoes as she placed her can of flies on Fred’s desk.

  If only she had glanced up for a moment, she would have seen Fred’s lip curling. He sneered at her messy hair and holey boots. I had heard him make fun of them when Ginny was out of earshot. Fred gave her the orange segment without another word and Ginny smiled as though she carried away a piece of the universe.

  Just then a fly landed on Fred’s desk. “Rooming-house boy! Here! Kill it! Go ahead!”

  This time I looked in the wastepaper basket for a weapon. Nothing there to roll up. I walked over to the desk, willing the fly to go somewhere else before I got there, but it didn’t. I stopped and stared at it. Then fast as a whip I snatched at the bug. Faster still, it flew up ahead of my hand.

  “See there. He cannot catch a single fly!” Fred held himself around his middle he was laughing so hard.

  “Neither can you,” I said. I couldn’t stop myself. “But at least I am not a cheater. All the flies I do catch are on my own.” I turned and walked away without looking back. I didn’t want to see his face or anyone else’s.

  Chapter 9

  I caught another twenty flies and stowed them in my Ovaltine jar, giving it a jiggle. Four hundred and forty-one—not a bad number considering how bad I was at catching them with my bare hands. Also considering I couldn’t hire helpers. I scrubbed my hands in the boys’ room and finally headed outside onto the schoolyard.

  What I saw made me wish recess was over. There, strolling together as if they were meant for each other, were Fred Leckie and Rebecca Edwards. I swallowed a hard lump of disappointment. What could she possibly see in him? She was far too sweet and smart to be spending her time with such a mean boy just because he dressed well. I’d thought maybe she and I would be friends. Now I wasn’t so sure… Certainly no one else paid me any attention. All the other students were busy catching flies as usual except—I looked over the yard a second time—where was Ginny Malone?

  At that moment a fly buzzed by and I followed it with my eyes. Up and up into a tree—there I noticed a leg hanging over a branch, the foot of which wore a telltale flapping boot.

  “Why aren’t you out there catching more flies?” I asked Ginny Malone.

  “Come up here if you want to talk to me,” she grumbled back.

  It was the usual sneering tone she used on me, but I thought I heard something more forlorn in it. I looked up into the tree and wondered if I felt like climbing, only to be spoken to like that. But what else did I have to do? I had no other friends besides Rebecca and if she preferred Fred to me, I didn’t want the others to see me moping about. So I caught a branch and swung myself up, scrambling to a spot next to her. “You’re so good at killing the creatures. You should enter the contest yourself instead of giving all your flies to Fred.”

  “My brother and sister never tasted orange before. I want them each to have a piece.”

  “And you think Fred will pay you.” I shook my head.

  Ginny shrugged her shoulders then stared at Fred as he walked with Rebecca.

  “It doesn’t matter. People like us never win.”

  Certainly, all the illness and bad luck that followed our family made Ginny’s words seem right. But hadn’t we come to this new country for better opportunity? Sure, wasn’t anything possible in Canada? “I’m going to win,” I told her. I watched Rebecca too. She didn’t seem unhappy to be walking with Fred. “What do you even see in him?”

  “Ha! I could ask the same of you over Rebecca. Look at him! Hair freshly combed and slicked back, clean new clothes, never mended. Why, his shirt doesn’t show a mark on it and it’s white.” She sighed. “Someone with a life like that. . .if I could get him to like me back it would make me feel. . .richer.” She looked at me directly now. “Tell me you don’t feel the same way about her.”

  It was true that I liked Rebecca’s long golden hair and the large ribbons, like blossoms, that secured it. Her hands were dainty and pale with pink nails that had milky half moons. I liked that she didn’t rush about trying to kill flies, but mostly I enjoyed the fact that unlike all of his “paid” fri
ends, she stood up to Fred—or had till now. I changed the topic of conversation. “You have a great dog. How did you teach him to catch flies?”

  “Finnigan? He comes by it naturally.” Ginny smiled a little then. “When we found Finn my pa said he was not going to be able to feed another mouth. So Finn catches mice and squirrels and flies when pickings are slim. He offers me his other catches too. Of late, I have just asked him for his flies.”

  “Hmph. I would never starve my dog for the likes of Fred Leckie!” I told her.

  “If he wins the contest, he said he would bring me a whole orange. Besides, Finnigan doesn’t starve. I give him some of my supper.”

  “You could probably buy at least a dozen oranges with the prize money if you went for it yourself.”

  “Fred’s father brings citrus in all the way from California. Besides, I told you. I can never win. Neither can you. Fred, with all his money, will always find a way to beat us.”

  I shook my head. “Not this time.” I knew I would have to think of a way to catch vast quantities of flies if I wanted to overtake Fred. But I would work at it and I would win.

  I looked at Ginny for a moment. When she smiled, she was just as pretty as Rebecca, but with dark hair and golden eyes. And with those freckles, she was perhaps more interesting. “Tell me something,” I said after a while. “How can you catch flies with your bare hands?”

  Mr. Samson stepped out the door into the schoolyard just then, shaking a bell to signal the end of recess. Ginny looked like she was going to ignore the question as she slid off the side of the branch and then jumped to the ground. I jumped too but it was a harder landing. I rubbed my backside and heard the familiar sound of Fred’s donkey laughter.

  Ginny’s voice cut through. “Wait till the fly lands.”

  “What? But you snatch them from midair.”

  “That will take some practice. For now, approach the fly from the back. And only after it lands. Shoot your hand out above it. Then, when it flies up, you will have it.”

  “Thank you, Ginny.”

  Someone beside me snickered and made kissing noises, but I ignored the idiot. Instead, I spotted a fly on a tree trunk and tried out Ginny’s advice. It worked! Inside my fist I held one of the creatures. I rushed to my cubby in the cloakroom to add it to the collection but when I reached in, I found only my hat.

  I looked on the floor in case it had fallen out. Nothing. Not in the cubby to the left, or to the right either. I was sure I had stuffed it in with my hat. I looked in again. Still nothing. My jaw dropped. Someone must have taken my jar.

  “What’s the matter with you, rooming-house boy?” The tone in Fred’s voice taunted. As he stowed his cap in the slot right next to mine, he raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  “You know full well!” I said, giving him a shove. “You stole my jar of flies.”

  Fred shoved me back harder. “Why would I need to, Irish scum? There are plenty of others around to do my bidding!”

  Irish scum. The words made lightning crack inside my head. In a flash I saw Mum’s face on the day the undertaker came for Colleen. She couldn’t give her up, not even to Mrs. Gale. I had to take Colleen away from her. Then Mrs. Gale dressed her. The man hadn’t called us scum as he gazed at our pale, thin baby girl. Perhaps he had even meant to be kind. “Ah, you Irish. You’ll have another one soon enough, even if you can’t afford to feed it.”

  In the next instant my fists flew at Fred, knucklebones against cheekbone, hard against hard. Fred fell backwards and I leaped on top, continuing to throw punches at his head. Fist against hard chin, then fleshy nose.

  Suddenly, somebody hauled me up by the collar. Mr. Samson. “That will be enough, William Alton. You will report to Mr. Morton immediately.”

  On my feet again, it took me a few moments to slow my breathing down. Poor or not, my family was not scum. I felt the heat drain from my face and saw, now, the blood running from Fred’s nose. Irish scum! I did not feel sorry. I felt satisfied.

  But, as I walked the hall toward the office, the satisfaction drained away. What had I done? What if Mr. Morton expelled me? I wanted to run out the door instead of facing the principal. I hesitated near the office. It was close to lunchtime. Could I get away with leaving? Would Father find out?

  I pushed through the door leading into the main office. The secretary there looked very busy. Good. If she ignored me until the noon bell, I could say I went to the office but no one attended to me.

  Mr. Morton stepped into the hall to ring the lunch bell. I thought I could safely leave now and turned to make my way out. A hand suddenly gripped my shoulder.

  “So, you were in a fight, William Alton,” a deep voice said from behind me. “Step this way and we will discuss the matter further.”

  I had no choice but to follow Mr. Morton into his office.

  “Take a seat, young man.”

  I squeezed around the small chair in front of the principal’s desk, lowering myself into it with as little movement as possible.

  Mr. Morton sat down, pushing his chair hard toward the desk. He folded his long fingers in front of him as he stared at me with gray horse-eyes. He didn’t look especially angry, more like he was measuring me in some way. “Your third day here and already you scrap with another lad.” Mr. Morton shook his head. “So. . . tell me exactly what provoked this attack. I hear that Fred Leckie did not raise his fists once.”

  I thought about staying quiet. No one liked a tattletale. But then, at this new school no one liked me at all. Even Rebecca preferred strolling with Fred. So I spoke up instead. “Fred stole my jar of flies.”

  “Ah, the fly-catching competition.” Mr. Morton frowned as he continued to watch me. No hurried moves about him. He ran one hand through his mane of hair and sighed. “Mr. Leckie can be a troublesome chap, I will be the first to agree. But looking at him and then at you, do you really think he has any need to steal from your likes?”

  I wondered at that for a moment. Fred wanted victory in this competition and if stealing assured him of the win, he would surely steal. But did Fred actually feel as though I was any kind of competition? Likely not. But then who else could it have been? “He called me Irish scum.”

  “But you are originally from Ireland, are you not? You came here from London, but you are Irish. Half the school is. Do you believe you are ‘scum’?”

  “No sir! That’s why I fought him.”

  “But if you don’t believe you are the film on top of a pond, you needn’t have used your fists. If someone called me an elephant I would look askance on him, but I wouldn’t feel the need to hit him. Why, it might justify his claim.”

  But we’re poor, I thought. My clothes are old. We live in a rooming house. Mum and Colleen might have lived if we weren’t surrounded by filth and flies. I couldn’t smash being poor with my hands. Or disease. I couldn’t wrestle the power of money from Fred Leckie’s hands. But I could knock the smug smile from his face. Would Mr. Morton strap me now? Whatever the punishment, it had still been worth it.

  “If I have my facts straight, you accused Mr. Leckie of being a thief and he, in turn, called you a name. The fact that he insulted your heritage is of some matter, but it is not of enough substance to excuse you of pounding at the young man’s face.

  “You will therefore sit down at the desk in the hall and write out a letter of apology to Mr. Leckie. Before you return to your classroom this afternoon, you will present this letter to Mr. Leckie, along with a copy to me.”

  Never, I thought. No matter what Father or anyone else did to me, I would never apologize to Fred Leckie.

  Chapter 10

  “Here is a sheet of paper, a pen, and an ink jar. Get to it, William,” Mr. Morton said to dismiss me.

  I stood up, but didn’t say a word. I reached for the pen but then dropped my hand and fled the office. I walked straight out and across the street toward the rooming house. I knew I couldn’t face Father at that moment. The other students had long made their way home for lunch
by now—the streets were clear, although coming from the laneway in back of the rooming house, Ginny Malone wandered with her dog. I didn’t feel like speaking with her either. Instead, I headed up the steps.

  When I made it to the top of the creaking, peeling staircase, I needed to blink my eyes several times. Was I seeing things? There on the landing sat Father’s black suitcase, and next to it my banged up smaller brown one. Had Father come and packed? Perhaps he had found Uncle Charlie. I dared to hope until I opened the door.

  “You are home, good!” Madame Depieu snapped at me. “The week your father has paid for is almost up. I wish you to leave.”

  “Why?” I asked. My hands started to sweat.

  “I run a clean house. I told you I don’t like dirty boys. Then what do I find but another jar full of the disgusting mouches.”

  I tried to understand what she was saying. Where would we go? “You are putting us out on the street?”

  Madame Depieu’s voice rose a pitch. She wagged a finger in my face. “I gave you the chance. But again and again you bring noise and filth into my house. Tomorrow when the train comes in, I will have the opportunity for more respectable guests. I need to clean for them.”

  “Where did you put my flies?”

  “What do you mean, where did I put your flies? Elles sont sales. They do not belong in my house. I throw the can in the trash.”

  “But they were my property! I could win lots of money with them.”

  “Va-t’en!” she screamed at me. “Get out of my sight!”

  I picked up our two suitcases and climbed down the flight of steps. I left both for a moment and ran around the back to collect my magic fly-catching can.

  The trash was still piled high in the shed, but I saw no trace of the yellow jar. I started to remove garbage bit by bit, frantic to get back the collection of 389 flies I had worked so hard to catch. Then I stopped. Madame Depieu would have thrown it out today after breakfast sometime. I shouldn’t have to burrow to the bottom. If the container was not at the top, it simply was no longer there.

  I walked to the front again, picked up my suitcase and Father’s, and headed for the Blink Bonnie. It was hot, heavy work, and I needed to stop every few moments. We had nowhere to live! I was stunned. Father would expect to have supper in another few hours, but Madame Depieu would not serve it to us—all because of me.