Revenge on the Fly

by Sylvia McNicoll

  “Ow!”

  “I promised your mother!” He shook his fist at me and then buckled onto the floor, burying his head in his hand.

  A promise to my mother. I watched, ashamed, as Father silently wept. It wasn’t just because I had skipped school. It was his helpless rage at not being able to help my mother when she was sick. Or my sister. But he had made that promise about school for me and it was one thing I could help him do for Mum.

  “Father, I will write the apology.” I sank down on my knees near him and put an arm around his shoulder. “And I will return to school.” I was willing to say anything to make Father stop crying. “I shouldn’t have hit Fred Leckie.” He didn’t look up, so I kept talking. “He never stole my flies. And he called me a name because I accused him.” I couldn’t think of anything more to say. Instead I just leaned into him, still holding him with one arm.

  “You must promise me to never miss school like that again,” Father finally said.

  “Never. I promise.”

  Father stood up and I followed. “We will not speak of this day again. I only hope your mother wasn’t watching.”

  That night Father borrowed a bottle of ink and a pen for me as well as a few sheets of scrap paper. I began my letter to Fred several times. Each time, though, I remembered the satisfaction of pummeling the wealthy brat’s face and needed to stop. I dearly wanted to be truthful. Finally, I ended up with this note:

  Dear Fred,

  I am sorry you called me a name that so incensed me that I smashed your nose with my fist. I understand now that you did not steal my can of flies from the cubby next to your own. I am sorry for assuming that you did. I do hope we can put this behind us and, I assure you, I will not punch your face again.

  William Alton

  I showed Father, who smiled at me for the first time since I had come to the stable. “Well done, son. Incensed is such a pretty word. You do turn a phrase nicely.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “If you get an education, I promise you will not spend your life endlessly apologizing.”

  I smiled back, then thought of something else I could tell. I wasn’t sure how he’d take it but I knew it would make me feel better. “Da, today a pretty girl kissed me.”

  “Ah!” Father ruffled my hair. “Already you are finding your way in the world. See how the lasses will flock after you with a university diploma!”

  Chapter 12

  Happily, Father was able to secure us a servant’s room in the Blink Bonnie. I enjoyed a good sleep sharing a bed and an eiderdown comforter with him. The next day, I woke early so I could visit all the shops and businesses I’d been to on Friday to collect even more flies. I bought milk with the money some of the shopkeepers gave me. Rebecca had said flies were attracted to white surfaces, and I certainly wanted the most irresistible bait I could find. Just in case, I added a little sugar that I borrowed from Mrs. Swanson at the manor.

  When I returned awhile later to check on my bait, I found no flies. Mrs. Swanson suggested vinegar and honey and loaned me a little. I set it out immediately, but there was no time to wait and see whether it worked. Four o’clock was the time set for the opening of the competition and I wanted to be at the head of the line and needed to get to the health department early to accomplish this.

  At three thirty sharp, I carried four cans and a paper bag with three strips of flypaper, all full of dead insects, up the stairs to City Hall, where the health department was located. So many stairs and three grand archways led to the main doors of the great building. Certainly I’d never entered the city hall in London. Didn’t this entrance mark the beginning of better times for the Alton family?

  I wasn’t early enough. The lineup of children formed right from the front door. I joined it, craning my neck to see what was happening up ahead. Four men sat at a table, gloves on, counting. They worked quickly. One of them, Dr. Roberts—I recognized him from his visit to our school auditorium that second day—used a thin stick to group and count the flies, marking something on a paper for each cluster. When too many collected on top of the counter, he pushed them off into a large barrel.

  Fred Leckie stood next in line and he lifted his containers, one by one, for Dr. Roberts.

  “The highest count so far has been 1,200,” the boy ahead of me said.

  I watched as Fred emptied a jar marked Ovaltine, my jar from the cubby at school. Perhaps Fred had no idea that Ginny had stolen it to give to him. Of course he knew. Especially after I’d accused him of stealing it. My fingers curled into a fist. My letter promised that I would never hit Fred again. But I hadn’t given him the letter yet. I could still sneak in a punch before I made the promise. What I saw next made me step out of line to do exactly that.

  The second container Fred dumped was yellow and brown and marked Magic Baking Powder. My other container, the one Madame Depieu had thrown into her trash. I felt a hot red rage flash through me. “Save my place,” I told the girl behind me and walked to the front. As I approached Dr. Roberts, I noticed Ginny and her dog Finnigan standing next to Fred.

  I remembered the satisfaction of my fist hitting Fred’s fleshy nose and raised my arm, ready to strike. Then I heard a soft voice. “Will!” it called. Mum, I thought immediately. I turned slightly and saw Rebecca walking toward me. In my mind, another picture formed. I saw Father, head in hands, kneeling on the stable floor. The only thing that had made him get up again was my promise to get an education.

  If I hit Fred now, he would never accept my letter of apology. Instead, he would probably tell his parents and they would make sure Mr. Morton never allowed me back into Central Public. If I hit Fred now, I would let Father down and, wherever she was, Mum too.

  That gentle kind voice belonged to Rebecca, not Mum. I glanced at her golden face, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open. I would not fight in front of her. Still, I shook with the effort of straightening and relaxing my hand. I brought my arm down and spoke instead. “Dr. Roberts, that container of flies was stolen from me.”

  Dr. Roberts looked up from his counting.

  “I have never stolen anything in my entire life,” Fred snapped, stepping toward me. “And I will not be accused by this guttersnipe.” He shoved me.

  I did not strike back, but I could feel my breath coming more quickly. My heart pounded at my chest and everything inside me raced, readying for a battle. Ginny stepped between us before Fred could shove me again. “Sir, I found every one of those flies in the garbage at the back of McNab Street.”

  Cleverly worded. I scowled at her. I had seen Ginny that day, walking the dog in the back alley. Finn must have sniffed the jar out. Ginny might have found them all in the trash, as she told Dr. Roberts, but they had been caught and killed by someone else. Me!

  “Should we allow others to help the catchers?” Dr. Roberts asked one of his fellow counters.

  Surely not the point, I thought, but right now I would take any ruling that would disqualify Fred’s catch.

  That man swept all the flies from his counter into another bushel barrel. Then he shrugged. “There is no way of checking who caught what. Really, the whole point of the matter is to rid the city of flies. It doesn’t matter how that goal is achieved.”

  Dr. Roberts looked at me. “Look after your catch better, son.” He lowered his head and continued counting.

  I turned away. Rebecca had told me Ginny was the one who stole my flies at school. But this time it didn’t count as stealing—not if she just removed the Magic Powder jar from the top of the garbage. So why did I feel as though she’d kicked me in the stomach? Rebecca laid a hand on my shoulder, instantly making me feel better.

  She smiled. “You may not beat him but you killed a great number of flies.”

  “I will beat him!” I answered more angrily than I had meant to. I saw her smile drop and forced my lips to lift into one. “Sorry! Come join me in the line. Someone is saving my place.”

  She strolled alongside of me back to my spot.

  “Look here.” I showed her
my jars and bag. “I think I may just have more flies than Fred Leckie. Do you agree?”

  At that moment, Dr. Roberts called out Fred’s final number. “Two thousand two hundred.”

  How could that many flies even fit in Fred’s containers?

  Rebecca raised her eyebrows and repeated the number. “Do you still think you have more?”

  I shrugged. My long strips of sticky flypaper should be good for several hundred. The line moved up and so did we. Fred, on his way out, stopped near us, Ginny Malone still at his side.

  “Rebecca, why are you spending time with the likes of him? Why don’t you join me for an ice-cream soda instead?”

  As Fred smiled his smarmy smile at Rebecca, Ginny stood staring down at her dog. Suddenly, I wished I had bought that bag of butterscotches. Only why? Ginny had betrayed me in the worst way possible, choosing to help the rich braggart instead of me. I shook my head to rid it of the thought.

  I dropped down to pat Finnigan. The dog licked my hand, but Ginny didn’t say a word.

  “Ice-cream soda with you?” Rebecca repeated the question back to Fred. “No time, I’m afraid. I may wish to kill a fly or two myself.”

  Fred’s mouth betrayed his sour thoughts. “Your hands should never have to slap at such filth.” The way he turned to look at me then, I wasn’t entirely certain that he meant the flies.

  Still Ginny looked up at Fred with sad adoring eyes. Fred thought her hands were just fine to kill the creatures. Ginny’s hands, somehow, were less worthy of protection than Rebecca’s. Despite her betrayal, I felt my heart tighten for her.

  “You’re right. I will write an essay for the contest instead,” Rebecca said.

  “Bah, the prize is only five dollars. Why bother?” Fred asked.

  “Because I don’t care about the prize. I want people to know about germs. To stay well,” Rebecca answered.

  Vanquishing disease. Wasn’t that what I had always wanted too? To save someone else’s mother or a little girl like my sister? But then the contest became about beating Fred, about that fifty-dollar prize.

  “What good are words? Look at how money talks to everyone here.” Fred gestured with his hand to the long line of children now leading outside the building.

  “Words have power,” Rebecca said. “It was Dr. Roberts’ words that inspired them all to come today. Not the prize money.”

  I wasn’t certain that that was true, but I’d rather side with Rebecca than Fred. “Rebecca is right. Not everyone is as greedy as you.”

  Fred stepped so close that I could feel his breath. “But you are, aren’t you? And no matter how hard you try, I will beat you.” Fred smiled, shoved me, and left, Ginny and Finnigan tagging after.

  Would Ginny look back and give me one sign that she was sorry for all this? I watched for it. Instead, I saw Finnigan leap into the air and snap at something. He had caught another fly.

  “Give, Finnigan!” Ginny bent down and held out her hand. The dog dropped the insect and she patted him. Then Ginny glanced back at me, hand on her hip, eyebrow raised.

  Whatever did she mean by looking at me like that, I wondered, all spit and vinegar? Still, I smiled in spite of it. I shook my head. I liked this spunky Ginny way better than the hangdog one who kissed Fred’s feet. “Don’t waste yourself on him, Ginny Malone,” I told her softly.

  Chapter 13

  As fast as the health inspectors counted the flies, I still had to wait over an hour till I stepped up to the counter with my catch. I counted along with the man at the front. “One, two, three, four…” all the way till ten and then he would mark a line on his paper. After ten marks, he struck through them and pushed the hundred flies into the barrel with his stick. One hundred, two hundred…the first container held six hundred flies. The second only five hundred. Two more cans.

  Fred Leckie’s count was 2,200. If each of my cans held 500, and the sticky strips held another 300, it would be enough to beat Fred. Beside me, Rebecca squeezed my arm. My heart beat a double thump as though I had already won. The third can held 450, but the inspector marked 500 anyway. The fourth held 530, but he marked 500. Two thousand one hundred flies. The sticky paper held at least 300 flies, I felt sure of it. A smile stretched my face, so big I felt my face might split open. I would win today’s count!

  “I cannot separate these flies from the paper. How do I count them?” The inspector asked Dr. Roberts.

  Dr. Roberts shook his head. “We cannot count them. We decided for the last child that we would disallow flypaper. Traps are fine so long as we can remove the flies, but nothing sticky.”

  “Two thousand one hundred,” the inspector called out. “Well done, William Alton. You are in second place.”

  The children in line cheered. Rebecca clapped.

  So close! I cursed under my breath and turned to leave.

  “Maybe you can beat him,” Rebecca said, following. “If anyone can, I believe it will be you.”

  “Thank you for that,” I said. I walked quickly, grateful that Fred was not still around to gloat.

  “Do you want to go for a soda?” she asked me. “My treat?” Her voice was bright and the miracle of it was I knew it was a true invitation. Money didn’t mean much to her. It never did to people who had lots. Still, I couldn’t allow her to buy the soda for me. How would I ever be able to return the gesture?

  “Can we walk instead?” I asked. “We can sit by the fountain in Gore Park.”

  “Surely, it’s a fine day.” She smiled at me and I smiled back.

  “Let’s go this way.” I pointed down the hill.

  As we strolled down the street, the sun shining warm on our shoulders, a pair of horses pulling a carriage clip-clopped ahead of us.

  “How is your composition on flies going?” I asked Rebecca.

  “Fine. Only I’m not certain I believe they cause all the diseases.”

  The carriage paused for a moment as one horse defecated on the street.

  Such beautiful animals, such a large quantity of smelly dung. “What about the germs the flies carry?” I asked. “They lay their eggs in manure. If we wait a moment, you can see them land. I can also show you the maggots in my father’s stable.”

  She chuckled. “You don’t need to show me, William Alton. I have seen them enough. But what about the germs in the manure itself?”

  “What do you mean?” I stared at the steaming heap in the street looking for the answer.

  “Those same germs lie in the street every time horses pass. We can pick them up just from walking around.”

  Suddenly, I found myself lifting my feet a little higher. “But we wear boots. And we step around the manure if we can help it.”

  “Perhaps, but the rain washes the germs into the sewer. The sewer empties into the lake. And that’s where we get our water.”

  “Ah, but the water is treated before we drink it.”

  “Mmm. Dr. Roberts warned my father that he found some typhoid germ in Hamilton’s water supply. To be safe, we should boil it.”

  I sputtered, “But that means Uncle Charlie could be sick from drinking the water.”

  “If he drinks tea and ale, perhaps not. And the city feels Dr. Roberts is wrong. Did you know over a hundred babies die every summer in Hamilton alone?”

  “Not from the water. It’s the same liquid all year round, after all.”

  “My father says it’s from impure milk.”

  “Impure from flies, though!” I shook my finger. “The little buggers walk all over the milk. You told me so yourself.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “There are more flies in summer and more babies die, it all makes sense,” I continued. It had to be the flies—flies were something I could smash and kill, something I could control, something I could protect other families from.

  “But it’s also hotter in the summer. The poor can’t buy enough ice to keep the milk from spoiling.”

  “What can anyone do?” I held my hand to my head, which felt like it was s
pinning inside. Then I saw a fly land on a lamppost and ran to catch it. I watched the creature rub its front legs together then its back legs. Suddenly, my hand shot out, almost with a mind of its own. The fly lifted off right into my waiting palm. I felt the tickle against my hand and squeezed.

  “Well done! You’re getting so much better at it.” Rebecca clapped my shoulder.

  I slipped the creature into one of my empty containers. “Thank you.”

  She smiled. “The Babies’ Dispensary Guild is collecting money so that it can supply pure milk at half the price to mothers in need.”

  “So collecting money is the ticket,” I said. “Not flies. You won’t be able to win the essay competition with that story.”

  “I suppose not,” Rebecca answered, dejected.

  What did she even need to win the contest for? Couldn’t she buy anything she wanted at any time? “Listen, I believe flies must be part of the problem,” I told her. “Don’t you?”

  “Yes, a part of it for sure.”

  “Well, make sure everyone who reads your story believes it too and you will have a winner.”

  “You are brilliant, Will Alton. Why don’t you write an essay for the competition too?” She smiled, her beautiful milk-tooth smile.

  Did she mean it? Should I write one? I’d rather help her with my ideas. Just like Ginny Malone, I thought. I was always telling her to kill the flies for her own entry into the contest. But because she liked Fred Leckie, she gave them to him instead. I turned to Rebecca. “I can’t just write about them. Even if they are only a small part of the reason people fall sick, I need to kill them.” We reached our turn and headed east. “I need to kill something to avenge my mother’s death. And my sister’s.”

  Rebecca stopped abruptly. She covered her mouth with her hands. “Your mum died? Your sister too?” Her eyes filled. “Oh, poor Will.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Watching a tear slide down her cheek, I felt my eyes fill too. “It’s all right. I don’t even remember their faces anymore.”