TheFly

by
KatherineMansfield
"Y'AREverysnuginhere,"pipedoldMr.Woodifield,andhepeeredoutofthegreat,green
leatherarmchairbyhisfriendtheboss'sdeskasababypeersoutofitspram.Histalkwasover
itwastimeforhimtobeoff.Buthedidnotwanttogo.Sincehehadretired,sincehis...stroke,
thewifeandthegirlskepthimboxedupinthehouseeverydayoftheweekexceptTuesday.
OnTuesdayhewasdressedandbrushedandallowedtocutbacktotheCityfortheday.
Thoughwhathedidtherethewifeandgirlscouldn'timagine.Madeanuisanceofhimselftohis
friends,theysupposed...Well,perhapsso.Allthesame,weclingtoourlastpleasuresasthe
treeclingstoitslastleaves.SotheresatoldWoodifield,smokingacigarandstaringalmost
greedilyattheboss,whorolledinhisofficechair,stout,rosy,fiveyearsolderthanhe,andstill
goingstrong,stillatthehelm.Itdidonegoodtoseehim.Wistfully,admiringly,theoldvoice
added,"It'ssnuginhere,uponmyword!"
"Yes,it'scomfortableenough,"agreedtheboss,andheflippedtheFinancialTimeswitha
paperknife.Asamatteroffacthewasproudofhisroomhelikedtohaveitadmired,
especiallybyoldWoodifield.Itgavehimafeelingofdeep,solidsatisfactiontobeplantedthere
inthemidstofitinfullviewofthatfrailoldfigureinthemuffler.
"I'vehaditdoneuplately,"heexplained,ashehadexplainedforthepasthowmany?
weeks."Newcarpet,"andhepointedtothebrightredcarpetwithapatternoflargewhiterings.
"Newfurniture,"andhenoddedtowardsthemassivebookcaseandthetablewithlegslike
twistedtreacle."Electricheating!"Hewavedalmostexultantlytowardsthefivetransparent,
pearlysausagesglowingsosoftlyinthetiltedcopperpan.
ButhedidnotdrawoldWoodifield'sattentiontothephotographoverthetableofa
gravelookingboyinuniformstandinginoneofthosespectralphotographers'parkswith
photographers'stormcloudsbehindhim.Itwasnotnew.Ithadbeenthereforoversixyears.
"TherewassomethingIwantedtotellyou,"saidoldWoodifield,andhiseyesgrewdim
remembering."Nowwhatwasit?IhaditinmymindwhenIstartedoutthismorning."His
handsbegantotremble,andpatchesofredshowedabovehisbeard.
Pooroldchap,he'sonhislastpins,thoughttheboss.And,feelingkindly,hewinkedattheold
man,andsaidjokingly,"Itellyouwhat.I'vegotalittledropofsomethingherethat'lldoyou
goodbeforeyougooutintothecoldagain.It'sbeautifulstuff.Itwouldn'thurtachild."Hetooka

keyoffhiswatchchain,unlockedacupboardbelowhisdesk,anddrewforthadark,squat
bottle."That'sthemedicine,"saidhe."AndthemanfromwhomIgotittoldmeonthestrict
Q.T.itcamefromthecellarsatWindsorCassel."
OldWoodifield'smouthfellopenatthesight.Hecouldn'thavelookedmoresurprisediftheboss
hadproducedarabbit.
"It'swhisky,ain'tit?"hepiped,feebly.
Thebossturnedthebottleandlovinglyshowedhimthelabel.Whiskyitwas.
"D'youknow,"saidhe,peeringupatthebosswonderingly,"theywon'tletmetouchitat
home."Andhelookedasthoughhewasgoingtocry.
"Ah,that'swhereweknowabitmorethantheladies,"criedtheboss,swoopingacrossfortwo
tumblersthatstoodonthetablewiththewaterbottle,andpouringagenerousfingerintoeach."
Drinkitdown.It'lldoyougood.Anddon'tputanywaterwithit.It'ssacrilegetotamperwithstuff
likethis.Ah!"Hetossedoffhis,pulledouthishandkerchief,hastilywipedhismoustaches,and
cockedaneyeatoldWoodifield,whowasrollinghisinhischaps.
Theoldmanswallowed,wassilentamoment,andthensaidfaintly,"It'snutty!"
Butitwarmedhimitcreptintohischilloldbrainheremembered.
"Thatwasit,"hesaid,heavinghimselfoutofhischair."Ithoughtyou'dliketoknow.Thegirls
wereinBelgiumlastweekhavingalookatpoorReggie'sgrave,andtheyhappenedtocome
acrossyourboy's.They'requiteneareachother,itseems."
OldWoodifieldpaused,butthebossmadenoreply.Onlyaquiverinhiseyelidsshowedthathe
heard.
"Thegirlsweredelightedwiththewaytheplaceiskept,"pipedtheoldvoice."Beautifully
lookedafter.Couldn'tbebetteriftheywereathome.You'venotbeenacross,haveyer?"
"No,no!"Forvariousreasonsthebosshadnotbeenacross.
"There'smilesofit,"quaveredoldWoodifield,"andit'sallasneatasagarden.Flowers
growingonallthegraves.Nicebroadpaths."Itwasplainfromhisvoicehowmuchhelikeda
nicebroadpath.
Thepausecameagain.Thentheoldmanbrightenedwonderfully.

"D'youknowwhatthehotelmadethegirlspayforapotofjam?"hepiped."Tenfrancs!
Robbery,Icallit.Itwasalittlepot,soGertrudesays,nobiggerthanahalfcrown.Andshe
hadn'ttakenmorethanaspoonfulwhentheychargedhertenfrancs.Gertrudebroughtthepot
awaywithhertoteach'emalesson.Quiteright,tooit'stradingonourfeelings.Theythink
becausewe'reovertherehavingalookroundwe'rereadytopayanything.That'swhatitis."
Andheturnedtowardsthedoor.
"Quiteright,quiteright!"criedtheboss,thoughwhatwasquiterighthehadn'ttheleastidea.
Hecameroundbyhisdesk,followedtheshufflingfootstepstothedoor,andsawtheoldfellow
out.Woodifieldwasgone.
Foralongmomentthebossstayed,staringatnothing,whilethegreyhairedofficemessenger,
watchinghim,dodgedinandoutofhiscubbyholelikeadogthatexpectstobetakenforarun.
Then:"I'llseenobodyforhalfanhour,Macey,"saidtheboss."Understand?Nobodyatall."
"Verygood,sir."
Thedoorshut,thefirmheavystepsrecrossedthebrightcarpet,thefatbodyplumpeddownin
thespringchair,andleaningforward,thebosscoveredhisfacewithhishands.Hewanted,he
intended,hehadarrangedtoweep...
IthadbeenaterribleshocktohimwhenoldWoodifieldsprangthatremarkuponhimaboutthe
boy'sgrave.Itwasexactlyasthoughtheearthhadopenedandhehadseentheboylyingthere
withWoodifield'sgirlsstaringdownathim.Foritwasstrange.Althoughoversixyearshad
passedaway,thebossneverthoughtoftheboyexceptaslyingunchanged,unblemishedinhis
uniform,asleepforever."Myson!"groanedtheboss.Butnotearscameyet.Inthepast,in
thefirstmonthsandevenyearsaftertheboy'sdeath,hehadonlytosaythosewordstobe
overcomebysuchgriefthatnothingshortofaviolentfitofweepingcouldrelievehim.Time,he
haddeclaredthen,hehadtoldeverybody,couldmakenodifference.Othermenperhapsmight
recover,mightlivetheirlossdown,butnothe.Howwasitpossible?Hisboywasanonlyson.
Eversincehisbirththebosshadworkedatbuildingupthisbusinessforhimithadnoother
meaningifitwasnotfortheboy.Lifeitselfhadcometohavenoothermeaning.Howonearth
couldhehaveslaved,deniedhimself,keptgoingallthoseyearswithoutthepromiseforever
beforehimoftheboy'ssteppingintohisshoesandcarryingonwhereheleftoff?
Andthatpromisehadbeensonearbeingfulfilled.Theboyhadbeenintheofficelearningthe
ropesforayearbeforethewar.Everymorningtheyhadstartedofftogethertheyhadcome

backbythesametrain.Andwhatcongratulationshehadreceivedastheboy'sfather!No
wonderhehadtakentoitmarvellously.Astohispopularitywiththestaff,everymanjackof
themdowntooldMaceycouldn'tmakeenoughoftheboy.Andhewasn'tintheleastspoilt.No,
hewasjusthisbright,naturalself,withtherightwordforeverybody,withthatboyishlookand
hishabitofsaying,"Simplysplendid!"
Butallthatwasoveranddonewithasthoughitneverhadbeen.Thedayhadcomewhen
Maceyhadhandedhimthetelegramthatbroughtthewholeplacecrashingabouthishead."
Deeplyregrettoinformyou..."Andhehadlefttheofficeabrokenman,withhislifeinruins.
Sixyearsago,sixyears...Howquicklytimepassed!Itmighthavehappenedyesterday.The
bosstookhishandsfromhisfacehewaspuzzled.Somethingseemedtobewrongwithhim.
Hewasn'tfeelingashewantedtofeel.Hedecidedtogetupandhavealookattheboy's
photograph.Butitwasn'tafavouritephotographofhistheexpressionwasunnatural.Itwas
cold,evensternlooking.Theboyhadneverlookedlikethat.
Atthatmomentthebossnoticedthataflyhadfallenintohisbroadinkpot,andwastryingfeebly
butdesperatelytoclamberoutagain.Help!help!saidthosestrugglinglegs.Butthesidesof
theinkpotwerewetandslipperyitfellbackagainandbegantoswim.Thebosstookupapen,
pickedtheflyoutoftheink,andshookitontoapieceofblottingpaper.Forafractionofa
seconditlaystillonthedarkpatchthatoozedroundit.Thenthefrontlegswaved,tookhold,
and,pullingitssmall,soddenbodyupitbegantheimmensetaskofcleaningtheinkfromits
wings.Overandunder,overandunder,wentalegalongawing,asthestonegoesoverand
underthescythe.Thentherewasapause,whilethefly,seemingtostandonthetipsofitstoes,
triedtoexpandfirstonewingandthentheother.Itsucceededatlast,and,sittingdown,it
began,likeaminutecat,tocleanitsface.Nowonecouldimaginethatthelittlefrontlegsrubbed
againsteachotherlightly,joyfully.Thehorribledangerwasoverithadescapeditwasready
forlifeagain.
Butjustthenthebosshadanidea.Heplungedhispenbackintotheink,leanedhisthickwrist
ontheblottingpaper,andastheflytrieditswingsdowncameagreatheavyblot.Whatwouldit
makeofthat?Whatindeed!Thelittlebeggarseemedabsolutelycowed,stunned,andafraidto
movebecauseofwhatwouldhappennext.Butthen,asifpainfully,itdraggeditselfforward.The
frontlegswaved,caughthold,and,moreslowlythistime,thetaskbeganfromthebeginning.
He'sapluckylittledevil,thoughttheboss,andhefeltarealadmirationforthefly'scourage.
Thatwasthewaytotacklethingsthatwastherightspirit.Neversaydieitwasonlya

questionof...Buttheflyhadagainfinisheditslaborioustask,andthebosshadjusttimetorefill
hispen,toshakefairandsquareonthenewcleanedbodyyetanotherdarkdrop.Whataboutit
thistime?Apainfulmomentofsuspensefollowed.Butbehold,thefrontlegswereagainwaving
thebossfeltarushofrelief.Heleanedovertheflyandsaidtoittenderly,"Youartfullittleb..
."Andheactuallyhadthebrilliantnotionofbreathingonittohelpthedryingprocess.Allthe
same,therewassomethingtimidandweakaboutitseffortsnow,andthebossdecidedthatthis
timeshouldbethelast,ashedippedthependeepintotheinkpot.
Itwas.Thelastblotfellonthesoakedblottingpaper,andthedraggledflylayinitanddidnot
stir.Thebacklegswerestucktothebodythefrontlegswerenottobeseen.
"Comeon,"saidtheboss."Looksharp!"Andhestirreditwithhispeninvain.Nothing
happenedorwaslikelytohappen.Theflywasdead.
Thebossliftedthecorpseontheendofthepaperknifeandflungitintothewastepaperbasket.
Butsuchagrindingfeelingofwretchednessseizedhimthathefeltpositivelyfrightened.He
startedforwardandpressedthebellforMacey.
"Bringmesomefreshblottingpaper,"hesaid,sternly,"andlooksharpaboutit."Andwhilethe
olddogpaddedawayhefelltowonderingwhatitwashehadbeenthinkingaboutbefore.What
wasit?Itwas...Hetookouthishandkerchiefandpasseditinsidehiscollar.Forthelifeofhim
hecouldnotremember.