The Fly With a Red Mark

 

The story we are going to hear has come from far away yet nearby; it is old yet new, and difficult to find the original teller of the tale. It came to me directly from a fly.

Now, it is known that flies like fruit and sugar and all kinds of goodies. They sit on your leg or nose, and buzz about just as you have gotten comfortable and relaxed.

Well, the fly I will tell you about is different. He did not sit on apples or pears, nor in the sugar left in teacups. He did not even fly to the garbage. Something about him caught my attention.

One day as I was sitting out back of the house, this fellow came and sat on the railing of the steps. He seemed to be looking me straight in the eye. Then, all of a sudden, I heard a tiny but soft voice.

"Hi! It's me, Spotty."

It was that unusual fly! At first I was very surprised to hear him talk, for after all flies are not supposed to speak. Or are they?

"It's me, Spotty. I come here often. I like it here."

"Yes", I replied to the cheerful creature, "I've noticed you before and wondered why you are not like your brothers and sisters. You seem to be different."

"That's why they call me Spotty", replied the fly. "I am different."

"But why?" I asked.

"Well, that is a rather long story".

Curious now, I invited Spotty to tell me his tale. I asked him to come a bit closer and sit near my ear.

"A long time ago, a very important event took place amongst the flies. Many little eggs were ready to hatch and a new generation of flies was about to be born. When the moment came, all the parents were very happy.

They raised their little ones, showing them how flies must behave: bother animals and people, eat sweets, crumbs, go into leftovers and wastes, into dust and mud - to become big and strong.

All passed as it usually does. A few died, and some were eaten by birds, other by spiders and bats. But there was one little fly who did not do the things his brothers and sisters did. He was different. He went where he pleased, and did not like the dirty and smelly places his friends went to.

Sometimes he sat and thought things over. He said that a fly could live better if it did not blindly imitate what the others did. He warned his friends about the spider webs, but nobody listened.

Although he told his friends about many interesting things, they always ended up laughing at him. He said he would starve and be poor if he didn't do what flies were supposed to do.

But our friend paid no heed. After returning one day from a little jaunt, this unusual fly warned his closest friend about a particular spider web he had discovered close to this friend's favorite smelly place. But the other fly, we thought nothing could harm him, did not listen to the lone fly's advice, and when there anyway.

Our friend became concerned and followed his friend to the dangerous spot, but when he arrived there was no sign of them. And there, suddenly, he saw his friend being wrapped and spun around into the spider's web. The wise fly tried to save his friend by flying to the corner and hoping by this action to distract the spider, but he was too late.

He watched helplessly as he friend was spun around and around. Suddenly he felt a drop on his head. Looking upwards, he saw nothing. Then, later when he landed on a quiet leaf, he looked at himself in the reflection of a drop of water. And there it was, a small red spot right in the middle of his forehead!

He tried to remove it with his wing, and then with his feet. He rubbed against a leaf, and tried everything possible, but the spot would not come off.

Now he was laughed at even more, for he stood out amongst the others with his bright red spot.

Nevertheless he continued to speak to friends and relatives as before, but to no avail. They would seldom listen. The story goes that he never died, and that he will always be with us."

Spotty ended the story there, then said to me, "And now, today, after so many flies have come and gone, they still do not listen. Still they are caught and eaten. Still they fly to shiny and smelly places. When will these silly flies learn?" I was quiet for awhile, reflecting on the story of the wise fly.

"But why do you call yourself Spotty?" I inquired.

"Oh well, it's only a name, I guess", said my new friend while he continued.

"Well, I must be going. Now that you know this story, I shall not return."

The afternoon had lost some warmth now, and I noticed the shadow lines coming closer to the steps. When I looked up I could see Spotty, pensive and ready to fly away.

Just as he set off, I noticed in the sunlight right in the middle of his forehead, a bright red mark.

Copyright 1998 Henri van Bentum