Part 3

Summer-time is a merry time for flies. It is hard to tell just how it all happened. There were so many flies; thousands of them, gaily flying and buzzing.

When Little Fly was born, she straightened out her wings and immediately felt happy,--so happy that one really cannot tell it in words. It was all so interesting. The doors and windows leading to the porch were thrown wide open in the morning, and Little Fly flitted in and out as she pleased.

"How kind human beings are!" exclaimed Little Fly, astonished, flying in and out of the windows. "The windows were made for us, and they are open for us. It is so nice to be alive and feeling so happy."

She flew in and out of the garden many times. Sitting on a blade of grass, she admired the blooming lilacs, the delicate leaves of the budding poplars, and the different flowers in their beds. The gardener, still unknown to her, had taken care of everything. What a kind gardener! Little Fly was not born yet and he had already prepared everything she might need. It was all the more amazing since he himself was not only unable to fly, but he even walked about with great difficulty, trembling all over at times, and muttering to himself.

"I wonder where these nasty flies come from?" grumbled the kind gardener.

The poor dear probably said this from sheer envy because all he could do was to dig beds, set out and water flowers. He couldn't fly. Little Fly liked to buzz around the gardener's red nose, which annoyed him very much.

People were usually very kind, providing all kinds of pleasures for flies. For instance, when Verotchka had her bread and milk in the morning, she always asked Aunt Olga for a piece of sugar. This she did just to give Little Fly a chance to have a bit of sugar, a few crumbs of bread, and a few drops of milk.

"Now tell me, is there anything more delicious than this treat after working busily all morning?" said Little Fly.

Cook Pascha was even kinder than Verotchka. Every morning she would go to market and bring such wonderful things, especially for the flies--meat, fish, cream and butter. Pascha was the kindest woman in the whole house. Though, like the gardener, she could not fly, she knew perfectly well every need of a fly. She was the kindest woman in all the world.

And Aunt Olga--oh, that wonderful woman!--seemed to live only for the flies. With her own hands she would open all the windows every morning, so that the flies might come and go at will. When it rained, or it was cold, she closed the windows to keep their little wings dry and prevent them from catching cold. Then Aunt Olga noticed that flies liked sugar and berries. So every day she cooked berries and sugar. The flies knew at once why she did this, and to show their gratitude, they crawled right into the pans of jam.

Verotchka was also very fond of jam, but Aunt Olga would only give her one or two teaspoonfuls, because she did not wish to deprive the flies of their share. As the flies could not eat all the jam at once, Aunt Olga put away the jam in jars (to keep it away from mice who were not entitled to jam) ready to serve to the flies each day at tea time.

"Oh, how kind and good everybody is!" exclaimed Little Fly, flitting in and out of the window. "It is even good that people cannot fly, for they would turn into big, greedy flies, grabbing up everything. It's fine to live in this world!"

"But people aren't at all as kind as you think," remarked an old fly who liked to grumble occasionally. "It only seems so to you. Have you ever noticed the man they call Papa?"

"Oh, yes. He is a very strange gentleman. You are perfectly right, good old fly. Why does he smoke that pipe? He knows very well I do not like tobacco smoke. It seems to me sometimes that he does it just to spite me. And he doesn't like to do anything for flies. You know, once I tasted that ink with which he is forever writing, and I almost died. It was awful. I once saw with my own eyes two pretty, inexperienced young flies drown in his ink. It was a dreadful sight to see how he pulled them out with his pen, put them on his paper, making a splendid blot. Just think of it! Then he blames us and not himself. Where is justice?"

"I think this Papa has no sense of justice, although he has one good quality," answered the old, experienced fly. "He drinks beer after dinner. That isn't at all a bad habit. To tell the truth, I like a taste of beer myself, though it does make me dizzy."

"I also like beer," confessed Little Fly, blushing slightly. "I become quite gay after having some, although my head aches the next day. Perhaps Papa does not do anything for flies because he does not care for jam and puts all of his sugar into his tea. One really cannot expect much of a man who does not eat jam. There is nothing left for him but his pipe."

The flies knew people very well, although they interpreted them in their own fashion.

II

The summer was hot. Each day brought more and more flies. They fell into the milk, crawled into the soup and into the ink-well, they buzzed and they whirled and annoyed everyone. Our Little Fly grew up into a big fly. On several occasions she almost perished. The first time her legs stuck in jam and she was just able to free herself. The second time she flew sleepily against a burning lamp and almost scorched her wings. The third time she was almost crushed by a closing window. On the whole, she had many adventures.

"There is no living with these flies about," complained Cook. "They act like mad--crawling into everything. They must be done away with."

Even our Fly decided that there were altogether too many flies, especially in the kitchen. At night the ceiling was black with them. They seemed like a moving net. When the provisions were brought, the flies threw themselves upon them--a live mass, pushing, jostling, quarrelling. The best morsels fell to the lot of the bold and the strong. The rest had the remains.

Pascha, the cook, was right. There were too many flies. Then something horrible happened. One morning, Pascha brought along with the provisions a package of very tasty papers--that is, she made them tasty, when she spread them out on plates, by moistening them with warm water and sprinkling sugar over them.

"There is a fine treat for the flies," said Pascha, putting the plates where they could be seen. Without Pascha's saying anything, the flies knew at once that this was a special treat for them. Buzzing gaily, they threw themselves upon the new dainty. Our Fly tried to get into a plate, but she was pushed rudely aside.

"No pushing, please," said she, offended, "I'm not one of those greedy ones, you know. You are quite rude."

Then something quite terrible happened. Thousands of flies died. The greediest were the first to succumb. They crawled about as if drunk and then fell to the ground, dead. In the morning, Pascha swept up a large plate full of dead flies. Only the most sensible ones remained alive. Among these was our Fly.

"No papers for us," buzzed the surviving flies. "We don't want them."

The next day the same thing happened. Of all the sensible flies only the most sensible remained alive. But Pascha still complained, "There is no living with these flies about."

Then the gentleman they called Papa brought home three very pretty glass bowls and filled them with beer. This time even the most sensible flies were caught. It turned out that these bowls were nothing but fly-catchers. The flies, attracted by the smell of beer, were caught in the bowls and perished.

"That's good," said Pascha approvingly. She had turned out to be the most heartless of women, rejoicing at others' misfortunes.

"There isn't anything good about that," said Little Fly. "If people had wings like flies and someone were to set a fly-catcher as big as a house, they, too, would be caught."

Our Fly, learning from the bitter experiences of the sensible flies, ceased to trust people. They only seem kind, these people; while, in reality, they are busy with just one thing--to cheat poor trusting flies. To tell the truth, human beings are the slyest and crudest of animals.

Through all these misfortunes the number of flies decreased considerably. Then followed another calamity. Suddenly summer was gone. Rains began to fall. Cold winds blew. The weather was very disagreeable.

"Is summer really gone?" asked the few remaining flies. "How could it have passed so quickly. It doesn't seem quite fair. We have hardly had time to live and autumn is already upon us."

This was worse than poison paper or glass fly-catchers. There was only one escape from the coming bad weather--to seek shelter with one's bitterest enemy, Master Man. Alas, now the windows were closed all day long and only the ventilators were occasionally open! The very sun seemed to shine just to deceive the trustful house flies.

For instance, what do you think of this picture? It is morning. The sun is gaily peeping into all the windows as if inviting the flies into the garden. You would think summer was returning. And what happens? The trustful flies fly through the ventilator into the garden. True, the sun is shining, but it gives no heat. They try to return to the house but the ventilator has been closed. Thus many flies perished in the cold autumn nights.

"No, I no longer believe," said our Little Fly, "I have no faith in anything. Since even the sun deceives me, I believe in nothing."

It is understood that with the coming of the fall all flies experienced the same unhappy moods. They became very disagreeable. Not a sign of their former gayety remained. They became gloomy, indolent and dissatisfied. Some of them even began to bite, which they had never been known to do before.

Our Fly's disposition became so bad she didn't know herself. She had always been so sorry for other flies. Now when they perished, she thought only of herself. She was even ashamed to speak the thoughts that were in her mind, "Let them perish, then there will be more left for me." In the first place, there were not many warm corners where a decent fly could spend the winter. In the second place, the other flies were very annoying, always in the way, snatching from under her nose the very best tidbits, and behaving badly in general. Besides, it was time for them to rest.

The flies seemed to understand the cruel thoughts of our Fly and they fell by the hundreds. They didn't seem to die--just to fall asleep. With each day their number grew smaller and smaller. There was no longer any need of poison paper or glass fly-catchers. But all this was not enough to satisfy our Fly. She wanted to be the only fly left in the world.

III

There came a very happy day. One morning our Fly woke up quite late. She had felt a curious weariness for a long time and preferred to remain immovable in her corner under the stove. And now she felt that something unusual was going to happen. She flew to the window. The first snow had fallen! The ground was covered with a brilliant, white, shining sheet.

"Oh, this must be winter!" Our Fly knew at once. "Winter is all white, like a piece of sugar."

Then our Fly noticed that all the other flies had disappeared. The poor things could not survive the first frost and dropped off to sleep wherever they happened to be. In former days, our Fly would have felt very sorry for them. But now she thought, "This is splendid. Now I am really the only one. No one will eat my jam, my sugar, my crumbs. This is fine."

She flew through all the rooms to convince herself that she was the only fly left. Now she could do anything she pleased. It was so nice. The house was so warm. Winter was there, out of doors; but inside the house it was bright, warm, and cozy, especially in the evening when the candles and lamps were lighted. A slight misfortune occurred when the first lamp was lighted. Our Fly once more flew against it and was almost scorched to death.

"This must be the winter fly-trap," said our Fly, rubbing her burnt legs. "Now you can't fool me. I know too much. You wish to burn the Last Fly, do you? Well, that's the last thing that I want. There is also a hot stove in the kitchen. Don't I know that, too, is a fly-catcher?"

The Last Fly was happy for a few days only. Then suddenly she felt lonely, so lonely, so very lonely. Of course, she was warm and there was plenty to eat, but still she was unhappy. She flew and rested and ate. She flew again, but she felt lonelier than ever.

"Oh, how lonely I am!" she buzzed in a thin, pitiful voice, flying from one room to the other. "If there were only one other fly here! The meanest, the worst of them, but only one fly!"

No one seemed to understand the complaints of the Last Fly and this of course made her cross. She flew about like one mad, alighting on this one's nose, on that one's ear, or back and forth in front of people's eyes.

"Heavens, can't you understand? I am quite alone in the world and I am very, very lonely," she would buzz at every one. "You don't even know how to fly. How can you know loneliness? If someone were only to play with me! But no, how can they? What can be clumsier and heavier than a human being? The ugliest creatures I have ever met."

The Last Fly annoyed the dog and the cat and everybody else. She was most hurt when she heard Aunt Olga say, "Please don't touch the Last Fly. Leave her alone. Let her live through the winter." This was insulting! It sounded as if she was not even considered a fly. "Let her live." What a kindness!

"But I am so lonely! Maybe I don't want to live. That's all there's to it."

The Last Fly was so angry at everybody that she grew frightened at herself. She flew, she buzzed, she squeaked, she squealed. The spider in the corner finally took pity on her and said:

"Dear fly, come to me. See how pretty my web is!"

"Thank you very much," said the Last Fly. "Are you my new friend? I know what your pretty cob web means. You were probably a human being at one time who is now pretending to be a spider."

"You know I wish you well," said the spider.

"Oh, you ugly creature!" said the Fly. "To eat the Last Fly means to wish me well, hey?"

They had a great quarrel. Nevertheless, it was lonely, too lonely for words to tell. The Fly was bitter against everybody. She grew weary and in a loud voice announced:

"Since all of you refuse to understand how lonely I am, I will sit here in the corner the whole winter through. That's all there is to it! Yes, I will stay in the corner and nothing will make me leave it. So there!"

When she returned to her corner she cried, thinking of last summer's gladness. There had been so many merry flies. How foolish she had been to desire to be left alone. That had been a great mistake.

The winter seemed endless and Last Fly was beginning to think that summer would never return. She wished to die and she wept quietly. Surely human beings invented winter. They always seemed to think of things that harmed flies. Perhaps it was Aunt Olga who had hidden away the summer, as she did sugar and jam. Last Fly was almost dead with despair when something unexpected happened.

One day she was sitting in her corner, as was her custom, when she suddenly heard, "Buzz! Buzz!" She couldn't believe her own ears at first and then she thought that someone was fooling her. And then--heavens!--what was that? A real live fly! A Fly, very young, flew past. It was just born and it was glad.

"Spring is coming! Spring is coming!" it buzzed.

How glad the two were to see each other! They embraced and kissed, and licked each other's feelers. The Last Fly talked for days, telling her new friend what an awful winter she had spent and how lonely she had been. The young fly only laughed in her thin little voice. She couldn't understand how anyone could be lonely.

"Spring! Spring!" she joyfully repeated.

When Aunt Olga ordered the winter windows removed and Verotchka leaned out of the first open window, Last Fly knew what was happening.

"Now, I know it all," buzzed Last Fly, flying out of the window. "We flies make the summer."

THE STORY OF A BLACK-HEADED CROW AND A LITTLE YELLOW CANARY

I

The Black-Headed Crow sat in a birch tree, pecking at a twig. Peck! Peck! She cleaned her bill, looked around, and suddenly cawed, "Caw! Caw!"

The drowsy cat, Vaska, sitting on a fence, almost fell off with fright at the noise and growled:

"What is the matter with you, Blackhead? The Lord has given you some voice! What are you happy about?"

The Crow answered, "Leave me alone. Don't you see I'm busy? Caw! Caw! Caw! So much to do, so much to do."

"You poor thing," laughed Vaska.

"Keep still, you lazy thing. Your sides must be all worn out with lying about, forever baking in the sun; while I know no rest from early morning. Look at me. Just see what I've done today. I perched on ten roofs, flew over half the town, peeped into every corner and hole there is, and now I must fly up the church steeple, visit the market, and dig a little in the garden. But I'm really wasting time talking to you. Too busy! Too busy! Caw! Caw! Caw!"

The Crow pecked her beak for the last time against the twig, shook her feathers out and was just ready to fly off when she heard a terrible noise. A flock of sparrows was noisily chasing a tiny little yellow bird.

"Catch her! Catch her!" squawked the sparrows.

"What's happened? Whither away?" cawed the Crow, following the sparrows.

The Crow flapped her wings ten times and caught up with the sparrows. The tiny yellow bird, completely exhausted, dropped into the little garden overgrown with bushes of lilacs, currants and syringa, to hide from the pursuing sparrows. The little yellow bird hid under a bush and there was the Crow.

"Who are you?" cawed the Crow.

The sparrows scattered over that bush like a handful of peas. They were furious with the little yellow bird and wanted to peck her to death.

"What do you want with her?" asked the Crow.

"Why is she yellow?" peeped the sparrows in chorus.

The Crow looked at the little yellow bird. She certainly was all yellow. He jerked his head and said:

"Oh, you mischiefs! Why, it isn't a bird at all! There never was a bird like this! However, all you clear out. I must speak with this curiosity that pretends to be a bird."

The sparrows piped, chatted, and were very angry, but they had to clear out. Conversations with a Crow are always very brief. He can peck you to death, you know.

After chasing the sparrows, the Crow questioned the little yellow bird that was breathing heavily and looking pitifully at him with her little black eyes.

"Who are you?" asked the Crow.

"I am a canary."

"No fooling now, or you will get the worst of it. Remember, if it had not been for me, the sparrows would have pecked you to death."

"But I am a canary."

"Where do you come from?" asked the Crow.

"I lived in a cage. I was born in a cage. I grew up in a cage. But I always wanted to fly about like other birds. The cage hung near the window and I always watched other birds. They looked so happy and my cage seemed so small. Well, one day when the little girl, Verotchka, brought my cup of water, she left the door open and I flew out. I flew about the room first and then I flew out through the open window."

"What were you doing in a cage?" said the Crow.

"I am a singer, you know."

"Just sing for me, then," said the Crow.

The Canary sang. The Crow, with his head tilted to one side, listened and wondered.

"You call this singing?" he exclaimed. "Ha! Ha! Ha! How foolish were your masters to feed you for such singing. If they fed anyone, why should it not have been a real bird like me? Just a while ago I cawed and that rascal Vaska almost fell off the fence. That's what I call singing."

"I know Vaska, a most awful beast! Many a time he softly crept to my cage, his green eyes burning, his claws out."

"To some, he seems fierce, but not to others. That he is sly, is true, but there is nothing fierce about him. However, we can talk about this later, for somehow I cannot yet believe that you are a real bird."

"But, Aunty, I am a bird. I am a real bird. All canaries are birds, you know."

"Very well. We shall see. How do you expect to make a living?"

"I don't need very much, really. A few seeds, a bit of sugar and a bit of toast. That is all."

"What a lady you are! A bit of sugar indeed! You can do without sugar. As for seeds, those might be found. On the whole, I like you. Do you want to live with me? I have a splendid nest in the birch tree."

"Thank you. But how about the sparrows?"

"If you live with me, no one will dare to touch you. Not only the sparrows, but even sly Vaska knows my character well. I don't like fooling."

The Canary at once took courage and flew off with the Crow. Yes, the nest was fine. If there were only some toast and a wee bit of sugar!

II

So the Canary and the Crow lived together in one nest. Although the Crow liked to grumble occasionally, on the whole she was not unkind. Her chief fault was that she envied everybody and very often considered herself abused.

"Will you tell me why the foolish hens are better than I? Just see how they are cared for, fed and watched," she would complain to the Canary. "Then look at the pigeons. Of what use are they? and still look at the handfuls of oats they get. They are so foolish. Yet whenever I come near I am chased from every corner. Is this just? And I'm scolded, too. Haven't you noticed that I'm nicer than other birds and much prettier, too? However, one should not say such things about oneself. Don't you think so?"

The Canary agreed with everything.

"Yes, you are a big bird," she would say.

"Here you are. They keep parrots in cages and look after them. Can you see why the foolish parrot is better than I? He only knows how to scream and chatter and no one can really understand what he says."

"I know. We had a parrot that every one grew tired of," said the Canary.

"Yes, one can think of many birds that live, no one knows why. For instance, the starling; it comes like a mad thing no one knows whence, stays through the summer, and flies away again. There are also the swallows, the bluebirds and nightingales, but one can't really count all this rubbish. There isn't a single really desirable bird. Why, just as soon as there is a cold breeze, all of them seem to fly away, the Lord knows where."

In reality, the Crow and the Canary did not understand each other. The Canary could not understand a life of freedom; the Crow could not understand a life of captivity.

"Aunty, has no one ever thrown you a bit of seed," wondered the Canary, "not a single grain?"

"How foolish you are to talk of seeds, when I have to dodge sticks and stones. People are very cruel."

With this, the Canary could never agree, because people had always been kind to her. She thought that the Crow imagined these things, but the Canary was soon to see the cruelty of people. Once, perched on a fence, she heard a heavy stone whizz over her very head. Some school boys walking past the fence saw the Crow and couldn't resist throwing a stone at her.

"Now, have you seen for yourself?" asked the Crow, climbing upon the roof. "People are always like that."

"Perhaps you have done something to annoy them, Aunty."

"Nothing at all. They are just cruel and all of them hate me."

The Canary felt very sorry for the poor Crow whom no one loved. It must be very hard to live under such circumstances.

On the whole, there were many enemies. For instance, Vaska, with his oily eyes, watching the birds and always feigning sleep. The Canary saw with her own eyes how he caught a young inexperienced sparrow; one could only see the feathers flying, and hear the bones crackling. Horrible! Horrible! Then the hawks, too; very fine to watch them as they sail up into the air, but suddenly you see them, like a heavy stone dropping to the ground, and before you know it, a chick is in their claws.