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."
[Illustration]