The Gothic fly: part 1

The first of my series of four short stories, together known as the Gothic fly. The first part is as follows:

The EDO Contemporary SILicate manufacturing processes.

It was just the beginning of what was to become one of the bloody, war-torn eras of Nihon’s monarchial history. The Edo period, rising from the dying embers of the Meiji dynasty, saw the ushering in of much new advancement, like gunpowder and tobacco and also saw the first inklings of the Japanese technological marvel that was to become its trademark in the future.

Our story is also set in this period, in its early stages, when the powers that be were all calm and happy. The oppositions, on the other hand, were feeling ugly and inferior. Jobs, money and luxuries abounded. People went about, gaily rallying on street amusements, shouting Tally-ho and Yoicks (or whatever substitute they had for Tally-ho and Yoicks) to fellow Nihonmen. We narrow our view to the far end of the mainroad of the Hirokawa district, where there stood a factory, tall and efficient, that specialized in the manufacture of crystalline silicate oxides, known to common gent as glass. The Bischen-Issar-Tsung Silicate Corporation (or bitS) as it was called, was a stately building, built with sturdy cardboard walls and overhead diffused lighting. Solid mahogany paneling and the traditional Japanese thatched roof, being it’s most prominent features. We request you to pay special attention to the Zen water garden at the front façade, not only because it was extremely pleasant to gaze at, but also because it shall come to play a vital role in the proceedings that we are to chronicle.

Regretfully however, we shall now conclude our brief tour of this building (which by the way, is to be a backdrop for many, many great tales in its future).We traverse to a nearby apartment house called‘Ram Bhavan’, built originally by a travelling tea salesman of Indian origin. Tiny and functional, this structure provided‘shelter and companionable accommodation’ (as per advertisement) to a vast number of young bachelors in the Hirokawa district, also to those who came to the district, lured by its relative abundance of jobs.

We climb staggeringly to the fourth floor of the building (elevators not having been invented yet),where a group of people were sitting in the 27^th room in the line of block apartments, drinking tea and eating senbei (rice crackers). The room belonged to Flo (Fly or Flockroachto friends) Mohn-Tsing, one of the multitudes of workers of the aforementioned bitS, who shall now become the primary focus of our historical chronicling. A brief description, you feel, is due.  Of medium height, stockily built, with a straggling of a beard beginning to appear on his face, Flo resembled the average BITSian worker. His daily routine consisted of routinely waking up late in the mornings, rushing to the factory,yet in his early morning torpor, laboring until evening, blowing and sucking (glass), then returning to his room and passing time (and wind) with his friends until late at night, sleeping off eventually to resume the same routine the next day.

We begin on the morning of the last day of the year of the frog, when the Dodo came to wake up the Fly. He let himself in through the open door and being a pacifist, contented himself by depositing a bucketful of water upon the slumbering Flo. “Fly dude, Fly; it’s almost time.” he spoke, the aristocratic glint in his eye menacing. Let us clarify,(the glint part):

 Dodo, as he was known, was half a Burmese prince. Dodo’s distant ancestor, a Burmese labourer, had won a ticket to England in a lottery and while there, had run off with a scullery maid, which practically amounts to royalty in Burma. Hence, Dodo had been brought up with the best of facilities, never craving for those things that his father had never had. Anyway, that shalt be another story. Back to topic.

With a groan, Flo pushed himself upright. ‘That’s right’, he remembered. Today was his make-up for his monthly evaluation, which he had conveniently missed, being rendered indisposed by too much blowing (at the glass).You see, Flo was a hard worker.

He blew where others wouldn’t dare to blow, soaring to greater heights with each success. Hence, fly. On this particular day, however, he was nervous. Evaluations, never an easy thing, were particularly tough as make-ups, with some auditors keeping averages as thin as a strand of hair sliced into a million pieces by a paper knife. Origami, they called it.

There being no time to behave like civilized human beings, Flo demurely exited his apartment, taking the steps three at a time. He didn’t have time to dress, but as he had not bothered undressing the previous night in the first place, that wasn’t really an issue. However, he omitted two things of considerable importance. Firstly, to vent his bladder prior to departure and secondly, his normal prudence.

It was a bright, sunny morning, with birds chirping and flowers flowering and dogs and she-dogs doing what dogs and she-dogs do in springtime. By the time, however, that Flo had reached the factory,none of this got through him. For all he cared, the bird could eat the bee, poop on the flower and die. His throbbing bladder, by now resembled a woodpecker going at a choice log after an extended period of starvation. Looking for reprieve, he glanced upon the Zen water garden. A gentle trickle of water emerged from between two rocks and ran its course to join the small pool of clear water at the bottom.

Whoever remarked that such a sight would inspire peace in the most tormented of souls was clearly not acquainted with Flo, for the sight stirred him like the multitudes liberated from the Bastille during the French Revolution. He hastily looked around him, (to make sure nobody was watching), then having stared intently at the front wall of the factory for a fraction of second, and then proceeded to liberate himself in a most leisurely manner. Having done so to his satisfaction, he proceeded into the interiors. ‘e was with a hop and skip’, the poet Tennyson would have remarked. All was well.

The front wall of the factory was covered with elaborate tapestries of dragons and turtles and potatoes and other contemporary glyphs. Unbeknownst to Flo, a pair of eyes, cut out skillfully from the head of a dragon, peered down upon him. The only way to tell them apart was that they blinked in surprise. They then disappeared to be replaced by the original eyes, staring into space. A scurrying sound was heard behind the tapestry, and then the gentle click of a door closed behind itself. The wheels were in motion.

Our cog in the machine, Flo, now proceeded to engage in his routine blowery. Meanwhile behind his hairy back, sinister proceedings were taking place. ‘He did what?’ she exclaimed. This was horrifying, an incident of such unprecedented audacity had never been seen before. Action had to be taken, and fast. The pea had to be nipped in the bud, etc.etc. But what could be done? Removehim, was the easiest answer. But how, there was no proof, was there? A deadlock had been reached.

There was only one course left to them. He had to be eliminated.

The evaluation finished, Flo sauntered back to his apartment. Some sixth sense was warning him not to go back. Prudently, he squashed it. As soon as he reached his room, he saw that the door was ajar. This should have alarmed him, but in his inebriated state at having got his make-up over with, even that didn’t stir him. He went inside, and froze.

Dodo was on the floor, plucked, cooked and half finished.  The sight sobered him down instantly. He ran to Dodo, what happened, who did this to you trembling on his lips. Then he saw the note on Dodo’s shirtfront. ‘Vandals shalt hence fore be eliminated. Thou art but an example.’

Dodo’s hand was trembling, pointing somewhere behind Flo’s back. The words, “It’s a tra…….” Forming on his mouth. Flo spun over backwards, going into a crouch. There, behind the now open door was a figure fully clothed in black, with admirable amounts of starch. He held something in his hand.

Flo saw it, and his stomach churned. It was the most fatal weapon to ever come into existence (for flies). It was, The Flylight (pest killer, like the ones in the factory’s mess). Flo trembled and fluttered. Irresistibly being drawn towards the ethereal twinkling, so similar to the flame that moths are so drawn to. He tried to exert all his willpower, but could not bring himself to flee  from it. The hired assassin, a twisted smile on his scarred face, walked towards him, the lethal Taser still in his hand.

Then Flo saw a single feather fluttering in the wind. It belonged to the Dodo. The sight spurred him onto action, a blend of fury, resentment and fear goading him into action. He did what first occurred to him. He relieved himself.

The electrolytic fluid splashed on top of both the assassin and the Flylight, establishing a conducting link between them. Ergo, the assassin got electrocuted, burnt to a sizzling crisp. The Flo, surprised, elated and relieved at the same time, made a life altering decision. He grabbed the Dodo, the Flylight and decided to go to Europe, where he would patent it, earn wealth and fame, and stay for the rest of his life, saying things like ‘capital, capital’ and ‘bollocks’.

He walked into the twilight, with His flylight.