Andreas Frangias (1972)
That summer, the windy weather subsided for a little while allowing clouds of flies to swarm the place. They stung the eyes, cut up the skin, they hummed in the heavy heat and every now and then a black, shiny horde of flies would lurk towards the bathrooms. Fat, well-nourished, summer flies. They shimmered under the sun, sitting on the walls, and on the whitewashed terraces. But eventually you get used to them, as if they become just another element of the surrounding environment, like the wind, the rocks, the heat. No one paid much attention to them initially. When they bothered you, you’d simply shoo them from your face with a wave and that’d be that.
One afternoon, however, the loudspeakers commanded attention. The “white coats” were whistling and scouring the area; they were checking the grave-like prison cells to make sure no one was hiding inside. All signs indicated that something serious would be announced. However, everything here is announced in a very serious manner, so once again, no one paid much attention. New-fangled whistles, commands, war songs and hymns to announce the decision:
“In the face of the terrible danger we are confronted with – for health, quality of life and for our civilization – we must confront the terrible attack, eradicate the infection and rid our environment of this threat! In this war everyone’s contribution will be measured, and those who don’t comply will be identified and exposed. We must exterminate the flies! For this purpose and in order to continue to enjoy all our community has to offer, each person is required to contribute by catching at least twenty flies a day. The non-compliant will be severely penalized”.
The order was analyzed and re-analyzed to the point of exhaustion, so there would be no confusion. Whoever does not turn in their twenty flies every night, will suffer terrible consequences. “And of course, you will capture the flies without falling behind, even slightly, on your other work.” And when we say ‘you must.’ we mean ‘you absolutely must.’
(…)
The people went back to work, and life immediately returned to its regular rhythm. Groups for stone, groups for digging, construction workers at the castles and bridges, porters at the port, diggers in the streets and at the grave-like prisons, artists sculpting the statues, and haulers for transporting the rocks, the water and the white lime stone. Starting today you also have to catch flies, the instructor reminded: twenty each! You finish unloading, now you must run to transport the barrel of water to the top of the hill, then get the concrete cement and then immediately haul special stones, like marble, that are used to construct the facades of the buildings. To the bridge! Slabs to pave the road, pits to plant new trees, arches and monuments to honor the great accomplishments. Flies, thousands of flies, humming everywhere. You will catch them as soon as you finish the winded hauling of this large stone. It’s time to drink a little water! Run. First come first serve. Only those who were fast enough drank. Quickly carry the sand and the iron. They will be transferred. Food. Another speech has started! Teachings that aim to boost the ethics and the knowledge and the moral. Repentances, admissions of guilt, overwhelming confessions. “How many flies did you catch? Did you forget your debt?” says the loudspeaker every now and then. No, no one forgot, but how does one fulfill the added responsibilities when they work in a stone quarry? Those who have a slower-paced job or a job that requires standing can more easily catch something. In the kitchens, in the workshops, the guards and the warehousemen are lucky. There the flies form cloud-like swarms. And those who build, who shovel, will catch them more easily. However, how is it possible to catch flies when you run with a slab of rock on your back, always working in front of supervisors? You will run late and force someone to bring you back in sync, as if you are a fly he needs to smash.
(…)
Some found the time, clasped their hands together as for a joke and caught two or three flies. They carefully placed them in a matchbox. Others made a cone. They all had a somewhat mocking smile in regard to the sternness given to such a comical order. There are tons of them. Many hum around you, there are flies everywhere. All you have to do is stretch out your hand. “I’ve got you! I will be turning you in tonight.” And another said, “Ah, he escaped…” – “You thought you’d escape, eh…” And so, while playing those who planned ahead gathered several flies, but they did not pay much attention to their possessions.
(…)
At a particular time, when dusk settled in, people gathered, as always, dusty and dead-tired for food. The responsible authorities insisted that the rows were perfect and that everyone shuts up, so that they could count again. The number of “white coats” started to increase, they stood between groups, and roamed around them. Various others, assistants, inspectors and a bunch of hoodlums also gathered. No one gave the cue for the food to be distributed. They kept counting and shuffling people around, there was new commotion.
Someone of high position showed up. A cold silence spread. A loudspeaker was also set up.
The inspector then waved and ordered “Let the distribution begin”
The first person moved forward. He needed to pass in front of him.
“Your flies,” asked the assistant.
“What flies?”
“The ones you needed to catch.”
“I don’t have any”
“Did you forget, you couldn’t or you just didn’t want to? Speak up.”
“I didn’t have time”
“Go to the side and wait.” the assistant ordered.
Another person walked up.
“Your flies. Why only three? So many millions of them, you couldn’t find more? And you
over there, get away from the other guy and stand separately.”
One guy turned in eleven, he did the best.
“Why do you only have eleven?”
“In the quarry, they all fly away because of the blasts…”
He sent him to another line.
One of the brown-nosers, the ass-kissers, the oblivious followers, had caught eighteen.
“Well done! You fulfilled your duty!”
One by one, everyone went through. Only one wrinkled little man caught the most. He counted and counted until he reached thirty-two flies. The fool turned them all in, received his food and walked away proud. At one point he even smiled and flashed a row of healthy, white teeth. Right away he realized that this was not a time for smiles, and he ran away quickly, possibly even crying.
As it turned out, the effort had largely failed. In the empty box where the dead flies were kept, not even the bottom was covered. There were many people who didn’t catch a single fly. Black clouds began to gather above everyone. The population had shown a criminal indifference to the laws. Even the sea became a darker blue and stood still.
The inspector announced his decision: Those who didn’t catch even one fly were sent to the rocks near the sea. He placed the rest of the people in different ranks based on the number of flies they brought.
Alone, without companionship, outside all the ranks was left the little man with the thirty-two flies. He was eating alone, but the food turned into a knot in his stomach.
“Write down their names as they are in the different ranks,” said one of the assistants to the low-ranking officers.
They are going to start a new registry that will always follow you, in order to measure your poor behavior in fly currency.
As they were writing the directories someone approached slowly and slyly one of the inspectors from behind. He saw a fly on his shoulder. He spread out his hand and attacked. However, as his hand passed by the inspector’s ear it grazed his cheek. The inspector got startled.
“You, what are you doing?”
“A fly on your shoulder. There she is.”
He opened up his palm and showed him the battered animal.
“Now I have eleven, can I go to that better line?”
“It’s too late now, registration has begun. After all, this fly was on my shoulder. It belongs to me. It was disrespectful for you to come near me.”
“But now I have eleven…”
“It was of no use. The inspector doesn’t need flies… If he wanted, he could spray pesticides and there would be no flies left. He wanted to measure your eagerness and desire to comply with his wishes…”
“Not only that, but he also hit you Sir,” one added.
“Yes, here on the cheek…”
“Horrible. He stepped out of his line, he moved his hands in a disrespectful way which resulted in an attack. He wanted, now that the evaluation and judgement was over, to sneak into a better rank than the one the inspector had placed him into, using a fly that did not belong to him… ”
“And now what should I do?” asked the scoundrel. “Maybe I should be put to death?”
“Not yet. I’ll decide on your fate later. Stand separately,” said the supervisor, and walked away satisfied, for he, and only he, would determine someone else’s fate.
When the registration was completed, it was time for the final judgment. Breathlessness, stillness, the guards in their places, the waves were crashing against the rocks. An eerie voice, coming from far away, said:
“Only those who have completed their duty will receive food. Those who didn’t catch a fly are deceitful and will receive the treatment that is appropriate to the insubordinate, and the subversive. Get lost all of you so I don’t have to lay my eyes on you. ”
One of the white coats made sure they disappeared quickly, and they took them to the gorge.
The same voice continued:
“The rest of you have showed indifference, malice, laziness. You defied the orders. Your dishonesty will follow you as a stigma, so you know what awaits you in any relapse of disobedience. Starting tomorrow the number of flies short of twenty will be counted as double, the next time it will be tripled. For today, leniently, you will only be deprived of water and food.”
This way everyone understood that the flies are a very serious matter. And the loudspeakers continued to scream about infections that are out of control, about unacceptable symptoms of disobedience, and relentless punishments that, no matter how severe they are, cannot eliminate the terrible sin.
And then all of a sudden, the screaming stopped and on came music and songs.”
—translated by Margarita Pipinos
Frangias, Andreas (Φραγκιάς, Αντρέας). O λοιμός (The plague)
[1972]. Νεοελληνική Λογοτεχνία (Γ Λυκείου Γενικής Παιδείας) – Βιβλίο Μαθητή (Εμπλουτισμένο). On the website Διαδραστικά Σχολικά Βιβλία. Accessed April 3, 2020.
http://ebooks.edu.gr/modules/ebook/show.php/DSGL-C131/595/3929,17356/
