DRAMATIZATION OF A SHORT STORY
THE
FLY
Original
Text: Katherine Mansfield
CHARACTERS:
1. The Boss
2. Mr. Woodifield (A talkative
old fellow)
3. Macey (the office attendant)
Place: Office of the boss
Scene: 1
[The Narrator: The boss is a well-off and high-ranking man who lives in
comfort, dignity and ease, but bears a deep sorrow in the inmost core of his
heart and tries to forget it in his busy occupation, social importance and
personality but it remains ever within him and may bother him at the slightest
provocation. Mr. Woodifield, five years younger than the boss is sick and
feeble after his first stroke. His ailment keeps him confined to home in strict
homely discipline. On every Tuesday, he is permitted to visit his friends and
he ravenously enjoys the day to the detriment of his own health and the disgust
of his friend.]
Mr. Woodifield: Hello, my dear.
Today is Tuesday. So, I am free from my confinement.
Boss: oh! It’s nice.
Mr. Woodifield: Your cabin is
very comfortable and I think you enjoy the best of comfort in its truest term.
Boss: Yea. Right you are. It is
snug and cosy enough.
[The Narrator: The boss is quite proud of his cabin and he likes to get
it admired by Mr. Woodifield.]
Mr. Woodifield: Yea, yea. The
same thing I am telling you. What a great life you enjoy. Your stamina is
equivalent to the ease of your office room.
Boss: Thanks, Woodi, my dear.
Here see, Woodi, the new carpet (The boss
points out the new carpet). See the book case, a massive one. Look at the
table. Woodi, appreciate the design. See the legs of the table like twisted
treacle. Everything is brand new. [The
boss draws the attention of Mr. Woodifield and shows the things boastfully
barring the photograph on the table.]
Mr. Woodifield: well, well. But I
came here to tell you something. But I forgot what I had wanted to tell you.
Dear, think about my physical as well as mental strength. After my first
attack, I can’t recollect the things properly. You are elder than me but you
are quite fit. Your physical stamina makes me amazed.
Boss (proudly): A lot of thanks,
Woodi.
Mr. Woodifield (trying to
remember): What was it? What was it? I don’t remember. I had it in my mind in
the morning. [He tries to remember]
Boss (Aside): You are a poor old
fellow. You are at your last stage. God bless you.
Mr. Woodifield: Do you think
something?
Boss: Nothing.
[The Narrator: The boss takes a key off his watch chain and unlocks a
cupboard below his desk and draws forth a dark, squat bottle.]
Mr. Woodifield: What is this?
Boss: It is a beautiful stuff. It
will do you good before you go out into the cold. It is the medicine.
Mr. Woodifield (utters feebly and
surprisingly): Whisky? If I am not wrong, then it is whisky.
Boss: You, yourself see the
label.
Mr. Woodifield: Do you know my
daughters do not allow me to touch it at my home?
Boss: Let them do at home. We know
a bit more than the ladies.
Scene: 2
[The Narrator: The boss pours two tumblers and offers Mr. Woodifield
and further asks not to add water.]
Mr. Woodifield (after drinking):
It’s nutty.
[Narrator: It warms him. It creeps into his chill old brain and he
remembers what he wanted to remember.]
Boss: What happened to you,
Woodi? Do you feel well?
Mr. Woodifield: Yea. I can
remember what I wanted to tell you then. I think you would like to know it.
Boss: What? Tell me.
Mr. Woodifield: My daughters were
in Belgium last week and visited Reggie’s grave. Your son’s grave. My daughters
were very happy to see the maintenance of the place. Beautifully looked after.
[The Narrator: Mr. Woodifield paused a while but the boss did not make
any reply. Mr. Woodifield keeps on telling what happened at hotel but the boss
hardly pays any attention. Mr. Woodifield turns towards the door.]
Boss: Quite right, quite right.
(Without knowing the incident)
Scene: 3
[The Narrator: For a long moment the boss stays staring at nothing. The
grey-haired office messenger sees him dodged in and out of his cubbyhole like a
dog that expects to be taken for a run.]
Boss: Macey, Macey. (Calling at
his highest pitch)
Macey: Yes sir.
Boss: Where were you?
Macey: Here only.
Boss: Listen to me very
carefully. I’ll see nobody for half an hour. Understand? Nobody at all.
Macey: Ok sir.
Boss (while groaning): My son!
[The Narrator: Woodifield’s remark upon his son’s shocked him terribly.
He was the only son of the boss. The boy was simply splendid. He had been in
the office learning the ropes for a year before the war. The boy died in the
war. Sis years ago the day had come when Macey had handed him the telegram that
brought the whole place crashing about his head. The incident happened six
years ago but to the boss it might have happened yesterday. The boss decided to
get up and have a look at the boy’s photograph. But it was not the boss’s
favourite photograph. The boy had never looked like that. At that moment the
boss sees a fly that has fallen into his inkpot.
Boss (soliloquy): What is this in
the inkpot? A fly? Yea, yea. It is the fly.
[The Narrator: The boss helps the fly come out of the inkpot. The boss
starts testing its stamina and tenacity to survive against the odds of life. He
tries this by dropping ink on the fly, as it tries to move and fly. Finally,
the fly dies out of exhaustion.]
Boss (Soliloquy): We are helpless
against the odds of life. We are the sheer puppets in the hands of Fate. We
have to succumb ultimately to the cruel hands of Fate, instead of having
wealth, riches and property.
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