Empire of Flies
EMPIRE OF FLIES
A SHORT STORY
by
Mobashar Qureshi
EMPIRE OF FLIES © Mobashar Qureshi 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, including the right to reproduce this work or portions thereof, in any form.
Cover Image: samurai / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Visit the author’s website:
www.mobasharqureshi.com
Visit the author’s blog:
Mobashar’s Musings
OTHER WORKS
RACE
The October Five
The Paperboys Club
Ten Typewriter Tales
The City
The Town
The Village
Roman Solaire and the Crystal Towers
PRAISE FOR TEN TYPEWRITER TALES
Review on Librarything
[5-star] “Bright, smart, it'll make you laugh and want to punch someone in the same page.”
Review on Amazon.com
[4-star] “This collection is a winner in my humble opinion.”
Review on Amazon.uk
[4-star] “Really enjoyed this collection of short stories.”
DEDICATED
Munawar J. Qureshi
SPECIAL THANKS
Mike McElroy and Wajeeha Qureshi
EMPIRE OF FLIES
“Henry, wake up,” said a loud voice.
He tried to ignore it, like always, putting a pillow over his head.
“Henry, get up. You’re going to be late for work,” said the voice again. The voice was his mother’s and it was coming from downstairs.
Henry Watman got up. He had a headache. He knew he couldn’t go on much more like this. This had to be his last day, he told himself. He had to finish it, or everyday he would wake up with little sleep and a headache the size of a melon.
Drowsily, he made his way to the bathroom. He splashed cold water over his face, but that didn’t help. His eyes closed and his head dropped into the sink. With all his might he turned the tap and let the cold water fall on his head.
Great, he thought. My hair is already wet, no need to take a shower. He got dressed and went down to the kitchen. His mom was working at the stove, making his usual breakfast: scrambled eggs, which he consumed with toast and a glass of orange juice.
He flopped onto the chair and his mom placed his breakfast. “Don’t you get tired of the same stuff every morning?” she asked.
“Today will be the last day. Starting tomorrow I’m going to eat something different,” he replied.
“What’s today? Something special?”
He didn’t answer. He began devouring his breakfast, which he had begun to dislike. But he couldn’t break his routine, at least not today.
His mom, realizing she wasn’t going to get an answer, said, “Elizabeth called this morning.”
Henry wasn’t interested. He knew what she was going to say.
“They are hiring people at her firm and they need someone who can write and type reports…”
“I don’t want to write or type reports,” Henry shot back.
“Why not?” his mom asked, irritated.
“It’s boring,” he replied.
“And working for a bookstore isn’t?” she said.
“That’s not fair, Mom,” he said, getting up.
“I’m sorry, honey.” Her voice was calm and gentle. “I don’t want you to waste your talent. That’s all.”
“I know,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.” He was out the door.
Outside, he took a deep breath. He hated being like that to her. He knew she wanted the best for him, she always did. But today would be the last day. Tomorrow he would be a different man. Tomorrow he would tell her the truth.
Henry took the nearest bus to BOOK PALACE.
“Henry, you’re late again,” the Owner said.
The Owner was a strict but fair man. “This is the second time this week.”
“I know. Tomorrow I’ll be on time.”
The Owner shook his head, knowing Henry would never change.
Henry began putting the displays out in front of the shop. Bestsellers from Michael Crichton, John Grisham, and Danielle Steel were placed outside, along with a relative unknown—H. W. Greeves.
Greeves’ first novel, The Empire of Flies, had become an instant bestseller. It was already in its third printing. It was the hottest book of the year, so hot that BOOK PALACE was running out of copies.
“Did we order more copies of The Empire of Flies?” Henry asked as he went back in.
“Yes, last night,” the Owner replied.
“When can we expect them?”
“Sometime in the afternoon.”
The rest of the morning, Henry went about doing his duties: cleaning, organizing, assembling displays for upcoming books.
“I’ll be back in five minutes,” the Owner yelled as he left, indicating that Henry take over the shop.
Through the shop’s window, Henry saw Mrs. Tanner pick something up from one of the displays. He ignored her and tried to continue with his tasks, but he couldn’t help it. He peeked again to see what she was picking up. Mrs. Tanner was a frequent customer at the shop. Her husband had died the previous year. He was a wealthy real estate builder who had left her with quite a fortune. Now in her retirement years, Mrs. Tanner found books to keep her company.
She entered holding four copies of The Empire of Flies.
“Mrs. Tanner, didn’t you buy several copies last week?” Henry asked as she made her way to him.
“I can’t get enough of it,” she said with a bright smile.
“Who are these for?” He scanned the books.
“One is for my sister-in-law and the others for my partners in my bridge club,” she said. “Don’t you have any more copies?”
“Sorry, all out. Hope to get a shipment later today.”
“This book is selling out fast,” she said.
“It is. We can’t seem to keep enough of it.”
“Do you know if and when the author is coming down to our city for a book signing? I would love to meet him.”
“I doubt that,” Henry said. “I read somewhere that’s not his or her real name. It’s a pseudonym.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Henry said, placing the books in a clear plastic bag. “I read that when the novel won the Booker Prize, the author did not show up.”
“That’s a shame. Everyone would want to meet him. I know I would.”
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” he finally said.
“I’ll be back in a few days for more copies. Goodbye, Henry,” she said, leaving.
“Have a nice day, Mrs. Tanner,” he answered.
Henry went out and picked up the empty display and placed it in the back room. He replaced it with one for a new novel by Jeffrey Archer.
A few minutes later, the Owner came back. “What happened to the display of The Empire of Flies?”
“Sold out.”
“Don’t tell me: Mrs. Tanner.”
“Yep.”
“I’ll call the distributor and tell him to send a rush delivery.”
Henry went about his duties when he heard someone enter the shop. It was Elizabeth.
“Hey, dork face, how you doing?” she said.
“Hello, booger face. I’m fine, thank you,” Henry replied in good humor.
Henry had known Elizabeth from the time they were in kindergarten. They were best friends. They went to the same grade school and even the same high school. They only parted when she went to university and he went to college.
“What are you doing for lunch?” she asked.
“Eating,” he answered.
“Funny
, ha ha. How about I buy you lunch?”
“What’s the occasion?”
“I got a raise… Wait, come to think of it, everybody in my department got a raise. So I thought I’d celebrate with my best buddy.”
“Alright, give me five minutes.”
***
They walked along the street and stopped outside a fast food restaurant.
“Burgers and fries?” Henry asked, raising his eyebrows.
“I only got a raise. I didn’t win the lottery, wise guy,” Elizabeth replied.
“Burgers and fries are fine by me.” Henry smiled.
Inside, they sat chewing their lunch when Elizabeth said, “I spoke to your mom this morning.”
“I heard,” Henry said, not happy. “Stop trying to make my life difficult.”
“Not my fault. I called and your mom answered. She asked me how I was doing and what I was doing…”
“Then?”
“Then she asked me if there were any positions open in my firm.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, yeah, there is a position open. I had to tell her the truth.”
“Lie to her,” Henry said.
“I’m not going to lie to her.”
“Why not?”
“That’s so stupid, Henry. You mean to tell me you lie to your mom?”
“If it makes my life less complicated,” he said.
“Less complicated? You work for a bookstore. How complicated can your life get? No, wait. I’m sorry. Maybe the books come alive and they start attacking you.”
“They do. I got bit by Stephen King just last week.”
“That’s not funny.” She eased up a little and then said, “You know your mom wants the best for you. So do I. Why don’t you tell her the truth?”
“Tell her what?”
“Tell her you work at the bookstore because one day you want to be a writer.”
“Yeah right.”
“Why not? Isn’t that why you work there?”
“Yeah…”
“So tell her,” Elizabeth insisted. “You love books and one day you want to write your own.”
“It’s not that simple,” he said, shaking his head.
“Why not?”
“My mom wasn’t too thrilled with me going to college, especially taking English Literature. She dreamed I would become a doctor, lawyer, even an accountant. Somewhere I would make good money and have some respect.”
“You will have that,” she said, holding his hand. “When you become a successful writer.”
“I know,” he said.
They ate their lunch in silence when Henry suddenly said, “No!”
“What?” Elizabeth said.
“Don’t look up, just stare at the table.”
Elizabeth did exactly what Henry said, but then asked, “Why?”
“They’re coming this way.”
“Who?”
“A guy I knew from college,” he said, but then made a fake smile and waved.
A man waved back and, accompanied with a woman, came in.
“Henry? Henry Watman? I knew I recognized you,” the man said, coming near them.
“Hello, Andre,” Henry replied, trying hard to hide his unhappiness.
“This is Leslie,” Andre said, introducing the woman.
“Hi,” she replied.
“This is Elizabeth,” Henry said reluctantly.
Elizabeth smiled back. “Hi.”
“Do you mind?” Andre asked. Elizabeth got up and sat beside Henry, while Andre and Leslie sat opposite them.
Andre Spencer was someone Henry hated. Andre’s wavy hair was messy and pushed backward. He was usually unshaven and wore clothes that were wrinkled. To Henry, Andre was trying to imitate Mordecai Richler, and he was doing a poor job of it.
“Do you mind?” Andre said, holding a cigarette to Elizabeth.
“No, go ahead,” she replied.
Andre didn’t bother asking Henry’s opinion. He lit his cigarette.
Leslie, on the other hand, was pretty, and neatly dressed. She also seemed intelligent. To Henry, it was a mystery why beautiful and intelligent women found Andre attractive. He was an arrogant, self-centered wannabe.
“So, Henry,” Andre said, taking a puff. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing much,” Henry replied, trying hard not to start a conversation.
“You want to know what I was up to?” Andre said.
No, Henry wanted to say. I don’t care what you’re up to.
“I’ll tell you,” Andre said without waiting for the answer. “My short story has just been nominated for ‘CAA Jubilee Award for Short Story’.”
“Isn’t that great?” Leslie replied with a wide smile.
“Great,” Henry whispered.
“Congratulations,” Elizabeth said.
“Thank you,” Andre answered with another puff of the cigarette.
“You’re a writer?” Elizabeth asked innocently.
No, thought Henry. Don’t start.
Andre’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve never heard of me?”
“No, not really,” she replied.
“I was recently on the cover of FUTURE MAGAZINE. There was a full two-page article on me.”
Leslie interrupted, “He was voted as one of the ten people who will have an influence in the Canadian culture in this new millennium.”
“Really?” Elizabeth said. “Henry never mentioned you.”
“I’ve been busy,” Henry said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Andre puffed. “In a few years the entire country will know me.”
“Yes,” Leslie giggled. “He could be the next Michael Ondaatje.”
“I saw the English Patient and I loved it,” Elizabeth said.
Leslie turned to Andre. “Maybe they might make a movie from one of your stories.”
“Of course they will,” Andre answered. “They’ll be stupid not to. Go get me something to drink.”
She obediently got up and left.
Henry could tell that Andre had her in his spell. From the very first day Henry met him, he realized women liked Andre because they thought he was exceptional. Henry couldn’t see anything exceptional about him.
Leslie returned with the drink.
“Coke!” Andre spat. “You know I like diet.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you another one,” Leslie replied, a little embarrassed. She went back and brought him his drink.
She sat down and spoke as if nothing had happened. “What do you do, Henry?”
“I work for a bookstore,” he answered politely.
“It must be fun to have all those wonderful books at your fingertips.”
“That’s why I work there.”
“What are the bestsellers?”
“Most by known writers… and particularly the new one, The Empire of Flies, by H. W. Greeves.”
“I love that book,” Leslie said. “I’ve read it twice. It’s a brilliant book. I love how the author compares flies to humans, and an empire to a country. It’s so deep.”
Andre interrupted, “It’s not bad.”
“You read it?” Henry asked, surprised.
Leslie answered, “I made him read it.”
“I could’ve done better,” Andre retorted.
“It is a wonderful book,” Elizabeth said. “Henry gave it to me.”
Leslie turned to Henry. “You work in the book industry. Is there a second book coming out?”
“I don’t see why not,” Henry replied. “Usually after the success of the first one, a second follows. From what I’ve heard, it should be out in a few months.”
“I can’t wait for it,” Leslie said. “You’ll have to hold a copy for me.”
Elizabeth turned to Henry. “You should write something like that.”
“You’re a writer?” Leslie said, surprised.
Henry shook his head.
Elizabeth stepped in. “He’s written some short stories, but he hasn’t sent th
em to a publisher.”
“Why not?” Leslie said.
“They’re not that good,” Henry said.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Leslie said. “Andre can have a look at them. He could help you get them published, if you like.”
Meanwhile, Andre was getting impatient. No one paying any attention to him made him feel uncomfortable.
“We better go,” Andre said. “I have to finish my manuscript.”
“You’re writing a novel?” Elizabeth asked.
Leslie stepped in. “Yes, he is. Come next year, it will be the most talked about book in the country.”
“Wow,” Elizabeth said. “Good luck.”
Andre got up and left without saying a word. Leslie said goodbye and obediently followed behind.
***
Outside on the street, Elizabeth said, “Your friend Andre is not very modest.”
“Not my friend,” Henry said in disgust.
“But Leslie was nice, though,” Elizabeth said. “I can’t understand why she’s with that jerk.”
“She won’t be for long,” Henry said. “Once she realizes he’s a wannabe writer. She’ll dump him like the rest of them.”
“Anyways, I had a nice lunch.” Elizabeth gave him a hug. “Say hi to your mom for me.”
“I will,” Henry said as he went back to BOOK PALACE.
***
Just as he entered the shop, Henry knew from the look of the Owner that he was late.
“Once, Henry. Just once,” the Owner said.
“Next time, I’ll be on time,” Henry said. “I promise.”
“I’ve been waiting for you for almost twenty minutes,” the Owner started. “We got the shipment of The Empire of Flies.”
“That fast?”
“They sent it express. Put it outside so we can get rid of it.”
Using a blade, Henry opened the boxes and removed the newly printed copies of The Empire of Flies. He pressed his hand over the cover and felt the protruding font. Hopefully, one day his name would be on a copy just like this. Within minutes the copies of The Empire of Flies were outside the shop, ready to be purchased.