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The Polish fly and Kung Fu

- June 22nd, 2012

My continuing adventures in Poland as I cover Euro 2012.

Since I am sharing an apartment in the outskirts of Warsaw with two other writers, Cathal Kelly of the Toronto Star and John Doyle of the Globe and Mail, Cathal (I would normally say Kelly but for some reason, that seems to offend him. He says it is so impersonal,) anyway Cathal has named it Canada House. From now on Canada House means the apartment.

My fly killing adventure at Canada House.

First of all, they have some really big flies in Poland. I don’t know what they eat and I don’t want to think what they eat. But they are big ones.

There is nothing worse than a fly getting into the house and buzzing around your ear. As I lay my weary body down to sleep, I hear this horrendous buzzing sound in my ear. I check my blood pressure and it is fine. Then I see it. The Fly. It looks like a sparrow. I have nothing big enough to dispatch the fly as it buzzes from room to room.

So I take off my shorts. They are big shorts, the nice long cloth kind. They cover lots of air space and I’m not going to let the mutant from some horror show escape.

The fly has lots of jam unlike me who just got home at 3:30 a.m. from a road trip (by the way, did you know that the sky actually lightens at 3 a.m. in Poland? But I digress.) So I chase the fly. He escapes. Or maybe she escapes.

I stand in the middle of the doorway and wait for him to land. He refuses to land. He buzzes me like Tom Cruise in Top Gun. I swing and miss and slam the wall. I swing again and hit floor.

“Hey, what’s going on up there,” says Cathal. “Want me to come up.”

No since I don’t have any shorts on.

I finally calm down and remember my favourite television actor Kwai Chang Caine (David Carradine, Kung Fu) .

Flashback.

Master Po: Close your eyes. What do you hear?

Young Mo: I hear the buzzing Master.

Po: Do you not hear your heartbeat?

Mo: I hear Cathal popping the tab of his beer can.

Po: Do you not hear the individual beats of the fly’s wings.

Mo: No Master, how can you hear it?

Po: How can you not?

It was enough. With David Carradine as my inspiration, I close my eyes and swing. The buzzing stops. I can’t find the body but the fly is no more.

Master Po: You’ve done well, Grasshopper.

Mo: Where has the fly gone Master?

Po: Nowhere. Only the vessel which holds the spirit is dead. But the fly’s spirit now lives in all of us.

That’s kind of gross. But at least it’s over. I put my shorts back on and lie down.

Five minutes later surrounded by silence, I feel blissful sleep come over me,

Buzz, buzz.

I open one eye.

Buzz, buzz.

To hell with you Master Po.

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1 comment

  1. question says:

    Did you happen to take a close look at the fly and maybe determine if it was a common house fly, a fuit fly or any of the other kinds of flies one associates with animals, open sewage/cesspool or decomposing flesh?

    How about maybe they’re growing and emeging from the roadside sausage you guys have been carrying around with you?

    O.k., I really don’t know. I’m just guessing and .theorizing.

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