The Happy Marriage

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It landed on the tip of his nose. It was neither large nor small. Just an ordinary fly, gray, black, puny, inconvenient. It felt good sitting there, atop that nose where it had just landed like a plane on an aircraft carrier. It cleaned its forelegs. As though it were rubbing and polishing them for some urgent mission. Nothing could bother it. It was busying itself while rooted to its spot. It weighed next to nothing, but was still annoying. It irritated the man who couldn’t shoo it away. He tried to move, brush it away, he blew on it, shouted. The fly was indifferent. It didn’t flinch. It was there, right there, and had no intention of leaving. Nevertheless, the man didn’t mean it any harm, he just wanted it to go, to leave him alone, because he could no longer move his fingers, his hands, or his arms. His body had stopped working. He was temporarily indisposed. A kind of blackout in his brain. An accident that had occurred a few months earlier. Something he hadn’t seen coming, and which had struck him like lightning. His head could no longer control his limbs. For instance, he wanted that arm right there to lift up and chase the intruder away. But it didn’t move. The fly couldn’t care less. It didn’t matter whether he was ill or healthy, that didn’t change anything, the fly carried on calmly grooming itself atop that spectacular nose. The man tried to move again. The fly continued to cling on. He felt its tiny, almost transparent legs sink into his skin. It was entrenched. It didn’t want to go anywhere else. How had it even gotten this far? What misfortune had led it here? Flies were free, they didn’t obey anyone, they did what they wanted, and flew off whenever anyone tried to shoo them or swat them. It’s said that they have 360-degree vision.

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