A Feast for the Computer Bugs

The meadow dwellers had come together.
"It's getting worse," cried the millipede who was chairman of the meeting.
"Yes, it's really getting worse," hummed the mosquito.
"Worse and worse and worse," chirped the cricket excitedly.
"Worse, worse", buzzed the may-bug and continued eating a leaf.
"What's getting worse?" asked the snail who had arrived late, as usual.
"The poison, the poison," chirped the cricket. "The poison, the poison."
"Silence!" cried the millipede and stamped his five hundred right feet on a leaf. "We are here to discuss how we can defend ourselves. The human beings say that we are harmful. That's why they poison our meadows."

"Oh, I see. The snail pellets," said the snail.
"Of course you only care about yourself," buzzed the may-bug.
"They are spraying our gardens, meadows, fields and trees with poison," chirped the cricket.
"They have even polluted the river where we dance in the evening," hummed the mosquito.
"The air is the worst. One can hardly breathe nowadays," complained the may-bug and a coughing fit shook him.
"It's really bad," the snail agreed. "It's beyond endurance." And he retreated quickly into his house.
"So are the snails," chirped the cricket furiously. The confusing chatter continued until the millipede again stamped his five hundred right feet on the leaf.
"We have to find a solution," said the millipede. "It mustn't get any worse. If anybody has an idea he is invited to let me know."
But nobody moved. They looked at each other helplessly. The mosquito hummed sadly: "We are so small and weak and the human beings are so big and powerful."
"Bee, perhaps you can give us a piece of advice," said the millipede at last. "You have seen much of the world and you know the human beings better than all of us."

The bee was sitting silently on a dandelion flower. From time to time she took a sip of nectar. She nodded. "I have been told that the human beings have built a big factory in the valley on the other side of the mountain. Perhaps they are producing the poison there."
"On the other side of the mountain," whispered the mosquito. "It's too far away."
"When I was young, we often swarmed out in the evening to the other side of the mountain," groaned the may-bug. "But in my state ..." And he started his awful coughing.
"Dear Bee," said the millipede. "Although I have a thousand feet they don't carry me a long way. None of us is able to reach the other side of the mountain. Therefore we beg you to investigate."
"I don't have time," hummed the bee. "It's spring. I have to work. I have to bring nectar, pollen and water to my brood. I have wasted a lot of time on this meeting already."
But finally they talked her round.

The next morning the bee flew away over the mountain. From a distance she saw the big factory. Big smokestacks polluted the air. Through a large door trucks drove into the factory and came out heavily laden with barrels and containers.
Bad smelling steam rose and disturbed the bee. She felt dizzy and sick. With her last strength she clung to the window-sill of a shed.
Now she was sure that here was the place in which the human beings produced the poison, making the lives of her friends in the meadow unbearable. But what could she do to help them? While she was thinking, she suddenly noticed a very soft hum. Was it possible that other insects had gotten lost in this horrible place?.
She followed the noise. Finally she found a crack through which she could slip into the shed. The hum came from a red cabinet that was about the size of a beehive. Curiously she approached a small opening. Swoop! A sudden stream of air whirled her into the cabinet.
When the bee got used to the darkness, she noticed that she had landed in the middle of a swarm of bugs. They had fat black bodies and a lot of gleaming legs.

"What sort of strange insects are you?" she asked.
The black bugs hummed and hummed and didn't pay any attention to the bee. They seemed to be very busy. Only the tiniest cried: "We are computer-bugs. And who are you?"
"Computer-bugs? Oh, I have never heard about you. I am a bee."
"A bee?" laughed clattering a fat computer-bug. "You are a deformed insect with your six legs. Look at us! Even the tiny one there has got fourteen legs. I have twenty-four. And our queen has sixty-four.
"Pooh," said the bee. "I have only six legs but I can move them. All of your legs are tied. What's the use of them?"
"We use our legs, you fool, to communicate the results of our calculations. I, for instance, am capable of adding two numbers."
"I can subtract numbers," shouted another bug.
"I can store a lot of numbers in my head. I have got a memory" cried a fat bug.
"And I understand the alphabet," murmured another.
"We control the big factory," they proudly shouted in chorus. "We are computer-bugs. Without us, the factory would shut down."
And they immediately continued working, because controlling the factory was a very hard job.
"Do you actually know what your factory is producing?" hummed the bee excitedly.
"Of course," answered the bug, who could understand letters, snootily. "We make Spruzzex and Herboxalin and Insectocytin and Xeropinal."
And the bug with the memory shouted: "We produce 5872 tons and 7932 tons and 499 tons and 1857 tons."
"This is a total of 16160 tons," said the bug who could calculate.
"But do you know what the human beings are doing with all this stuff?" cried the bee. "They kill the beetles and the insects and the snails in the meadows. And your factory is polluting the air and the water."
The computer-bugs continued working. Only the tiniest asked: "What is a meadow? What is air? What is water?"
"Shut up and do your job," the one with the memory shouted at him. "How much is five and three? Hurry up! I need the answer urgently."
But the tiny computer-bug didn't listen. "Is a meadow beautiful?" he asked the bee.
"Marvellous," she answered. "Especially now in spring. If your legs weren't tied, you could wander among the flowers and the grass and breath the wonderful scent of the blossoms."
"I would like to see a meadow once in my life," whispered the tiny computer-bug. He was so exited that his legs started trembling. "Meadows, flowers, grass," he was humming and he became hotter and hotter. His bonds suddenly broke loose.

"Hurrah!" he cried. "I am free!"
Now the other computer-bugs hummed in confusion. "Meadows, flowers, grass, water, air, smell of blossoms," they cried, breaking free and crowding around the bee. Even some tiny three-legged beetles who called themselves transistors were freed. And finally even the queen moved her sixty-four golden plated legs.
The bee crept out of the cabinet and the computer-bugs filed after her. The workers in the shed were seized with terror and ran away. The factory came to a standstill.

The computer-bugs flocked outside, dispersed in the meadows, and even the three-legged transistors limped behind and escaped.

A feast began beyond the mountain when the bee arrived with some computer-bugs. They were served seeds, tender leaves, pollen and nectar. After this marvellous meal, the cricket chirped, calling everyone to dance.
When it got dark, glowworms sat upon the green and lit the festival ground. The millipede stamped his five hundred right feet on a leaf and said in a solemn voice: "I propose to give to the bee the freedom of the meadow."
All shouted with joy, applauded and the computer-bugs spent the loudest applause with their many gleaming legs.
The millipede wanted to make a speech but he was so excited that he forgot it completely. So he shouted: "Thanks to the bee everything is getting better."
At this moment, the snail stuck his feelers out of his house, yawned and asked: "What is getting better?"
"There are no more snail pellets," buzzed the may-bug.
"I see," said the snail. "And for this, you woke me up?"
Then he retreated once more into his house.

Emil Zopfi was born 1943 in Wald, Switzerland. He studied Engineering and worked as an Electronics Engineer and Computer Specialist. Since 1978 he has published several novels, children's books and radio plays. He lives in Zurich.

With thanks to Jackie Baumberger for correcting the translation.