Aquarium

by David Vann

  Shalini was the one I waited for. She always arrived sleepy with her backpack and Tupperware, sat down on the bench and collapsed against me. I’m so tired, she said. She could fall asleep in a car, so I was catching her only minutes from dreams.

  I’ve been awake for three hours, I said.

  Shh, she said. I’m sleeping. She had her arms around me and I closed my eyes but then the bell rang, as it always did, and we rose and she clung to my arm. My mother said you can come over tomorrow for a sleepover, she said.

  Yay!

  Shh.

  Hello clump of Shalini-Caitlin, Mr. Gustafson said. Perhaps you can be two people today?

  Shalini always ignored him, but we did have to separate to fit into two seats. I was so happy about the sleepover, I couldn’t stop smiling, even through fractions and percentages. Having something to look forward to changes everything. I’ve always needed a future. I can’t live without one.

  I didn’t know whether I would find the old man. As I approached the aquarium, I slowed down, despite the rain, because I was afraid I’d never see him again. The aquarium would be far too lonely now without him. Pier 59 only a building projecting out into the sea, another drab shape in the gray. The rain very cold, close to becoming snow. Day without light, the air hung in dark sheets and columns that swept in over the water.

  He was waiting in the first corridor, sitting slumped in a dark blue sweater, his hair rising up in thin fans, wild faint sprays from having worn a hat. Dark form of him otherwise camouflaged, head speckled.

  Caitlin, he said, and rose. I’m very sorry. Will you forgive an old man for his weakness?

  Hi, I said.

  Hi. What fish would you like to see today?

  Um. I looked around, worlds within worlds all within reach. I was so happy he was still here, that he hadn’t left forever. The razorfish, I said. I was thinking of the razorfish yesterday, at the movie theater. I went to a movie with my mom.

  What movie?

  I don’t know.

  You don’t know?

  I wasn’t watching it.

  Oh.

  We walked then to a large tank of coral and tropical fish. The razorfish hung like tinsel, as if they knew Christmas was coming and wanted to help.

  Poor buggers, the old man said. They think that’s normal. And how do they get anywhere? If they swam forward, they’d stick in the bottom.

  I’ve only seen them hang like that.

  Well they’re going to have to come up with something more.

  My mother isn’t doing overtime.

  No? She was doing overtime?

  Yeah.

  Why?

  So we could get ahead.

  Hm.

  But Inspector Bigby wanted to know where my parent or guardian was.

  Inspector Bigby.

  Yeah. I was afraid of him.

  So that’s why you were upset.

  Yeah.

  I’m sorry, Caitlin. I should have helped you more. And your mother’s all alone, no family. I think I could try to help. I think I could do that. I had a long night. I’d like to stop being of no use to anyone. Do you think I could meet your mother? Do you think you could tell her about me?

  The old man looked desperate, pleading with me. It was very strange. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t understand the possibilities. So I agreed. Okay, I said. Today?

  No. The old man looked worried. He ran his hand through his hair, flattening the ruff. Maybe Monday. Let’s do Monday. You can have the weekend to talk with her. Tell her all that we’ve done, looking at all the fish, all we’ve talked about. Have you told her anything about me?

  No.

  Nothing, huh? Well, that’s too bad. That’s very fast. But Monday. We’ll do Monday.

  She’ll be here today.

  No. Please. Let’s wait a bit. And we can stop talking about this. Let’s just walk around the aquarium. Have you seen the leafy seadragon?

  Yeah. Of course. Everyone has seen the leafy seadragon.

  Well, okay, but let’s go look at him again.

  The old man took my hand and we walked to the sea­dragon tank. Sand light blue, hairy green plants, and a sea horse become a golden branch, sprouting leaves that might have been wings. If you looked at her long enough, you could imagine trees coming alive, entire forests waking up and drifting across the land, speaking in whispers. No trunk vertical but all gone horizontal, moving along on their branches, roots hung in the air. I wanted to live in that world.

  I’ve been watching this fish every day now, the old man said. A fish that lives only to hide. The other fish are hiding, too, but this one has gone too far. He’s become unrecognizable, all twisted up like a branch, barely able to swim, fins useless. There has to be more than just hiding.

  The old man sounded bitter. I’m disgusted by this fish, he said.

  I looked at those bars of gold that somehow had become a body, and I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful fish, even the ghost pipefish. What if a tree could grow into the shape of a salmon, or a field of grass grow like trout, mouths gasping toward the sun? Even now, I still believe metamorphosis is the greatest beauty. Snakes have adapted their coloring, birds their beaks and legs, and even a mountain goat can vanish with white hair, but only fish and insects can take another form. A praying mantis to match this seadragon, but so much less ornate. Fish can become corollary to anything, unlimited, not held to any base, able to transform beyond imagination. We’re still finding new shapes in the ocean.

  I’m not going to be this fish, the old man said. I refuse.

  How could you be this fish?

  Stunted as a person, kinked like that, choked, cowardly, hiding, always disappearing, like when I ran away yesterday.

  The old man faced me then, got down on his knees, which looked painful. He took my hands in his. Damp cool skin, rough. Look, he said. You’re just starting out. You have a long life ahead. I have only a little bit left. Other men are going to get down on their knees for you, offering you their lives, but what I’m offering is more. The end of a life is more, and my reasons are more pure. I love you more than any other man ever will.

  I tried to pull my hands away, but he held on.

  It’s going to be tough times. Confusing for you. You won’t be happy. But just remember that I love you and that I’ll do anything for you now.

  I was afraid of him. He wouldn’t let go of my hands.

  Please, he said. No. Don’t misunderstand. Just tell your mother about me, and I’ll meet her on Monday. Okay?

  I nodded. My heart going so fast I thought it would never slow down again.

  Okay, he said. You’re the best little girl in the world, Caitlin. He let go then, and I turned and ran away down those dark corridors rimmed in light, all the fish watching, and didn’t stop until I was in the lobby. I sat on a bench by the door, out of breath, and I wanted my mother to rescue me. It wasn’t time yet, and I was afraid the old man would come out here. I had nowhere to hide, and it was too cold outside, icy rain a roar against all other sound.

  The old man remained submerged with the fish, hidden away, and my mother finally appeared. I ran to her through the rain and wind and swung that heavy door and was safe.

  Hey sweet pea. You’re turning into a track star.

  I didn’t say anything in response. I didn’t know where to start.

  What’s wrong?

  I was looking down at my jeans, wet below the rim of my coat.

  Caitlin, you have to tell me now.

  Shalini invited me for a sleepover tomorrow. Can I go?

  My mother laughed. Is that it? I thought something was wrong. Of course you can go.

  She pulled away from the curb then and we drove through the flood, sprays of water rising on both sides, each car with fins like the dealfish, transparent, revealed in he
adlights. Day but dark, the seas drained, and all of us splashing along the bottom looking for another sea. Others passed, racing ahead, all drawn the same way. The most frantic flight.

  I have her parents’ phone number on the class list, my mother said. We’ll call when we get home. And is it okay if Steve comes over for dinner?

  Steve was already at our apartment when we arrived. We could hear his harmonica as we rose up the stairs, low sad song, Summertime. My mother stopped on the stairs and closed her eyes and we just listened for a while in the cold. A song that kept falling. When he was finished, he said I know you’re there.

  My mother smiled and we rose the rest the way. He was sitting against our door, legs stretched out and boots crossed, flowers on his lap and two bags of groceries beside him.

  I thought I’d fix dinner, he said. Mexican night. Halibut fajitas, guacamole, margaritas. Un poco de salsa.

  He rose and my mother gave him a squeeze and a kiss. Then we went in and they ignored me. While he worked in the kitchen, my mother pressed up against the back of him like a shell. I sat on the couch and did my homework, reading about kids who were building a tree fort together in some sunnier place.

  Don’t forget to call, I said.

  My mother and Steve both looked up from some dream, startled to hear another voice.

  Sorry, sweet pea, my mother said. I forgot. She detached from Steve and went to the wall for the phone. She looked up the number and dialed and I listened. They were inviting me early, just after lunch, to spend the whole day and then the night. I was so happy I started hopping up and down.

  Look at you, Steve said. A Mexican jumping bean.

  My mother hung up and said, Okay, after lunch tomorrow. Shalini’s excited too. Don’t hop, though. We’ll get in trouble with the neighbors.

  She went back to Steve, but I didn’t care. I would have Shalini all to myself for almost a full day. I couldn’t focus on the reading. I just sat on the couch and felt happy.

  My mother and Steve were drinking margaritas in our big plastic water glasses, pink and blue, my mother getting louder from the drink, laughing and punching Steve and climbing all over him.

  When dinner was ready, she sat close to him at our small round breakfast table and I was on the other side of the circle. A large plate of fajitas between us, thin strips of halibut and bell peppers, mushrooms and onions. Corn tortillas warmed up. A bowl of guacamole, jar of salsa. I took a big scoop of guacamole and a tortilla and started eating. I was starving.

  Steve was doing his bouncing chuckle, and my mother was grabbing at his chest and stomach and arms, those biceps. But at one point he noticed me.

  Hey, you’re not having any fajitas, he said.

  I don’t eat fish, I said.

  He looked so sad suddenly. It was immediate.

  I’m sorry, he said. I should have known. And I told you this was my favorite fish, didn’t I. The halibut. Those eyes.

  It’s okay, my mother said. She doesn’t mind if we eat fish. It’s a great dinner, and you’ll be rewarded.

  I’m sorry, Caitlin, he said.

  It’s okay.

  My mother kissed him then and took him away again. They never resurfaced. Somehow we ate the rest of the dinner and he did dishes and we had ice cream for dessert and they went to bed and all of it happened without my becoming visible. I was in my room reading and fell asleep without knowing.

  When I look back, I’m happy for my mother, and I think it’s good she knew how to make me disappear. I think it was necessary, and I don’t think I even felt bad at the time. Maybe a little lonely, but that was all. We were still in the same house together, and safe.

  Shalini was waiting for me at her front door. Her mother behind her with painted eyes and a red dot on her forehead.

  I shrieked, and Shalini shrieked, and we ran toward each other and collided and swung around in a circle, jumping up and down. Our mothers were laughing.

  Shalini had a beautiful red and gold dress and hoops of gold on her arms, bare in the cold.

  Come in, her mother was saying. Shalini, bring your friend inside.

  Inside their house was like a palace. Not much bigger than our apartment, but no wall was bare. Thin veils hung like curtains, golden elephants on red carpets, candles and bright pillows and carved dark wood.

  We took off our shoes and my mother drifted away and I hardly noticed. Smell of spices thick in the air, all that I smelled each day on Shalini at school but stronger now. Looking back, I’d guess it was clove and cardamom, turmeric and raisins, maybe even something sweeter, cinnamon or something else, but at the time, it was only a kind of magic, overwhelming. I had entered a new land entirely. This is what I’ve always loved about a city, all the worlds hidden away inside, largest of aquariums.

  Shalini’s father wore a business shirt and slacks, even on a Saturday. He shook my hand, and I think he had greeted my mother before she left, and then he disappeared too. He smelled like sweet smoke.

  Shalini led me to her room down a narrow hallway. Stuffed animals and pillows covering her entire bed and much of the floor, a goddess with golden arms on her wall. At least twenty arms like Shalini’s, each holding a red flower against black velvet, as if a person might take any form, as varied as fish and as brightly colored.

  I wish you had that many arms, I told Shalini.

  How would I ever put on a shirt?

  I laughed and pulled her onto the bed. A soft comforter and all the pillows, much softer than my bed. I had my nose in her hair, smelling her, and I put my hands inside her shirt, feeling her skin. Here are two extra arms, I said. I could feel goose bumps all along my arms and down my back. Her stomach smooth and warm, heart and breath fast. We can be like fish, I said. Let’s get under the covers.

  So we threw the pillows and stuffed animals off the bed, got under the comforter, and I pulled it over our heads. We’re a thousand feet down, I said. There’s no light. And no sound.

  Shalini giggled.

  Shh, I said. We can’t hear anything.

  Shalini put her mouth on my ear and breathed, slow weight of the ocean and my spine curling like a shrimp. She held my head in both hands and kept her mouth to my ear and I was arched against her, pressing hard, caught in place, almost paralyzed.

  You’re my fish, she whispered. I’ve caught you.

  She put her leg over me, and now I was being pressed down, held down against the bottom of the ocean, and this was exactly what I wanted. She pulled off my shirt and lifted her dress until we were skin against skin and I could breathe her in and she climbed onto my back and bit my neck and I moaned and this was my first pleasure, my first memory of pleasure.

  We were twelve, and we of course knew nothing, but this was the day of my second birth. Shalini pulled off all my clothes and wore only her bracelets and we moved in darkness guided by feel, without idea, the purest desire, and I wish I could return to that first moment, our own Eden, innocence and desire the same.

  By the time my mother picked me up the next morning, I was jangly from lack of sleep, buzzing inside. My spine alive as a sea horse fin, fluttering.

  You look like a zombie, my mother said. A happy zombie. What did you do?

  We swam, I said. Floated.

  I didn’t know they had a pool. It must be inside and heated? But their house is small.

  Yes, I lied.

  The drive was very strange, being in a car, seeing the world outside pass by. All of it had changed. Bright and clear and small, even though there was no sun. The air without distance, the Space Needle as close as any house beside us. The way a fish can hang in stillness if the tank water is clear and calm enough. Suspended, held by nothing at all. Time no longer linked to object, the world muffled and without echo, without pressure, without movement.

  I went to bed as soon as we arrived, slept through the afternoon until my mother woke
me for dinner.

  I don’t know about sleepovers, my mother said. You do need to sleep. They’re not called wakeovers. Shalini’s parents did nothing to make you sleep?

  I felt so heavy I couldn’t answer. Lying in some deep-sea trench, all the weight above, unable to keep my eyes open.

  I hope you can sleep tonight. We have to get you up and moving for a few hours at least.

  My mother pulled me out of bed, made me walk and drink and eat and talk, all of which I observed from far away. All I could think of was Shalini. And then I remembered the old man.

  Someone wants to meet you tomorrow, I said. At the aquarium. An old man.

  An old man? Someone who works there?

  No.

  Well who then?

  I was still submerged. I regretted trying to talk about this with her. Just someone.

  Do you know him?

  Yes.

  How?

  We talk about the fish. He’s kind of like the three-spot frogfish. His hair and his old hands.

  How long has this been going on?

  I don’t know.

  You’ve been talking with some old man and you didn’t tell me?

  I closed my eyes and drifted back down, the pull irresistible.

  Caitlin. My mother grabbed my chin and made me look up at her. I was sitting at the table and she was standing. What is his name?

  I don’t know.

  Has he made any plans with you?

  What?

  Has he offered to take you anywhere?

  I couldn’t think. No, I said, and then I remembered. Just the Sea of Cortez, in Mexico, to see manta rays. They do backflips.

  Caitlin! my mother yelled. That voice jolted me awake. Fear in both of us. You are not leaving school tomorrow, she said. You are going to stay right there. And I’ll come as soon as I can, then we’ll drive to the aquarium, and we’ll arrive with the police.

  No, I said. He’s my friend.

  Has he touched you?

  What?