Peter Abrahams - Crying Wolf

Everything came crashing down. But no. That was what Nat, moving unconsciously closer as though responding to something gravitational, expected. In fact, only the aquarium crashed. Somehow the two girls landed on their feet, like gymnasts, but without the posturing. He lost sight of the gold object.

The next moment the girls were both on their knees, digging through the snow. Nat reached them in time to hear one say, “Here’s the little bastard.”

“Gentle,” said the other one.

The first girl held up the object in both hands, and Nat saw what it was: a fish. A fish, but unlike any fish, or any living thing, he’d ever seen: a dazzling creature, fat and gold with a wide yellow-lipped mouth, now opening and closing desperately, round yellow eyes, indigo fins, and white polka dots from head to its blue-and-gold tail. A dazzling creature that seemed to contain in its little form all the color lacking in the day.

“Whatever we do better be quick,” said the one holding the fish.

The aquarium lay shattered, the water it had contained now a melting depression in the snow.

“Bathtub?” said the second girl.

“Fresh water,” said the first girl. “Might as well be poison.”

“Then think of something.”

“That’s my role.”

“Not now, Grace, for Christ’s sake.”

They glanced around, as though seeking help, but didn’t seem to see Nat. The fish chose that moment to make a violent flipping motion, flying free. Nat was ready. He caught it in his cupped hands and said: “The bio lab.”

Now they saw him. “Where’s that?” They said it in unison. Nat didn’t reply, partly because the route was complicated, mostly because of how stunned he was by their appearance: one-Grace-light blond, the other darker-haired, both-he couldn’t find the right word, something as absolute as amazing, astonishing, beautiful, but more precise.

He did know where the bio lab was; he was taking a biology course to keep his pre-med option open. Sticking to the beaten footprint tracks and then the plowed paths, he took off as fast as he could with the fish in his hands-around Lanark, up the hill to the chapel, down the other side past the new science complex, across the old quad to the bio lab building. Nat was a good runner, but one girl passed him on the stairs in time to hold the door open, and the other was right beside him.

Nat ran down the dark-paneled first-floor hall. The bio labs were in the oldest building on campus, originally the entire college, later the science building, now closed off except for the first floor. The labs themselves, lining the hall, had thick wooden doors with windows in them, and he’d peered through them all in the first weeks of the semester.

“Here,” he said at the end of the hall, and one of the girls banged the door open. The fish was no longer wriggling in his hands, not moving at all; it was coated in some sort of invisible slime, but Nat could feel the rough scales underneath. He went straight to the dozen numbered tanks on the counter at the back wall, began lowering the fish into the nearest one.

“He can’t be with other fish,” said one of the girls; the darker-haired one.

“He can’t be with other fish?”

“Not ones he doesn’t know. They might hurt him.”

Nat glanced in the tank, saw three brown fish, half the size of the gaudy one, checked the other tanks, all occupied. “Is that something scientific, or just a feeling?”

“Blah, blah, blah,” said the lighter-haired girl, Grace. She leaned over the aquarium, scooped out the three brown fish with her hand, flipped them into the next tank. “Dump him in,” she said to Nat. He had never seen eyes like hers in his life.

“Not so fast,” said the darker-haired girl, dipping her finger in the water, tasting. She nodded to him, finger still between her lips. Nat saw eyes unlike any he had ever seen until moments ago. The fish slipped from his hands, fell into the tank.

“For God’s sake,” said Grace.

“Sorry.”

“He’s sensitive, that’s all,” said the darker-haired one.

The fish sank down in the water, floated there, but upside down.

“Swim,” said the darker-haired one.

But the fish just hung upside-down in the tank. Grace reached in, turned him over, swam him vigorously back and forth.

“You’re hurting him,” said the darker-haired girl.

“Zip it, Izzie,” said Grace.

Izzie bit her lip. Grace gave the fish a big push and let go. He drifted forward for a moment, listed to one side, almost capsized. Then one indigo fin began making tentative fanning movements, the blue-and-gold tail flicked to one side, back again, and the fish stabilized itself and swam with increasing strength to the middle of the tank, sending a hazy jet of fecal matter to the bottom.

“You stud, Lorenzo,” said Grace.

“The Magnificent,” Nat said.

They both turned to him, their eyes somewhat similar in color to Lorenzo’s, but toned down.

“How did you know that?” said Izzie.

“It fits.”

“I meant how do you know about Lorenzo the Magnificent?”

Nat shrugged; it was just one of those things he knew. Their eyes narrowed on him. “What’s your name?” They spoke together, didn’t appear to notice the overlap.

Nat told them.

“Well, Nat,” said Grace. “I guess we-”

“Thanks,” said Izzie.

“Yeah,” said Grace. “Thanks.”

“He means a lot to us,” said Izzie. “We caught him.”

“You caught him?”

“Grace did,” Izzie said.

“But Izzie kept the sharks at bay.”

“The sharks?”

“With her bangstick.”

“You’re making this up,” said Nat.

“Why do you say that?” said Grace. “Sharks are wicked off Bora Bora, common knowledge.”

“But thanks, is the point,” said Izzie.

“Right,” said Grace. “You saved the goddamn day.” She reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulled out a wad of bills, removed some without counting or even looking, held them out.

“What’s this?” said Nat. He felt his face reddening.

Grace turned to Izzie. “Not enough?” she said in a stage whisper.

Her eyes on Nat, Izzie said: “I think we’ve made a-”

“-mistake?” said Grace. She turned to Nat. “You’re not maintenance or something?”

“I’m a student, actually.” That sounded so stiff, but was how he felt.

“Yikes. What year?”

“Freshman.”

“Oh, God,” said Izzie. “We almost tipped a classmate.”

“Not PC,” said Grace; and then to Nat: “Well, do you want it?”

They all laughed, Nat as hard as the girls, although he was aware of, and despising, the little part of him that did want the money. He reddened some more. Izzie stopped laughing; then Grace.

“Sorry,” Grace said, putting the money back in her pocket.

“Very,” said Izzie.

“Hey,” said Nat.

An awkward moment. Their gazes all went to Lorenzo, the path of least resistance. He fluttered his fins.

“Will anyone mind if we borrow this one little tank?” Izzie said. “We’ve got to get Lorenzo home for Christmas.”

“I guess not,” said Nat, turning to the adjacent tank in time to see the remains of the three brown fish spiraling slowly to the bottom, milky gobbets trailing black nerves and threads of blood. A single pink fish, smaller than what any of the brown ones had been in life, was swimming lazily around the tank. There was a silence.

“Maybe we should leave a note,” Nat said.

“Saying what?” said Grace.

Izzie patted his arm. Her hand felt neither warm nor cool, meaning they were at exactly the same temperature, a thought he probably would have had nowhere else but in the bio lab. “We’ll bring back some brown ones after vacation,” she said.