Peter Markus: The Fish and the Not Fish

We were on our way out of town on the road out of town that runs out and ends up at the sea when we saw Dog. Dog was on the side of the road, on his hands and knees, like a dog would be, though when he saw us he stood up on two legs like a dog on four legs can’t.

Look, one of us boys said. There’s Dog.

We looked. We saw.

Dog.

So what? one of us said.

It’s just Dog.

He’s not one of us.

We did not, with our hands, wave at Dog for him to come walk out of town with us.

The one of us who said that Dog was not one of us was right when he said this.

We all knew this.

Dog knew this too.

We looked with our looks back at the road that would run us out of town to see the sea.

Dog looked with his dog eyes back at the backs of us boys.

Dog asked, What are you fleas up to?

We knew we should not tell him, but one of us still did.

We’re on our way to the sea, this one of us who said it said, though he too, when he said it, knew he should not have said what he did.

Dog laughed when he heard us say it. The sea? Dog said. There’s no sea for you fleas to see.

At the end of this road, we all of us then said, all of us at the same time, we said this to this boy Dog.

We knew, in this, we were right when we said what he did, though none of us had with our own eyes seen it — the sea. And none of us had yet done it: none of us had walked on and on on this road out of town till it ran out at the blue of the sea.

You won’t make it, Dog said.

He looked at us with a look that we knew was looked at us to scare us.

We took this as a dare, for us to make it, when Dog said that we would not make it to the sea.

Dog said, What will Sir think?

Sir think?

We did not think of Sir.

We did not care.

We were with Bird.

We did not know how long it would take us, or what we would do once we got there, or what the sea would do with us. It was just us, with Bird who walked with us, and we were on our way to see, what Bird told us, was ours in this world to see.

This road runs through fields that are made of dirt and rock and weeds. There are trees, too, with birds up in them, there are trees bunched up to make woods, but a few of these trees, the trunks of these trees, they look more like they’re made out of bone than they do wood. A tree made out of bone, or a bone shaped like a tree? Did Bird see it this way too? Or did Bird see tree and see it as a place to fly up to, a place for him to sit in and rest, a place for him to sit and like a bird sing in the dawn’s new day?

The moon in the sky, that first full night, it was full and it pulled us, it pulled us to the sea.

The moon, it was a mouth shaped like an O, a hole in the sky that called out to us, in the dark of the night, The sea, it said. To the sea, it sang out. The sea, the sea, the sea.

And so it was to the sea that we went.

We went to see the sea.

We ate when the sounds from our guts told it was time to eat. We ate dirt and the leaves from trees whose names we did not know. We knelt by the edge of a creek to drink from the cold of its flow. The creek smelled of cow though it could have been the air that had the smell of cow in it. Once we ate and drank we kept on with our walk down this road made of dust and dirt that made its way to where the sea was a thing none of us had seen. We went to see it with Bird who was there to take us to this place that none of us had been. Once in a while one of us would say, Bird, are we there yet? Is this what you mean when you say we are off to see the sea? Bird would turn his head to say what most of us knew — that we’d know we were there when, in fact, we were there, where we’d set out for us to be.

We slept in the weeds on the side of the road so that no one or no thing could see us. We gazed up at the sky, at the stars in the sky, and made up things that we saw there. We saw a bird in the sky that was made out of stars, it was a bird that Bird said was God. When Bird said that this bird in the sky that was made out of stars was God, we looked at Bird as if he had just said there was no such thing as the sea.

At dawn we woke up to the sound of a bird with a cry from its beak that made us want to stuff its mouth shut with mud. This bird, we knew, it was close by, hid up in some tree, though we could not in this gray light see it. Is that God, too? one of us said, and we all laughed at the thought, though Bird said, God does not wake us with sound.

Once we woke up, we stood up out of the weeds and looked up at the sky, then we looked our eyes down the road and took off on foot down it on our way to see the sea.

We saw rocks and trees, sky and weeds, a dead dog dead on the side of the road with its dead legs stuck up in the air like a chair that some man kicked on its back but this dog had no man or boy to kick it or to call to it by name.

We saw cars here and there that honked when they saw us and then sped by us with tails of dust. There was a field filled with corn that was more brown than it was green and the cobs, when we broke them from their stalks, they turned to dust in our hands. We found creeks that looked more like just roads that ran off to where there were woods. When one of us pulled down his pants and said we should see if we could bring the creek back from dirt, we tried but none of us had piss in us to give it.

Won’t be long now.

It was Bird who was the one of us to say this.

What Bird said, we’d come to trust it. It was the way that he said it. It was like Bird knew. Or like he saw what the rest of us could not.

So we walked on like this to see the sea. We did not stop when night drew down on us. We could not see but we knew what was there: the road that we walked on, the sea we walked on to go see.

The sea, the sea, the sea.

When we got to where the sea was, we stood at its edge and looked out at its dark. The sea, it was like the sky, like the sky had come down to see us. We looked out at the sea’s face and felt its breath blow back on us. We smelled the sea on us. We were in the sea’s mouth, all of us. We were like drops of rain that the sea could eat up.

Bird told us to close our eyes.

So we did.

We breathed in with our mouths till we could taste the sea with our tongues.

We heard Bird sing, By day the sea is blue, Bird sang, at night the sky turns black.

When he said what he said, Bird turned once back to look at us, in the dark, and with his arms held out by his sides, Bird walked out and walked out in the dark to the sea.

The sea, it held Bird up.

Bird walked on and on like a stone skipped from one side of the sea to the next.

We turned our heads up and then down to watch Bird walk out when it was Dog who walked up, out of the dark, and Dog was the one who pushed us, one by one, out in this dark.

This dark we were told by Bird was the sea, it turned out not to be what Bird said that it was.

Dog took turns and he pushed us, one at a time, out in this dark that was not the sea.

What was not the sea, what was not the black of the sea by night, was the black that was the night’s sky.

Each one of us boys, one at a time, we took turns, we fell through this dark, it was a dark that did not catch us, it did not hold us up. The sea that was black, it ate us all right up.

But not all of us.

I was the last of us to be pushed by Dog.

You’re next, Dog said, with a hand at my back. You’re the last one left. It’s time for you, like all the rest, to see the sea as it used to be. It’s time, Dog said, to die.