Over the weekend, while we were away celebrating my mother’s 70th birthday, the oil ran out in our week-old shiny oil tank. We came home to a frigid house. It was zero degrees in New England). Some pipes froze.
Our foremost concern, we quickly realized, was that Adele’s tropical fish were near comatose in the very room the heating pipes froze.
After several rounds of unpleasant calls with the oil company about their neglect and the four of us thawing around a fire in the fireplace, we planned our fish rescue. I collected all our water pitchers and flower vases and lined them up in on the kitchen counter. I covered the floor with beach towels.
We scooped out the fish first. According to Adele’s fish roster taped to the tank, the finned members included:
Blondie – White/blue eyes
Fat Joe – Grayish/silverfish/red eyes
Nacho – Orange, small, black/black eyes
Mini-me – Grayish/silver/ red eyes, smaller
Glee – Small orange/black black eyes
This list is very helpful to me, since the names change over time according to Adele’s whims. This signified some sense of permanence. Perhaps more inportantly, the fish are part of a “reward” chart. If Adele can sleep in her own bed over the month of January, she can get 2 new fish. So far the plan was working and hence the rest of us were highly sensitized to the significance of saving them. Otherwise all could be lost, especially our sleep.
So one by one we scooped out water. We carried the vessels upstairs to Adele’s room. We emptied the tank until only a few inches of mucky water remained, pour out the guck, and brought it up as well. We had to distill fresh water of course, and so Adele’s room looked like the inside of a chemistry lab, with pastel vases illuminated by her night light. We all prayed that the fish would survive the night in the pitcher on her desk.
She was beside herself with excitement. “I’m so happy! Happy! Happy! This is the best day! I have my fish with me. O Happy Day!” She could barely settle down, as hummed and two stepped on her bed.
I myself was leaving early the following morning for a business trip.
When I awoke I first checked if the little guys were alive. To my surprise they were. It was with relief that set off for a three-day trip.
The fish were poured into their tank and life went on.
Until I called home from the airport on Thursday.
Blonder (a variation of Blondie – “she” must have turned into a “he” over the last few days) was discovered floating on the surface. Rosie had quietly informed her father, and both braced for how the news would affect Adele. It wasn’t good. She wailed for about an hour over dinner. Crocodile tears turned into heartfelt ones. Her Dad did the best he could but nothing worked. He offered her more milk.
“No,” she wailed.
So much for that. After a few minutes, she stammered: “Well, aren’t you going to even ask me why I don’t want more milk?”
“Because the color reminds me of Blonder!” she screeched.
I arrived at 8:30pm to a pencil drawing taped to the front door -- evidently to drive the drama home to the absent mother.
At the top of the picture was Adele’s face drawn with pencil, strewn with tears. Underneath was the fish tank with the dead Blonder, tongue sticking out, and “x” where an eye should be. Underneath was a tombstone with the label “R.I.P.” and an engraving of happier fish days, indicated by a heart.
Around the tombstone was a cross and roses.
Flummoxed, he asked, “Ok, Why?”
Comments