martinsmithstories

Image by Yamu_Jay from Pixabay

Six weeks later, Melville rolled up the door of a self-storage unit and fumbled in the dark until he found and clicked on a grimy switch. A fluorescent tube buzzed and flickered on, illuminating Goldie’s tank and a dishevelled camp bed. A tank filter hummed to life, and water trickled and burbled. Melville rolled down the door and sat upon the bed.

‘Good evening, my love,’ he said as Goldie appeared from a submerged castle and drifted with the outlet pipe current towards him. ‘Happy First-Month Anniversary.’

Melville pulled a stale loaf of bread and a penknife from his coat pockets and scraped flakes of crust onto the surface of the tank’s water. Goldie surfaced and nibbled.

Following their engagement party, the betrothed couple had retreated to Melville’s share house. A fortnight later, they had wed in a civil ceremony held at the shore of the local lake and witnessed by a golden perch and a passing power walker. Neither of their families were invited to or attended the wedding. Melville had been estranged from his family since the evening his mother swallowed Cousin Fez. Melville may have forgiven his mother for her insufferable rudeness, drunkenness and fishslaughter had Mr McManus not returned from his evening of bowling to find his most prized fish gone. Mr McManus fired Melville and untanked Goldie.

On their wedding night, alone in his bedroom, Melville, with a gushing Goldie in the jar by his side, cut a cupcake, made a wish and raised a bottle to toast their happiness and health. Later, in the dark, a nervous Melville placed his fingers in the tepid water of Goldie’s jar. Goldie rose until her mouth touched Melville’s fingertips, and she nibbled at the tip of his ring finger. Melville shivered and reached down with his other hand and caressed Goldie’s scales, and into the night, Goldie quivered in bliss and Melville writhed in ecstasy.

Two weeks later, the newlyweds were homeless, evicted for unpaid rent. For three nights, they squatted behind the office of a self-storage unit complex. On the fourth night, the night manager, Mr Remniss, caught a shivering, starving Melville and his cloudy glass jar in his torchlight. Married for forty-one years and well aware of the trials confronting a couple in the early throes of a lifetime of love, Mr Remniss empathised with Melville’s plight and housed them in an empty unit at the back of the complex. He allowed Melville to run an extension cord into the storage unit at night.

Now homed, Melville pawned his watch and bought a tank as a belated wedding gift for his bride. Away from Goldie’s eyes, Melville filled the tank with white pebbles and placed a castle, a treasure chest, a shipwreck, a stone bridge and a deep-sea diver about the pebbled floor. He treated and tested the water and poured it into the tank. The planting of fanwort and eelgrass followed, then the fixing of the filter and light. Happy with his princess’s paradise, Melville gathered Goldie from her jar, cupped his hands in front of her eyes to conceal his surprise and carried her over to the new tank.

‘Surprise, my love,’ Melville said, removing his hand. Goldie wriggled in his hands with delight and entered the tepid water with a joyful plop.

Melville and Goldie settled into married life. During the day, they slept: she in an unfiltered tank and he on a rickety camp bed. At twilight, Melville disappeared for an hour and scrounged the dumpsters behind the local bakery for food. And at night, the happy couple, fed and filtered, revelled in their blissful cohabitation.

But then Melville slashed his wrist.

***

Every Friday night since he had gifted his glittering bride her special tank, Melville had used the key he’d kept when he had been sacked to sneak in through the back door of Mr McManus’s Pet Store and fill his knapsack with fish food and water conditioner.

On the night of their three-month anniversary, Melville shouldered his knapsack and said to Goldie, ‘I will see you soon, my love.’ He locked the roller door and set off into the chilly night. When he arrived at the back of the pet store, he checked that he was alone and then inserted his key into the door lock. The key did not turn. Melville tried again, but the key and lock remained steadfast. He cursed and peered through the glass door.

Melville wandered the back courtyard until he found a rock and picked it up. He tested its weight in his hand and turned, and with all his strength he threw it at the glass door. The glass shattered and crashed to the ground. Melville ran forward as a siren blared and a blue light swirled above the door. As Melville scurried inside, he cursed Mr McManus for upgrading his security. He ran to the fish supplies aisle, shoved fish food and chemicals into his knapsack and ran back towards the rear exit. The wail of a police siren joined the blare of the security alarm, followed by the screech of a car skidding to a halt.

Melville quickened his pace as he approached and then stepped through the shattered glass door. A call of ‘Halt’ and the glare of twin torch beams startled Melville, and his rear leg caught the door, and he lost his balance. He reached out to cushion his fall, only for his forearm to catch the jagged rim of what remained of the door glass, and he sliced his wrist red.

***

Melville sat before the triage desk in Emergency, flanked by two police officers. A blood-soaked bandage hid his wound, and manacles bound him to his seat. A nurse sat behind the desk and her fingers rested upon a keyboard.

‘Name?’ she said to Melville.

Melville stared beyond the nurse and her computer.

‘What is your name?’ the nurse said.

A police officer kicked the leg of Melville’s chair.

Melville refocused his eyes on the nurse. ‘Is this going to take long? I need to get back home.’ He rose from his chair.

The officer pushed Melville back into his seat and said, ‘You’re not going anywhere. Now, answer the nurse.’

‘M … M … Melville. Melville Lannock.’

‘Next of kin?’

‘Goldie.’ Melville tried to stand again, but a firm hand kept him in his seat. ‘Oh God, Goldie! Please, I must go home.’

‘Goldie who?’

‘Just Goldie.’

‘And does Just Goldie have a contact number?’

‘No.’

‘An address?’

‘Address?’

‘Yes. Where does she live?’

‘In her tank.’

‘A tank? What, you’re living at the army barracks?’

‘No. We live in a self-storage unit. Goldie lives in a fish tank. We’re married.’

The nurse looked over her glasses at Melville. She picked up her phone and punched in a number. A voice answered at the other end of the line. The nurse said, ‘It’s Sylvia in Emergency here. Could you pop down for a psych assessment?’

***

The privacy curtains around Melville’s cubicle parted, and a man with a goatee, round glasses and a clipboard said, ‘Hi …’ He glanced at his clipboard. ‘… Melville, is it?’

‘Yes,’ Melville said with suspicion. The numbness in his stitched wrist was wearing off, replaced by a throbbing ache.

‘I’m Doctor Black. The ED registrar asked that we have a chat.’

Melville drew his knees up to his chin.

‘So, Melville, how are you feeling?’

‘Good.’

‘Apart from your wrist, any other aches and pains?’

‘No.’

‘No headaches or blurred vision?’

‘No.’

‘Do you know where you are?’

‘Yes.’

‘And where’s that?’

‘ED.’

‘And do you know why you’re here?’

‘Yes.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘I fell and cut my wrist.’

‘A fall, was it?’

‘Yes.’

‘It wasn’t because you were feeling sad and depressed?’

‘No.’

‘Have you ever felt sad and depressed?’

‘Only when I’m away from Goldie.’

‘Goldie?’

‘Yes. My wife.’

‘Your wife, you say?’ Doctor Black glanced at his notes and rubbed his goatee. ‘The triage nurse noted that this Goldie is in fact a goldfish squatting with you in a disused self-storage unit. Is that correct, Melville?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘It’s a used self-storage unit. It’s our home.’

‘Right.’ Doctor Black scribbled notes on his clipboard. Twice he paused and looked at Melville over the rim of his glasses. ‘Melville, I think you need to stay here at the hospital for a little while longer.’

‘I can’t. I’ve got to get back to Goldie. She needs me. And I need her.’

Melville slid off the bed and grabbed his clothes.

‘Melville, calm down. I just need you to stay overnight for observation. Then you can go home.’

‘No. I want to go home now.’

Melville rushed past Doctor Black and headed down the corridor, searching for the exit.

Doctor Black pulled his phone from his coat pocket, dialled and said, ‘Code Grey. Emergency.’

***

Two weeks later, Melville sat in the back seat of his parents’ car. Drool hung from his gaping mouth as he stared ahead and rocked his torso back and forth.

Mrs Lannock turned and stared aghast at her eldest child. His shirt hung from his chest, his eyeballs protruded from hollow sockets and his gaunt cheeks accompanied his chanting of Goldie’s name.

She turned to her husband and whispered, ‘Good God, Bernard, look at him. He’s skin and bone.’

‘Goldie,’ Melville mumbled. ‘Goldie.’

‘I knew that fish would end up driving him crazy.’

‘Shhh,’ Mr Lannock said. He looked in the rear-view mirror. ‘You all right, son?’

‘Goldie. Goldie.’

Mr Lannock returned his eyes to the road and whispered, ‘We just need to get him home and get some food and sleep into him.’

‘Goldie. Goldie.’

Mrs Lannock shook her head. ‘You heard what that doctor said. Ongoing psychiatric support.’

‘Goldie. Goldie.’

‘Yes. Yes. But let’s just get him home.’

Mr Lannock pulled up at a red light.

‘Goldie. Goldie.’ Melville glanced at the back of his parents’ heads. ‘Goldie. Goldie.’ He grasped the door handle. ‘Goldie. Goldie.’ He glanced at his parents again. ‘Goldie. Gol—’ And in a flash the back door opened, and Melville jumped out and rushed across the oncoming traffic. Cars skidded and horns blared, but Melville reached the other side of the road. He paused and looked back at his distraught parents as they stood dumbfounded beside the open front doors of their car. Melville cupped his hands and called out, ‘You’ll never keep me from Goldie. Never! She is my love, my life, my everything!’ And he hobbled towards and disappeared down an alleyway.

***

Melville arrived at the self-storage unit at dusk. All day, he had hidden in a dumpster as first his parents and later the police searched for him. He thought they had detected him when the dumpster lid rose, but it was only a vagrant looking for a free feed. Melville waited until the alleyway quietened and darkened before making his escape.

He ripped up the storage door, flicked the power switch and rushed to the tank. ‘Goldie?’ The tank light revealed a tank filled with murky green water. ‘Goldie?’ Melville squatted and searched frantically for a flash of gold amidst the viridescence. ‘Oh, Goldie, where are you?’ He stood to look down into the water but became light-headed and teetered and fell backwards and cracked his head against the cold brick of the unit wall. ‘Gold—’ he mumbled before he blacked out.

***

When Melville regained consciousness, he saw bubbles rising to the surface of the tank’s water. Small and gentle at first, the bubbles increased in size and ferocity, causing water to spill over the side of the tank.

‘What the?’ Melville said, rubbing the back of his head.

A steel glove emerged from the turbid water and grasped the tank’s glass rim. A second hand rose above the surface and signalled a distressed wave. A copper helmet surfaced, followed by a full deep-sea diving suit. With a steadying hand on the glass rim, the suited body rose until the tank’s water lapped at its knees, and then the body stepped out of the tank, splashing water about the concrete floor.

Melville sat and rubbed his eyes.

The diver unscrewed the plate bolt on the helmet’s glass faceplate. The plate opened with a squeak, and a voice with a thick French accent said from within, ‘Mon ami. Hurry! Il est Goldie.’

Melville jumped from his bed and rushed to the tank. ‘Oh God, Goldie! What’s wrong? Is she OK?’

‘Mon ami, she is unwell. She has the Ich.’

‘The Ich?’

‘Oui. How you say, “Le blanc spot”.’

‘The white spot!’ Melville knelt beside the tank, and with wide, white eyes, he searched for Goldie. ‘Where is she?’

‘In her castle, mon ami. She is weak and having trouble breathing.’

‘Oh God! I must see her. I must save her. I cannot live without her.’

‘Mon ami, she cannot leave her castle.’

‘But I must see her. Must touch her. Must care for her.’

‘Oui, I understand. Quick. Help me out of this suit.’

Melville aided the deep-sea diver as he removed his gloves and his helmet. He unfastened his weight belt, pulled off his weighted boots and wriggled out of his suit. Water dripped from his lank hair and black beard and pooled at his feet.

‘Mon ami, now hurry. Put on this suit and helmet.’

‘What?’

‘This suit and helmet. Put it on.’

‘Are you nuts? I don’t have time for this. I need to find Goldie.’

‘Mon ami, this is the only way. Trust me.’

‘Trust you? Who are you?’

‘I am Jark.’

‘Jark?’

‘Oui. Jark Q. Stowe. Now, hurry. Goldie needs you.’

‘But I can’t fit into that tank. Oh God! I’m going mad. You don’t exist. I’m hallucinating. Oh God! I want my wife. I want my life. I—’

A wet hand slapped Melville’s face. Melville staggered and reached for his stinging cheek.

‘Snap out of it!’ Jark said. ‘If you can wed a goldfish, you can get into that tank. But hurry, before all is lost.’

***

‘Ready, mon ami?’ Jark said down the communication line.

Suited, booted, weighted and helmeted, Melville gave Jark a double thumbs up. Jark pulled the camp bed over to the side of the tank and helped Melville step up. Melville placed a boot in the tank, and it disappeared into the opaque water. He lowered his foot to touch the bottom of the tank so he could steady himself and immerse the rest of his suited body.

‘God, this is ridiculous,’ he muttered under his breath.

But the water rose above Melville’s shin, then above his knee before reaching his upper thigh. And still Melville could not touch the bottom of the tank. Overbalancing, he tumbled into the tank water and made a huge splash. He tried to resurface but sank due to the weight of his diving suit. He straightened his legs, but still the floor of the tank lay beyond his reach.

Melville descended into the riled waters, and the glow of the tank light above diminished as he sank deeper and deeper. Condensation formed on the inside of his face glass. The wispy tendrils of the tank’s vegetation entangled and then tore from his legs. Deep, deep he descended. Dark, dark his world became. Was it ten minutes that he descended? An hour? A day? Half-a-lifetime? To Melville, time became timeless.

His feet struck a hard surface, and he came to a sudden stop. He fumbled for his headlamp and switched it on.

As Melville scanned about the murk, a distant silhouette came into his view. Goldie’s castle? Melville attempted to rush forward, but the suit and boots moved at their own pace, and with a stilted tread, Melville moved towards the shape, accompanied by his lamp beam, his rasping breath and the gurgle of bubbles.

Melville cursed, for the shape was the shipwreck. He moved on. Next came the treasure chest. But no Goldie. Then the stone bridge. Again, no Goldie. Short of breath, damp with perspiration and teary with frustration, he searched frantically for the castle until in the distance he saw it and, within, a muted flash of gold caught his lamplight. Goldie!

Melville surged forward and entered the castle. And there he saw her. Goldie. But not his Goldie. Her clamped fins dangled, and white, granular spots covered her from nose to tail. Her dull, lethargic eyes stared, and her gills laboured hard as she struggled to breathe. Upon seeing Melville, she attempted to straighten her dorsal fin and swim towards him, but her fin collapsed, and she foundered to her side.

‘Goldie!’ Melville shouted. ‘Oh God, Goldie!’ He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her body. ‘Oh God, Goldie, my love. What can I do?’

Goldie lay limp in his arms, and her short, laboured breaths pressed against his love-stricken heart. She tried to rise, but, exhausted, her head fell back onto his chest.

‘Goldie! My love! Oh God! No! Please! We’ve not had enough time together.’

Goldie rested her pectoral fin on his steel-gloved hand, and with one last breath, one last sway of her caudal fin and one last look of love into Melville’s eyes, her body stilled, her eyes froze and she was gone.

‘Goldie! Oh, Goldie! No! Please don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.’

Tears streamed down Melville’s cheeks, and a burning ache stabbed at his heart. And he gripped Goldie in his arms and rocked back and forth and wept and wept.

One, two, three hours. Melville held Goldie and grieved.

A voice whispered in Melville’s ear. ‘Mon ami, are you OK? Take your time. When you are ready, tug three times on the lifeline, and I will pull you up.’

Melville choked back a sob. Yes, it was time. Time to let go. He stroked Goldie’s head and gave her one last hug. He then released her.

‘Goodbye, my love. I will see you soon.’

And Goldie’s scales glinted as she rose towards the great light above until she disappeared into the opaqueness.

One, two, three hours. Melville sat slump-shouldered and mourned.

‘Mon ami. Are you ready?’

Yes, Melville thought, he was ready. He reached for the line, tugged three times and waited for the line to tense. Yes. It was time. Time to part. Time to say his goodbyes.

The line became taut and pulled at Melville.

‘Farewell,’ Melville said. He placed his hand upon his chest and tore away the lifeline and his air hose. Water gushed inside his helmet, and Melville’s world blurred and cooled.

‘Farewell,’ he said with his last breath, and the bubbles ceased. And Melville looked up at the distant muted light and mouthed, ‘Goldie, my love, I am coming.’