Aquarium Read Online Free PDF

shark.
    Now, he said. But not back then.
    I was distracted all morning at school thinking about the Pharaoh Fish. I knew Steve was making them up, but I loved the idea of their golden fins and red marble scales, and I could see them all waiting at the bottom of the river, their bellies on sand.
    Shalini, I said. We have to make a Pharaoh Fish.
    We had just begun art period, and Shalini already had strips of newspaper ready for Lakshmi Rudolph’s legs.
    What is a Pharaoh Fish?
    They have red scales and golden fins.
    I’ve seen golden fish. But I think they’re Buddhist.
    Where have you seen them?
    On tiles on walls in India, I think. And you can buy plastic ones, or as balloons.
    Do people pray to them?
    I guess so.
    That’s my religion then. I’m Buddhist.
    Shalini laughed. You can’t just be a new religion.
    There were two ways to make shapes for paper-mache, using wire or balloons, and we had some long skinny balloons, so I blew up one of these and began wrapping it in Shalini’s strips. I imagined great temples with fish altars, and I would become a priestess. I would wear red makeup, with golden lips and eyebrows.
    What’s this, Caitlin? Mr. Gustafson asked. He looked out of breath from running around the room. His nostrils working hard.
    A golden fish. It will have red scales and golden fins.
    Let’s keep focused on task. We want Rudolph to have legs, right, so he can lead the sleigh?
    But the golden fish is for my religion. I’m Buddhist.
    You’re Buddhist?
    Yes.
    Caitlin.
    I am.
    What will your mother have to say about that?
    She’ll say I’m Buddhist. I’m a vegetarian, and I pray to the golden fish, and I may become a priestess.
    Caitlin. You eat the school lunch. I know you’re not Buddhist. And don’t we already have enough religions? We need a few people to still be Christian.
    I pray to the golden fish. This is my god.
    Okay, fine. Pray to the fish. I’m going to make a paper-mache of my butt and pray to that.
    Mr. Gustafson left then to try to save the sleigh. He had four kids working, but it looked like a fence with scraps blown against it, like something at the dump.
    You’re in trouble, Shalini whispered in my ear, leaning close. She was deliriously happy about it. All the little hairs stood up on my neck and I had goose bumps. Shalini could make me shiver, as if my entire body were a bell that had just been struck.
    In the aquarium, I found the old man looking at a grumpy silver ghost.

    Bright face in a grimace, squared head, and fins of transparent lace. Every movement a performance, fairy flight. I had watched him before, and I was always afraid the other fish would eat his fins. I think that’s why he looked so unhappy. He couldn’t fit anywhere to hide. Always drifting around in the open sections.
    He’s from the Mediterranean, the old man said. Very fancy. Some sort of royalty.
    Maybe that’s why he’s unhappy.
    I’ve never believed the rich are unhappy. I think they close their doors on us and then can’t stop laughing.
    Have you seen the photo? I asked.
    Yes.
    Almost as big as the diver. I can’t imagine this small fish becoming that. And standing straight up and down in the water. I still don’t see how it isn’t just eaten right away.
    The poor never get it together, the old man said. They feed on each other. It would be so easy to kill all the rich. There are so few of them. But we never do it.
    Killing?
    Sorry. I would never hurt anybody, of course. But does it seem fair to be poor?
    No.
    Well then. I’m okay if someone nibbles this guy’s fins a bit. He looks like a boss, that square shiny face, that mouth. He’s called the dealfish, even, and isn’t that what bosses do, make deals using other people’s lives?
    The old man turned away from the tank then and walked across the aisle to where trout hung in some invisible current, all facing the same way, swimming to nowhere.
    Hard to get excited about freshwater fish, he said. They’re just like us, nothing exotic.