I was born on Adak Island, which is nothing but a small bunch of rocks and snow at the end of the Aleutian archipelago chain, on the banks of the Bering Sea. At that time my father was on duty for two years as a naval dentist; he chose Alaska because he liked to hunt and fish, but when asked to be transferred to Alaska, he was totally blind about Adak Island. If you know, surely he has already crossed out the choice himself; because if given sufficient information, my mother never wrong choose.
In the end, my mother refused to run off her hot, yellowed baby from an underground Navy hospital; do not want to be transported by a jet that is ready to wait on the runway for six hours. My temperatures soaring up to 40 degrees Celsius made the doctors anxious, and they persuaded Dad to fly me and my mother to a real hospital in town (as long as our family settled on Adak Island, nobody survived a mild heart attack - that bad medical services there), but my mother refused. Somehow, my mother's instinct portrayed by Dad as an animal instinct made her believe that as soon as I was in the air, away from the ground, it would soon disappear. Die. In order to cheat the fate, Mother placed me in an ordinary bath she had filled with cold water, and that's where I survived. Even back healthy! My orange and peeling skin slowly turned red, my limbs were not tense, and I freely moved my feet in the water until Mother lifted me from the tub and we fell asleep together.
When my father fulfilled his duties with the Navy, we moved to Ketchikan, an island east of south Alaska, where he opened his own practice as a dentist, and three years later bought a fishing boat. The ship is new and extends for twenty-three feet with a fiberglass cabin and the ability to circle the vast ocean. One Friday afternoon, while still wearing his doctor's jacket, he took the boat out to sea while Mother and I cheered by the beach. After that, he closes the ship to its place at the harbor, and the next morning he stands by the harbor while gazing deep into the clear and cold waters of Alaska, finding a snow swan sitting majestically on the rocks, like a shadow.
Father called the ship Snow Goose because he dreamed of a white ship's ship fluttering over the ocean waves, but in the afternoon when he took the boat out to sea for the first time he forgot to install a water filter. Unlike Mother, Father never cares about small details.
That summer, when we returned to the beach after a day of fishing (my father diligently cleans Snow Goose, a proof that persistence can sometimes cure a lack of attention to detail) I was on the open deck with a bunch of halibut we had just caught . Every time the fish jumped into the air because the ship we were riding soared with the waves, I jumped too.
The fish lay resigned on the white boat deck, like dogs dying with eyes fixed on me, delivering thousands of messages and hopes before I hit them with a hammer. My job is to keep them from falling off the ship. The famous halibut is powerful enough, its wide and flattened body can gather the power to flutter the tip of their tail to throw themselves back into the sea. Me and the fish have their own deal: if they do not throw themselves into the sea, then I will not hit their head with a hammer. But once in a while, when the waves were really crazy and all the crew jumped so many times, as the blood and fluid that came out of the fish overwhelmed me, I had to hit them several times - a habit that embarrassed me. Because when I do that, there must be one of the fish who became eyewitnesses, staring at me as if judging me.
Every time our ship is in the harbor after a full day of fishing, my mother must have taken the time to check all the ship's gear, including the water filter, while my father stood watching. I played in a kneeling position on a wooden plank, and once saw horrible creatures crawling on rusty cans lying on deck. Disgusted at the legs, I shouted miserably and fell into the water. In a short time I was saved from the depths of the water and bathed in hot water, but I never forgot what I saw. At that time no one ever told me about a creature named lizard - I never even knew a reptile - but once I saw it I knew the creature was weird and dangerous.
Not long after that, on the eve of my fifth birthday, my father was suddenly convinced by a cosmic scenario that he had made many wrong choices and therefore had to seek a new life experience. My mother was the second woman she had ever dated in her life, and so she felt the need to add another woman to the list. For example, a dental cleanser working in his practice. Not long after that, the nights in my house began to be filled with strangeness that I had never imagined before.
One night, I left home when my father was crying alone in the living room and Mom slammed things in their bedroom. Mother did not utter a human-sounding sentence, but I could follow her position in the room by listening to the sound of broken wood, broken glass, and crumbling walls. I sneak into the soft, dewy Alaskan night, which brings raindrops, stepping across the street, still wearing my nightgown. I peeked through the windows of the houses around me, eavesdropping behind the door, until I heard a low murmur I did not recognize. I circled the house, opened the screen door, and pressed my ear to the cold wood surface. The sound lowered, like a sigh, barely detectable.
The door was locked, so I picked up the ends of the rubber mess and - sure enough! - I found a door lock lying there. Just like in my house. I also invited myself into the house.
on the linoleum floor and sitting on a kitchen chair; I find it strange to be exploring people's homes like this. I stared at a fish with an orange-and-black body sucking pebbles and releasing them again. Inside the aquarium tanks there are also large stones, like lava rocks with dark caves and funnel where small fish peek mute with their round eyes, glistening like zinc. Some of the fish have red-and-blue bodies; while others are bright orange.
I thought the fish might be starving, so I stepped into the fridge and picked up a pair of sweet pickles before bringing them to the aquarium tanks to show them. I noticed a gap in the aquarium tank, slightly backward, and I swiftly dropped the pickles into it. First I dropped one or two pieces at a time, and then I dropped all the jars in it, along with preservative water, until the aquarium tank water buckled and scattered on the edge. I stared at the floating pickles beside the fish, there were several pieces that sank, while the other pieces spun around. The pickle slices were bounced on the pink and blue rocks at the bottom of the tank. While the fish that had been moving fast when I dropped the pickle pieces, now moved very slowly. They swim in a crooked position, and some fish rest on the stone surface. A number of other fish tried to open their mouths wide on the surface of the water, breathing deeply. Their fins are wavy like cloth lace.
When the pickled pieces had begun to settle at the bottom of the tank, they occasionally seemed to swing on blue and pink pebbles, just like dead fish, while the real fish joined swinging beside them, like seaweed or soft water lily . So beautiful was the image presented before me that I had to lean forward to give my full attention.
I put my palms on the glass of the aquarium tank while gazing deep into the black fish eyeballs, until I felt as though my body was also being swung away, beyond my natural realm, and in that moment I seemed to stumble off, watching myself from a distance apart from my body. It suddenly bothered me; then I forget why, no longer interested in the fish in the aquarium tank. Stepping on the linoleum of the kitchen area, I went back inside the sweeping rain.
Three years later, after my mother and I moved to California, I was awarded an aquarium tank. Right then I decided to become an 'ichthyologist' or a fishery expert. Both my parents had been officially divorced, and neither I nor they were surprised by what we had done without the knowledge of each other. They do not know how I can do destructive actions in neighboring homes as they are trying to save their marriage.
My first aquarium was made of plastic containers used to store nails and nuts. Inside the plastic container were two goldfish cooks I had won from a city festival and a few pebbles my mother had bought at Sal's Fishworld fish shop as we drove home from the festival. I watched the two skinny, pale chefs goldfish carefully; but soon they died horribly before me. Because the container where they live is not covered, our cat, Smokey, can freely pinch them with their sharp nails before swallowing them round. I'm not blinking, stiff. After that, Mom took me to Sal's store and bought me an adequate aquarium tank with air bubble filters, colorful pebbles, plastic plants, volcanic rocks with a small cave inside, a few goldfish, as well as a number of orange- the first black I saw in Ketchikan - apparently they are commonly referred to as clown fish.
Every night, Mother and I watched the fish in the aquarium tanks; and every weekend we cleaned the tank, avoiding the plague of aquatic diseases: the mysterious white spots on the fins and the tail of a potentially deadly fish.
We buried one of the first victims of the plague by holding a large ceremony; where my mother was on my knees beside me, on the red ground, while I was wearing a white sheet cloth to cover my head. Dead fish always wrap with layers of toilet tissue, and put them in small boxes, before finally buried six inches below the surface so no cats can dig their graves.
Eventually, the funeral ceremony we passed. If there is a dead fish, then we will immediately washed it in the toilet hole and replace it with another fish. But I never once forgot my fish. At school, I always made essays about the fish. My elementary school teacher also seems to be not suspicious at all, always believe me when I say I just read the books titled The Clown, The Silver Dollar, The Irridescent Shark, Si Mas Chef and The Sweeper.
Everything in human life can be found in my aquarium tank. Angelfish shades of yellow-black swim casually with all the glamor and beauty, while behind the strands of dirt they follow where they go. The broomfish at the bottom of the tank snacked on the dirt, melting it with disgust, while continuing to sweep the floor hungry. Then, five minutes after I replaced two silver dollars of dead fish, I watched with my own brutal own eyes live under water. The two silver dollars I just dumped into the tank had the same shape, and the scales glistened like silver coins. Sprouting new waters, both of them swim against a round-edged irridescent shark fish enjoying its own journey. The name of the fish, irridescent shark, is not appropriate, because the ornamental fish does not resemble sharks, much less in self-defense. The irridescent shark fish is almost identical to the goldfish, only its body is longer and its eyes are more round and large. The silver dollar fish has a cunning trait without mercy, and they know how to work as an integrated team. In an instant, each of the two silver dollars fish brushed one eye to the shark's eye. They did not even bother chewing the rounded eyes, but soon blew them out, dropped to the bottom of the aquarium tank, and was finally sucked up by a broomfish.
As an act of revenge, Mother picked up a fish sieve and took out both silver dollar fish from the aquarium tank to be flushed in the bathroom toilet. Then all night we both watched painfully the weakened irridescent shark fish swim blindly, bumping into the side of the aquarium tank, waiting to die.
While my mom and I spent our time in California in a regular life, Dad was assigned further and further into Alaska. Everything he did seemed absurd. He never enjoyed his job as a dentist, so he decided to live fishing. I think he has a point, and I'm sure he really believes that fishing life can bring the happiness he's been looking for - but I do not think he's thinking long.
After selling his dental practice, he bought a beautiful and very expensive commercial fishing vessel. The length is 19 meters, made of aluminum, and he plans to finish all kinds of renovation before halibut fish season arrives. He also persuaded my uncle to become a crew. For the rest of their lives, my father and uncle often fish together as part of recreational activities, but both have no experience fishing off the commercial vessels - especially without the presence of other crew members. My dad's dream of becoming a single explorer would have been ageless if he hired a captain to lead his bow.
Dad named his new ship Osprey. If Snow Goose is just roaming the ocean waters for a day or two, then the Osprey has a further capacity. As the name implies, Osprey which also means 'eagle' is able to stretch its wings wide and across and around the vast waters for days - not infrequently alone.
Since the renovation on the Osprey was not completed in time, my father and uncle started fishing activities about a month and a half after the fishing season began. Then, in a hurry, they accidentally scrambled one of the fish nets that had been scattered, causing the jamming of hydraulic wheels to attract the catch fish - and wasted their time wasted on not catching many fish. The loss of $ 100,000 that my father incurred did not necessarily discourage him, for by that time he had entered the final stage of his life, where he felt all the pleasures of life mingling with despair.
My uncle told me about a night aboard the ship as Dad stretched his arms wide as he crooked his back with great sincerity after Uncle won the game of playing cards seventeen times in a row. Usually, Dad would not be defeated Uncle - always sullen and sad if he did not manage to win points. Standing up in his captain's seat, in the head by a blue-and-white radar and sonar machine, Dad smiled and shouted, "Turn toward the starboard three degrees!" Uncle swiftly alters the flow of the screen through automatic control as instructed by Dad , and when the morning arrives they start reaping the results of a successful fishing rod.
Father is not an eloquent person in predicting success, and hence the event can be considered a mere coincidence. That same year, the building store where he invested suddenly went bankrupt; gold prices also dropped dramatically; and the patience of the state tax party (IRS) in handling the case of tax evasion father also thinning. (Dad never wanted to pay taxes, but that tax finally helped us after he died.) In addition, Dad's relationship with the receptionist who also doubles as his fiancée also collapsed. Overall, that year brought more misfortune than luck to Dad. In mid-January, I spent four full days with him.
Every night of my brief vacation, as I lay in a pocket of sleeping bags on the floor of the hotel, not far from the foot of his bed, I could hear his body back and forth in bed. It lasted until dawn, and somehow I had a strange feeling (which only the children could understand) that he would not be with me for a long time. His anxiety intensified and squeezed his body movements. He kicked the blanket, grunted with anger and despair - until finally it hit his physique, making him resigned, burying his face in the cushion of the pillow while crying sobbing. After that, he started the same process of unrest from the beginning. I do not think he is aware that I am still awake, because before this he never cried in front of other human beings. But one night he talked to me.
"I do not know," he said aloud. "Roy, are you still awake?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I do not know."
That is our last communication. I also do not know; and all I wanted then was to shrink inside my sleeping bag. He felt an unbelievable pain in his head that could not be cured of painkillers, and he also felt his voice increasingly lighter, no load, empty; plus other despairing mysteries that always hurt him. I do not want to hear his roar, nor see him in pain. I know exactly what he will do next - everyone knows - but I do not know what the reason is.
And I do not want to know.
Dad sailed further and further in the following year, accompanied by the Osprey. He paused to catch a bunch of tuna on the Mexican coast, then a bunch of crabs in the Bering Sea. He also began fishing from the towering top of the mast, and one day managed to catch some large salmon, which he immediately cleaned in place.
After his pride ship was again tethered at the harbor and he was forced to sell it (after two years, the Osprey continued to reap tremendous losses until Dad could not get a bank loan to continue his marine adventure) - especially after the IRS got closer to kissing his footsteps - eventually Father took a .44 caliber magnum gun from inside the cabin and stands on a silver deck of a ship, sheltered by a gray sky and accompanied by the chirps of seabirds. The boots he was wearing were still spotted with the freshest blackish blood of the salmon he had just caught. I imagine he was silent for a moment to think about his actions, but I doubt he even thought at all.
Momentum that he chose was right, without witness, without interruption. He breaks the contents of his head between the entrails of his salmon, while the rest of his body is torn to sea birds for several hours before Uncle finds his body lying dead on the deck of the ship.
Mom and I are safe. Since we never stand at altitude, we can not fall anywhere. Weight is safely guarded by the ground where we stand. We ate a clear soup stew with peas after Uncle called and told him about Dad's death. Then, at night, when the light in the sky faded and turned blue, then darkness, we sat in the living room with the faces of the aquarium tank lights, watching the fish in it. Irridescent shark fish have learned to navigate its own way in a blind state, no longer bumping into the glass layer that limits the aquarium tank. The empty eye bags, as well as the scars that store the blood spots, are now healed and covered by a slimy white layer. The tin-shaped, leather-shaped archer, half-shaped, half-jawed, half-tailed and has a habit of swimming with a 45-degree angle at the edges of the water surface, and which can throw a large enough water bullet from its mouth, is now testing the surface water with his strong lower lip, waiting. until finally - somehow, because the time seemed to stop completely after the tragedy of death, with no hope of re-beating - I got up from my seat and brought him a setop of live flies.
I put a fly fly through an air hole between the tank lid and the water surface, then I closed the hole with a plaster, before I went back to sit beside Mother, staring at the familiar ritual, the remnants of our life yesterday, this morning , before now; though I realize I'm no longer interested in what I see. The archer suddenly tensed, then swayed in a small circle while continuing to keep his lips above the surface of the water, following the fly's direction with the precautions of a predator, before finally firing a water bullet with the right trajectory even without moving so much that it looked as though he did not have to. When the fly fell to the surface of the water, trapped without a way out, millions of panic waves werehed all over.