Let Us Cut the Shit,
Shall We? We Have a Ring to Retrieve.
HUMANS SPARE NO JUDGMENT WHEN IT COMES TO wolf eels. If I had a
clam for every time I heard someone call them hideous or
ugly or monstrous, I would be a very plump octopus indeed. These assessments are not wrong. Objectively speaking,
wolf eels are grotesque. Theirs is one of few enclosures I have never entered or explored, but that has nothing to do with their unfortunate looks.
It happened long ago, before I was captured and imprisoned. I was young, naive, and looking for a place to crash, as you humans might put it, in the open sea. The rocky den beckoned; it would have been a perfect home for me. I did not realize it was already occupied.
With my vast intelligence, I ought to have used more caution. As soon as I peered through the gap in the rocks, it struck. The wolf eel’s needle teeth and fleshy maw are not only ugly, but quite strong. I paid for my mistake three times.
First, I paid with my pride.
Second, with one of my arms. The arm started to grow back the next day, but by then, it was too late.
Third, with my freedom. Had my own poor judgment not brought about such injuries, perhaps I would have evaded my so-called rescue.
With immense patience, I wait for Tova to leave. Unscrewing the pump housing has become more difficult lately, but with effort, I remove it. By the time I have worked myself halfway through the little gap, I am already feeling The Consequences, as they come on ever more quickly these days.
I do not have much time left.
I speak to the wolf eels in soft platitudes as I enter their enclosure. The large male glares at me, his garish head hovering in the mouth of their den; after a moment, his female mate joins him.
You are both looking lovely today, I say, hugging the glass on the opposite side of the tank. The creatures blink. My organ heart pounds.
I have no intention of lingering here, I promise as I sink toward the bottom.
Their tank bottom is made of sand, whereas mine is coarser gravel, and I am surprised at how soft it feels as I dredge through it, searching. The two pair watches, having emerged a bit more from their den now, their jutted jaws opening and closing robotically, as always. Their thin dorsal fins ripple like ribbons, but they do not approach.
I sweep the sand at the base of the plant, and finally the suckers at the tip of my arm brush something cold and heavy. I snatch the chunky ring and curl it in the thick, muscular part of my arm, where I know it will be secure. I glance at the wolf eels, who are still watching my every move. I hope you do not mind my taking this.
Even the short journey back to my tank saps my strength. I am weakening by the day. Still carrying the heavy ring, I slip into my den and rest, as I will need stamina for my next trip. The last one.
