Water
Flames |
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The northwestern boundary of Orchid Pond, on the side opposite that of the birth of the guppy, was more shallow and strewn with debris than was the side which was the home of the small fry.
Here, there was little current at all, for the edge of the water swept back and away from the waterfall, creating an inlet of sorts, or a miniature cove where, except for the surface ripples to maintain an exchange of oxygen, the water was unmoving.
There were countless rocks strewn about the shallows, as if some giant hand had carelessly tossed a fistful of gravel about, and numerous dead limbs and tree branches littered the water, their bare, stretching branch-hands held skyward in mute appeal. A flame tree shaded the shallows by the edge of the cove, its mossy, exposed roots grasping deeply into the soft mud, and here, wedged between two root-knees, half submerged into the water, was a topless one-gallon glass jar, lying on its side.
The half of the jar beneath the water had become thick with bright green algae, and as the last sinking rays of the sun struck the glass above the shimmering water plants, the startling flash of a peacock-blue flame seemed to appear and die in the light under the surface of the water. Again it flashed and died; then the sun disappeared, and the sky above turned mauve, blue, and wedgewood grey. A single, perfect orchid blossom fell, and lay still and lovely on the quiet surface.
The sun had been reflected off the glimmering, peacock-blue body of an ancient, fat labyrinth fish (a lung fish) most commonly known as Betta Splendens, or "Siamese" fighting fish. He had been brought to Orchid Pond four years ago by a local lad who was forced to get rid of the fish when the family moved to a new residence. He was already an old fish when he was deposited into the water at the foot of the orchid tree, for the boy had kept and provided for him well for five previous years in the glass jar. The normal life span of these fish being anywhere up to seven years, "ancient" is the only word which correctly describes this elegant, fat beauty.
His body sparkled when light touched it, being a brilliant, deep blue, iridescent with crimson, fading into solid crimson edgings on the tips of the luxurious, flowing fins.
The plump, healthy body,torpedo-shaped, but rounder, tapered forward into a short, rather blunt and quite ugly head. Piercing, bright eyes glinted intelligently with life on either side of the head before it came to apex at the mouth, which was large, wide and wicked looking. The old fish had once had many tiny, razor-sharp teeth to fill this flat, ugly mouth, for his instincts were those of a fighting cock, and his teeth were his only means of defense; but alas, now he was destined to live out his days with a mouth the shape of a wide, wet donut. Only two teeth remained, and those, being nowhere near one other, were only a macabre joke, adding a comical, old-gums appearance to the mouth of the ancient fellow.
Toothless or not, his ability to catch and devour food was not in the least impaired, and the multitudinous bounty of the pond kept him lazy, fat, and content. His cumbersome lips seemed to open all the wider for the lack of teeth, and he caught and swallowed his prey whole, so long as it would fit into the elongated, wide cavern which, indeed, was nearly the full width of his skull.
He moved deceptively slowly, with lazy, languorously flowing fins, sometimes appearing stealthily and sneakily, unnoticed by his prey. A sudden vibration or unexpected occurrence would break the illusion of slowness; sensing anything untoward, he could flash away with a speed rivaling that of the tiny one born on the opposite side of the pond.
He had made his home here in the placid, quiet waters and had returned nightly to his gallon jar, the only safe refuge he had ever known. When it had become overgrown with algae, he considered it perfect, and he simply plowed through the constricting growth to a spot at the back, which he had laboriously kept open. He had forced the infringing growth back by butting it away with his head until he had a cul-de-sac the size and shape he desired, and here he slept, as do most fish -those without eyelids, at least with his eyes completely open, but unseeing.
Securely at home in this perfect habitat, having been here a goodly part of his life, he was feared by many of the denizens of the pond as a bullying adversary. He was quite neurotic, for he had never had a mate, and his temper, at best merely grouchy, was most usually quite frightening.
Creatures he didn't devour, he pestered, butting them cruelly and trying, usually in vain, to slash them with one of his two remaining weapons before they could escape. His favorite appetite suppressors were sweet, juicy young guppies, and he considered the youngest the best of all.
He seldom ventured far from the small, rocky inlet which was his territory, however. Here, he could catch, with hardly any effort, a great number of delectable morsels of pond life without having to venture into the depths of the pond and without being inconvenienced by the current, which he disliked intensely.
He had an inherent disgust for any but the slowest-moving water, for he was descended from ancestors which had originally evolved in the swampy ditches of rice paddies in Southern Asia, constructing their nests of floating bubbles amongst the reeds and grasses in the ditches.
These bubble-nests, built and cared for solely by the male of the pair, were made of spittle-bubbles, carefully formed and blown into position by the bulky lips of the male fish. The individual bubbles bound lightly to one another, forming a raft of quite formidable proportions, considering those of the parent fish.
Colors, temperament, and fin length had been astoundingly affected by human fish breeders, resulting in one of the most spectacular breeds of freshwater fishes. Had the wizened old labyrinth fish had the opportunity to breed, he would have gathered the female delicately in his flowing fins and would have squeezed her in a nuptial embrace so vibrant and intense that she would float in a faint for thirty seconds or more after being released, the fertilized eggs dropping slowly beneath her body, her instincts quelled, thus keeping her from devouring her own eggs, thereby destroying her offspring.
As the female lay floating at the surface, the male would gently and quickly gather eggs, as many as two dozen at a time, into his savage mouth and carry them to the bubble-nest, to be blown firmly into the mass which would hold them stable and where they would be supplied with vital, fresh oxygen.
Again and again, this mating procedure would be repeated until all the eggs were laid and the female lost interest and was chased away by her mate.
Then the eggs would be jealously guarded by the male. They and any infant fighters, born two days later, which fell from the nest, would be gathered up in the father's mouth and returned to their soft home until they were old enough to swim freely and forage for food.
In a few weeks, this natural process would be complete; the male would lose interest and abandon his offspring. His hunger returned by now, he would devour them immediately upon next encountering them, if possible. Nature had made him non-selective.
The old warrior was in his usual grumpy mood as he prepared for sleep. He blew a few lazy bubbles at the surface of the water in his bottle and pushed heavily against the en-croaching wall of his sleeping enclosure, forcing it back, and giving him a little more room for comfort.
He felt secure in his small space and would sleep all night, rising in semi-wakefulness to the surface of the water periodically, to take a quick, deep breath of air, expelling the used-up contents of his lungs at the same time.
He would breathe once every four or five minutes through the night, the same rate of respiration as was normal during his waking hours. He needed to breathe fresh air, for although he had functioning gills, they were neither strong enough nor developed enough to support his need, and he relied upon his lungs for the oxygen necessary for sustenance.
Drowsily, the ancient lungfish quieted down, his flowing fins relaxing around him in a delicate cloud, and settled into sleepy fish dreams of sunlight and golden, dancing daphnia and plump, succulent baby guppies. A yellow orchid fell through the twilight and came to rest on the bloom of a water-hyacinth next to the jar, creating an exotic blossom of genetic impossibility. Night was upon the pond.
(c) 1993 Carson Clippard