Fight Song (22 page)
“Is he going to be like that forever?” asks Bob.
“Jury’s still out.”
“He has a wife and son.”
“And the jury got kneed in the junk and thrown in the trunk. Hey, that rhymed.”
Coffen sighs and sticks out his palm, and the magician places wee Schumann upon it to scamper. Bob thinks,
You are not Schumann, but on the slim chance you are, I don’t want your disappearance on my conscience. I can board you for a bit. This might be good practice anyway, caring for an animal. Once I’m a weekend dad, I’ll have to get some gloomy pet to keep me company. An iguana that sits in the corner on a log, barely ever moving, like me.
It compels Bob to blurt, “I really need that dental bib.”
“Then let’s get you one,” Björn says.
“One more peep and you’re going in the glove box,” Coffen says to Schumann, who will not shut up with his squeaks. Björn’s given Bob a dental bib and now Coffen sits in his car, contemplating what to write on it. Or trying to contemplate, if the damn mouse would shut up.
Bob’s threat seems to work because the rodent immediately goes silent.
Is that contrition in his beady eyes? He sulks on Bob’s shoulder, minding his manners, a furry little gentleman.
Nobody wants to be in a box
, Coffen thinks.
Not even a mouse
.
It’s hot in Bob’s car. He can smell the sautéing-cabbage funk from his armpits. And the mouse, he reasons, is probably producing his own stench.
A meteorologist might call the barometric pressure
unseasonably high
.
Coffen texts his daughter:
Wanna see real life sea horses at aquarium today?
Coffen texts his son:
Sea horses at aquarium today?
Margot:
How long will it take?
Coffen:
Only a couple hours. There’s fro-yo in it for you.
Margot:
No thanks
Then Brent’s response comes in:
i’m gaming
Bob:
Please?
Brent:
fine
Pick you up in 20?
fine
And off Coffen and Schumann zoom. He places the mouse in the glove box, says, “It’s best if my family doesn’t see you.”
The mouse squeaks and peeps his counterargument, but to no avail.
Bob figures it’s also wise to wipe the Kiss makeup off his face before he has to explain it to the kids. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to it, but he can always ask Ace to reapply it later.
Coffen calls Jane on the way, wanting to warn her of his impending arrival at the home he’s verboten from, but it’s Erma who answers Jane’s cell with, “What?”
“I’m coming by to pick up Brent.”
“We already know.”
“Has Jane said anything about the show I invited her to tonight?”
“We think it’s an unnecessary distraction the night before she goes for the record.”
“What does she think?”
“We’re concerned that any unnecessary stimuli the night before could clutter her psyche, like garbage in the ocean.”
“That sounds like Gotthorm.”
“He’s brilliant.”
“Does Jane want to come with me tonight?”
Erma, talking to somebody, presumably Jane, yells, “He’s asking questions about the magic show.”
“She has the tickets I left with Gotthorm, right?” Bob asks.
“Yeah, yeah, we’ve got the tickets stuck to the fridge.”
“Can I quickly talk to Jane? For like ten seconds?”
“He wants to talk to you for like ten seconds.”
Coffen can’t make out Jane’s voice in the background, but soon Erma says, “Honk when you’re here and Brent will come out.”
Erma hangs up.
Coffen honks when he’s there for Brent to come out.
But it’s not his son who exits first. “Hi, Dad,” Margot says. “Are you sure you guys aren’t getting divorced?”
“I’ll be home after your mom breaks the record.”
“G-Ma is packing up a lot of your stuff.”
“Don’t worry about G-Ma. Only worry about your mom and me.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
“Why don’t you want to come to the aquarium today?”
“I’ve been in the ocean all week.”
“Please?” asks Bob.
“Fine. Let me go get my iPad.”
“Leave it. Come on. Let’s go have some fun.”
“I need my iPad.”
Bob can make this concession, so long as she comes along. “Fine, go get it.”
Margot walks inside the house, and Bob hears some scratching noises coming from inside the glove compartment. Some of Schumann’s past peeping was obviously negative, yet these scratches sound supportive to Coffen, somehow optimistic, as though each rake of unruly rodent nail says,
Way to play it, Bob. I think you’re on the right road.
“I have to be home by 2:30,” Margot says, walking back up to the car. “Ro and I are going to ancient Greece.”
Coffen has to be done by about that time, too, so he can go prepare for his big plan, his way of luring Jane to come
with him to the show, with the help of French Kiss. “We’ll have you home in plenty of time to travel the world. Here comes your brother.”
The aquarium is on the outskirts of their suburb, bleeding into the adjacent one. If kids still liked going outside their rooms to play, this part of town would be immensely popular. There’s a bowling alley, a roller-skating rink, and of course the aquarium. But these escapisms aren’t in vogue.
Coffen had actually been surprised that the aquarium was still in business when Schumann mentioned it. Judging from the empty parking lot, he’s not alone.
In fact, to say that the sea horse exhibit is exhibiting a sparse public interest would be a vulgar euphemism. The aquarium is empty. Only the Coffens and a few straggling employees. Why would nobody come and bask in the unmitigated splendor of these underwater steeds? Anybody’s guess.
But the silver lining in this sea horse cloud is that Coffen, Margot, and Brent can easily view each aquarium. There are sixteen small ones, all in the middle of the room and shaped like little domes with varying species of sea horse. The nice thing about the size and shape of the individual orbs is that they allow a 360-degree view of the horses’ habitats—Margot and Brent rotate all the way around the tiny universes, following the creatures as they slalom about. Some of the sea horses are the size of coffee beans, while others stretch out six, maybe seven inches. There’s a wide array of colors and patterns on their bodies, but they all have those thin, elongated noses.
Coffen stands next to his daughter, watching the sea horses. “Is it better than seeing them online?” Bob asks her.
“It’s different. I don’t know if it’s better or not.”
“They are beautiful in person, aren’t they?”
“I can zoom in and get closer to them when me and Ro go swimming.”
“Right, but here you can actually appreciate their uniqueness. There are living, breathing sea horses contained in this environment.”
“Right, but if I zoom in I can really analyze that uniqueness.”
“Right, but seeing them here gives you a sense of scale.”
“Right, but if I swim up quietly, I can hold one in my hand.”
“Right, but that isn’t your real hand.”
“Right, but it serves the same purpose. There’s a fish in my hand that I’ll probably never get to see in the wild.”
“You should learn to scuba,” Bob says, hoping to find Margot a real-world hobby. “I’ll happily pay for those classes.”
“Maybe.”
Now there’s an employee’s voice calling, “Hey! Hey!” and waving at the three Coffens. “This one’s about to give birth. Get over fast and observe science firsthand.”
They make their way to the aquarium in question.
“How do you know?” Coffen asks the woman.
“Because I’m a college-degreed scientist is how,” she says.
The particular sea horse in question is in the dome alone. It is bright orange, almost fluorescent orange, or that’s the association Bob makes. It’s near the bottom of the tank and has wrapped its tail around a rock to steady itself. A hole has opened in the abdomen. Its body lunges in staccato, contracting motions.
“She’s going to be a mommy?” Brent says to the crabby scientist.
But it’s Margot who answers: “A daddy. With sea horses, the daddies give birth to the babies.”
“Aren’t you a smart girl?” the scientist says.
“I spend a lot of time under the sea.”
“Good for you.”
“She means under the sea on the computer,” Coffen says.
The scientist smiles at Margot. “You’re smart to take advantage of every resource to learn more about nature.”
At that, there’s the first volley of newborns flying out of the hole; somewhere between twenty and thirty tiny sea horses shoot out, rolling in the water. They are pale, wiggling, the size of slivers of fingernail. Once birthed, they swim haphazardly, directionless.
Margot pulls out her iPad and starts shooting video.
“Enjoy the moment,” Bob says.
“I am.”
“Just be here.”
“I am.”
Another large burst of brand-new sea horses dash from the abdomen.
“Just exist in the here and now,” he says to her, knowing that she’s not going to hear him, that she’s incapable of listening to any of his words. What she doesn’t understand is that they’re warnings.
“I am here. I am now,” Margot says.
More babies tumble from the father.
“Does the daddy feed them all?” Brent asks Bob.
But that doesn’t stop a certain scientist from piping up. “They aren’t like people. The daddies don’t care for the babies once they’re born.”
“Who does?”
“They have to take care of themselves,” Margot says, continuing to film it all.
“You are a fantastic student of the ocean,” the scientist says to her.
“Thanks for noticing.”
“It’s scary that nobody takes care of them,” Brent says, looking up at Coffen. “Don’t you think that’s scary?”
“Yes, it’s scary,” Bob says, “but you’re safe. Don’t worry.”
Everybody is staring into the aquarium. They are transfixed. Coffen can’t comprehend why he ever felt so seduced by artifice. What was so enthralling about the unreal? Why had he stationed himself away from the present? What could have ever seemed more compelling about fake lives when all this life was happening around him?
“Isn’t it incredible to witness stuff like this?” the scientist says.
Every Coffen nods, spellbound.