Charlemagne's Game

A cold current wakes me. I slowly open one eye to see who disturbed the water. Just an angel fish looking for food. I open the other and adjust myself to match the coral I’m leaning on. I haven’t seen any sharks since I was put in this tank, but I know better than not to expect one. That’s what I learned when I was little and lived on the reef.

Things were dangerous in the old reef, but they were never dull. I remember chasing my clownfish friends through algae for hours before we each had to go our own way and find food. I liked clams the best, but they were hard to find, even harder to open then, as I was still quite small. Snails were easier to find and eat, though they just didn’t compare to the succulent meat of clams.

These days, I usually just get fish to eat. Already dead fish. How boring is that? Still, it’s better than starving.

Today marks seven hundred and ninety-eight days safe from any threat, so I drop the camouflage routine and swim upwards. I hesitate near the surface for a moment. That’s how I wound up here, caught in a net by those upright … seals! I got too close to the giant clam-shells they use to stay above the water and one of them caught me in his net.

I thought that was it, I was done for, but what they had in mind for me was worse than I had ever imagined. They brought me to their dry land, far from the reef, and put me in a smaller version of the place I was familiar with. I inspected my new surroundings, bumping into an invisible barrier that stretched around on all sides, stopping me from going where I wished. Beyond those barriers, the tank as I came to know it, I could see the upright seals’ dry domain. I could hear the muffled sounds of incomprehensible noise and could see many patterns. Patterns on everything!

There was always chaos in that small tank. The dry pups were encouraged to put their hands in the water and try to touch us. Now, I understand their excitement at meeting me, I can only imagine what it must be like surviving with only four limbs and no suction cups to keep you anchored, but some of them were incapable of containing themselves. I nearly lost a tentacle to one who grabbed onto me far too hard. I was luckier than most though, as a sea star I knew did lose an arm once, which thankfully grew back. Several sea cucumbers did what they could to deter the overly enthusiastic pups, but unfortunately, there is a finite number of times someone can regurgitate their entire digestive system and live to tell the tale.

I quickly grew tired of being poked and prodded and learned to blend in with the small reefs there. It didn’t always work, but it worked often enough to be worth the effort. The upright seals who did notice me were usually gentler than the others, and only put their wiggly lure-like appendages near me, waiting for me to come to them. They felt so strange, without any webs to help them move around. How do they go about their business out of the water? How do they move? I’ll never understand it.

One very crowded, very chaotic day, I decided I wanted out. I floated stealthily to the surface and hauled myself out of the water for the first time. It was awful. Cold and dry, and it felt as though a huge rock was pressing down on me. I tried to float up, but it was impossible! I dragged myself along the smooth surface, using every bit of suction strength I could muster, but they found me and immediately put me back into that horrible shallow puddle.

I got out several more times after that, and it became a little easier each time. I hid in a bucket of water once, but I was caught at the last moment and put back in my tank. Another time, I was hungry and stumbled upon a tank filled with clams. Such a feast! I gorged myself and had to heave my heavy body back to my own tank before they knew what happened. I would’ve gotten away with it too, but they found shell remnants in my tank and put the pieces together. These seals, or whatever they are, sure are smart. They may even be as smart as an octopus. Well, maybe a young one.

They finally realized that this tank was too small and a bad fit for someone such as myself, and rightly decided to gift me this larger, more spacious tank instead. The big tank is far more interesting than the small one ever was. It isn’t home, but at least I don’t get touched anymore.

I poke my eyes out above the still surface of the water. No one is watching me. I swim to the edge so smoothly, so delicately, that not even a ripple follows in my wake, then I look down. There’s an upright seal with a cart to carry her pup. This is my chance. I pull myself over and slide down the wall. The fall hurts, but I’m used to it.

I unfurl my tentacle and slap it onto the cart just as it starts moving. I get dragged a bit, but I’m not noticed. I haul myself in as fast as I can and settle at the bottom of the cart. I flatten myself and turn as black and smooth as I can.

After a short cart-ride, I spot my target: the main drain. Many fish claim it’s connected to the ocean, but none have been able to get there. I steady my gaze on the drain as it gets closer and closer, I position myself on the edge of the cart, holding on with only a couple suckers, and then, I release! I drop from the cart, completely unseen by the dry ones. My years on the reef avoiding sharks were not in vain.

I crawl as hard and as fast as I can, and inch by inch the drain to freedom gets closer. My tentacle touches the cold metal when I hear a dry crackling scream behind me. I don’t know what it said, but I understood ‘Charlemagne’. That’s the name they have given me, and I knew I would be grabbed any second if I didn’t hurry.

My efforts doubled and I started squeezing myself through the grates. I felt the vibrations on the floor increase, and one grazed the tip of my head as I slid through and fell into a dark tube.

The way out was far, and I struggled harder than I ever have before to get through. Harder than hiding from sharks, or eating snails when I would rather clams, harder than when I was poked and prodded and grabbed and almost torn to bits, and harder than crawling in the dry open domain of the beings that gave me fish … they are not upright seals, their species is called “Lisa” or “Chad” depending on the variety. Eventually, I recognized a familiar scent, one I hadn’t smelled in years. Salt, kelp and fish were just past these last few feet of dark tube, and beyond them…

Home.