Something fishy.

It was a little after six ’clock and the aquarium was closed. A school tour had just been through and, after the raucous shouting, shrieks and laughter, the building had returned to peaceful serenity. In the viewing galleries, the soft lights illuminating the tanks threw gliding and flitting shadows of the denizens across the pale walls of the passageways.

On the top floor, above the tanks, a solitary figure stood at the edge of the shark tank. He was clad in bright yellow wet-weather gear, high-topped rubber boots, and an outsized and battered sou’wester cap. There was a large plastic pail on either side of him and he hummed softly to himself as he peered down into the depths.

For several minutes, he watched dim shapes bank and circle in the gloomy pool and then he reached down into one of the buckets and withdrew a bloody hunk of wet meat. He whistled, and then tossed the dripping chunk into the water. It splashed, and then, in less than a second a sleek snout broke the surface and the meat was snatched into a gaping maw. The great beast shook its head and then disappeared beneath the waters again.

“Suppertime, my beauties,” the man chuckled happily.

Other fish now appeared, attracted by the scent of blood, and the man began tossing small pieces and huge chunks randomly among the circling sharks. They twisted and turned, snatching the gory bits before they had time to sink, and churning the waters into a roiling foam. Their keeper laughed with an almost unholy glee.

“Lovely work Maxwell,” he shouted excitedly as a great Hammerhead broke several feet out of the pool and caught a large hunk of wet flesh. He had named all the occupants of the tank except for the small dogfish sharks, which didn’t interest him much. There were, in addition to the Hammerhead, a Thresher shark he called Tim, and two Porbeagles, a male and a female, who he had respectively named Snoopy and Lucy. He loved these primitive creatures with every fiber of his being.

The first bucket was empty now and, just as he was reaching for the second, a sound behind caused him to wheel. He jerked in surprise at the sight of his supervisor, the curator of the aquarium, standing at the top of the stairs. He blanched. He had believed himself to be alone in the building.

“Good evening, Smedley”, said his supervisor, with a curt nod of his head. He was carrying a rain-coat folded over his arm, and was regarding his employee with a curious but inscrutable expression. “Working rather late, are we not?”

“Uh… a little, Mr. Chartwell, sir, Smedley began. “I was just doing a feeding before I left …”

“Weren’t they fed earlier?” asked Mr. Chartwell.

Smedley tried to formulate some sort of reply, but his supervisor didn’t wait to hear what he had to say and, instead, sauntered casually over to the edge of the pool and looked down into the water.

“Magnificent creatures, aren’t they?” he asked.

“Oh… Oh, yes. Yes, sir,” he nodded. “And, uh … the feeding… I just… well…”

“I think I understand all I need to know about this little feeding,” said Mr. Chartwell, cutting him off. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Smedley?”

Smedley looked up his supervisor, his eyebrows raised. “Sir?” he asked.

“It has come to my attention, and also to the attention of the Board of Directors, that you had a rather unseemly contretemps with your junior associate last Friday. Words … rather harsh words, were exchanged, I understand …”

“But… sir… she was getting above herself,” began Smedley. “She wanted to come up here and feed my … I mean feed the sharks. I told her to clean out the Goldfish tanks and she said …”

“Miss Johnson was just enthusiastic about her work and showing initiative in taking on new responsibilities, shot back Mr. Chartwell. “It was your responsibility as her senior to encourage that sort of thing and teach her how things are done. Instead,” he went on, “you embarrassed and upset her and now, we further understand, she failed to return to work on Monday and has not been since…”

“Yes, sir… but …”.

“Enough, Smedley” said his supervisor, cutting off any further argument, and proceeding directly to the point “It is one thing to upbraid your juniors rudely and in public, but when you start hacking fellow workers to pieces and feeding them to the fish, you can hardly expect the Board to be pleased with you.”

Smedley gaped at his supervisor in in shocked horror and then started to protest, but Mr. Chartwell wasn’t finished and he held up his hand, indicating very firmly that the game was up.

“We can all understand a little bit of professional jealousy,” he said. “We can even be a little sympathetic if you possibly felt that Miss Johnson was encroaching on your personal domain, Smedley, but, really, I am sure even you can understand that this sort of conduct is going to make the board sit up and take notice.

Smedley’s eyes shifted guiltily as his supervisor continued. “Miss Johnson had the prospects of becoming a very valuable asset here. She was bright, young, a delight to work with, and she … she…”

Mr. Chartwell’s voice trailed away as something caught his attention, and he peered intently into the still unemptied bucket for several seconds. “And she had such pretty eyes, too…” he added softly.

There was silence for a moment or two and then Mr. Michaels became stern once again. “You can appreciate,” he continued, “that the Board is quite cross with you over this whole affair?”

Smedley nodded. “Yes sir, sorry sir,” he mumbled. “Does this mean… does this mean I am to be dismissed?” His supervisor peered at him over his glasses.

“I want you to understand that the Board gave that possibility very serious consideration, Smedley. Very serious consideration indeed.” He paused, allowing the full import of this information to sink in and then his tone softened a little. “However,” he continued. “The Board takes note of the fact that you are generally punctual, and generally reliable. It is also cognizant of the fact that it might be a bit inconvenient to try and replace you at short notice. Particularly with so many school tours scheduled over the next several weeks. Accordingly, and on this occasion only, they have decided to overlook this little matter.”

Smedley had been staring at the floor, his head hung in contrition, but he now looked up, his face beaming with fresh hope. He started to express his profound thanks but Mr. Chartwell held up an admonitory finger.

“But make no mistake about it. Any repetition of this incident will not be tolerated. Your continued employment is conditional upon you promising not to do this sort of thing ever again. Do I have your word?”

“Oh yes, sir … yes, indeed” Smedley said with relief. “It won’t happen again. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

Mr. Chartwell’s face darkened again. “I know very well your mother is still very much alive, Smedley. I hope you are not being insincere with me and that that was just a figure of speech.”

“Oh no, sir … I mean, yes sir,” stammered Smedley hastily. I’m totally sincere and everything. It was just … um, that figure of speech thing, like you said.”

Mr. Chartwell eyed him for a moment and then nodded.

“Very well, then,” he said. We shall say no more about it.” He consulted his watch and nodded towards the pool. “Carry on and finish, then. I’m going home.”

“Yes sir, of course, sir. And … thank you”, said Smedley.

Mr. Chartwell turned to leave and then looked back.

“Make sure you lock up properly when you leave, Smedley” he said.