THOMAS L. CHIU
HE CALLED HER
ALPHEUS AND THE TROUT
Alpheus was twelve years old when he was presented with a gift-a
trout. It was no ordinary gift because this particular trout-silvery blue-grey
in color-was caught across the Atlantic Ocean not far from a cove near Rothesay,
where Alpheus lived with his parents.
"You take good care of it. Very good care of it, because it
came from very far. Okay?" emphasized Alpheus's Uncle Macki.
The trout, by surviving the Atlantic Ocean, performed a feat that amazed
Alpheus. Also, he was surprised to find out that most trout come from brooks-but
not this one. The colors of this trout now in his possession were startlingly
different from those of other trout.
Thus Alpheus began nourishing the gift in the glass tank built by Uncle
Macki. It had all the trimmings of a miniature aquarium. Uncle Macki enjoyed
the fish too, which now almost engulfed Alpheus's life. Indeed, he often
missed his meals because he so wanted to be near the trout.
Did he see the smile of the trout? Was the trout singing to him every time
it came out of the water? What was the song being sung? Alpheus sometimes
thought he heard his name being called by the trout. When he tapped the
glass tank, the trout would make a swift maneuver towards his fingers, as
if it wanted to be touched. The trout seemed to enjoy the daily communion
with Alpheus.
But, for some reason, Alpheus kept a distance from the trout. He never removed
it from the tank. He never felt the pulse and the tone of the trout's body.
The games they played, however, kept their relationship going, especially
Alpheus tapping the glass at exactly four in the afternoon, when he came
home from school. The rhythm of the tap and the circular motion of his index
finger would get the trout into a frenzied mood, as if Alpheus were signaling
it to dance in an elaborate series of movements. And whenever Alpheus jumped,
the trout would surface with its full force, splashing water all over him.
"You naughty little thing," Alpheus would jokingly admonish. "I
love you." As he said this, he would point towards the direction of
his heart. Did the trout know what Alpheus was doing? From the waving of
its tail after each spoken word, it was obvious the two of them had established
a bond.
"Alpheus, I am making another glass tank for you," said Uncle
Macki one day. The prospect of a new arrival loomed, and the unexpected
gift this time was a goldfish. Alpheus was overjoyed by the thought of the
arrival of the magnificent creature.
Without hesitation, he exclaimed, "Uncle Macki, I don't need
another tank. I will put the goldfish in the old one and put the trout somewhere
else."
"As you wish," agreed Uncle Macki, but not without some foreboding
and trepidation. What is Alpheus up to? he wondered.
And so, after days of anticipation, the goldfish finally arrived. Alpheus
was constantly ecstatic, caring for nothing else. He gently lowered the
goldfish into the tank and then lifted out the trout, putting it into the
bathtub-only half filled with water! Why didn't Alpheus fill the tub?
The trout took a swift dive and swam to the end of the tub, as if it were
fleeing from something. Indeed, it did not wave its tail or exhibit the
customary rhythmic prancing it formerly did. Alpheus did not notice anything
different, as he was now all-consumed by the glitter inside the glass tank.
He was mesmerized by the brilliance of the reflections as the goldfish glided
and danced before his eyes. Alpheus's heart was popping in and out with
perpetual mirth. He was intoxicated at seeing, for the first time, the glistening
fish in all its glory.
That evening, Alpheus wandered near the bathroom. Suddenly he remembered
his little friend. He opened the door softly, careful not to arouse anyone,
including the trout itself. Was he beginning to realize what he had done?
He turned the light on and, to his surprise, the bathtub was empty-dry as
the desert, except for what appeared to be two tiny drops of blood on the
floor of the tub! The bizarre sight did not matter to him now. The trout
had vanished! That was it. He need not pursue it. That the little red drops
may have been the trout's last farewell never crossed his mind.
"I made it disappear," he said triumphantly, proudly, to himself,
feeling as powerful as the River God who was his namesake: Alpheus.
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