Fish Change Direction in Cold Weather

by Pierre Szalowski

  ‘You’ll see, my dear, when you make love to a man you really love, the pleasure is different. It’s unique, because the heart makes it so much more powerful.’

  Julie looked at her whistling Boris, who had just taken out his sheets of paper with his calculations on again. Her mother was right: last night she had finally felt what she had been waiting for for so long. In the past, she had known many imperfect loves. Now the present was perfect, pluperfect, and at last she could imagine a future.

  ‘Boris, the thermometer still says nineteen!’

  He put the sheets detailing the trajectories of each fish down on the coffee table. Well, the earlier trajectories, at thirty-two degrees.

  ‘Golubchik? Did you observe their new behaviour?’

  In spite of her intense desire to understand Boris’s experiments and to share the effort that went into them, for all her three days’ experience in topology Julie had to confess she was still very much a novice.

  ‘It’s not easy, with the thermometer.’

  ‘Milaya, look. Look carefully . . .’

  ‘Can I take the thermometer out of the water?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

  Julie watched the fish. Just above the surface of the water, Boris was tracing Number Two’s path with his finger. With his other hand, he was following Number Four. Julie cheated a little. She just watched her man’s fingers as they performed their ballet.

  ‘They’re not following the same path any more!’

  ‘Exactly!’

  Boris stared at Julie.

  ‘It’s obvious! Fish change direction in cold weather!’

  Julie was pleased with her answer. It was so pleasant to be able to have these early morning exchanges with her learned Russian lover. But even after lovemaking, a mathematician who is a candidate for the most magnificent of PhDs cannot help but make you feel that you are a long way from knowing as much as he does.

  ‘Look, golubchik, you’re missing something very obvious.’

  Julie was a little disappointed, especially as Boris did not let the matter drop.

  ‘Take a good look – it’s striking.’

  Boris could not grasp that topology, as expressed by the hermetic language of pure mathematics, especially first thing in the morning, was anything but obvious to the rest of the world. But Julie wanted to share everything with him. She concentrated hard, searching for the obvious thing in the water. Suddenly she found it.

  ‘They’re following a new path!’

  Boris nodded. ‘Yes, indeed . . . I am going to study their new trajectories at nineteen degrees and compare them with the ones at thirty-two. It should only delay my dissertation by a year or two. We’ll see what comes of it. Despite my misfortune, I am lucky they did not die.’

  Boris got up and gave a long sigh of disappointment at the thought that he would have to start his calculations all over again. But Julie the researcher had not finished.

  ‘It looks as if they’re swimming closer to each other.’

  Boris quickly sat back down by the aquarium. Julie still had something to say.

  ‘That’s it! When it’s cold, they get closer to each other.’

  Boris opened his big blue eyes. Across from him, Julie took a deep breath. Her eyes were sparkling.

  ‘And they’re swimming two by two, in pairs. They’re no longer plotting their course individually, avoiding the others. They’re doing it together. And it’s just since they got cold that they’ve been like this. Look! Now they’re making double knots.’

  Boris had never envisaged such a sophisticated topological conclusion. He leaned over the aquarium for a closer verification of his lovely Julie’s theory. Number Two could not stop rubbing his right fin against the rear scales of Number Three. As for Number One, it came out from behind the little rockery with what looked like a silly grin on its face – a phenomenon rarely observed in exotic fish in captivity – followed by Number Four, who gave a little flick of his rear fin, as if to adjust it, blowing bubbles all the while.

  ‘Da . . . Da . . . Da.’

  Boris Bogdanov studied the woman beside him: not only did she fill his heart, but she had also just found a conclusion for a basic mathematical proof, easily demonstrable even by the kind of maths student who repeats his first year, and yet he, Boris, had missed it altogether. When you are in love, you are as one. Filled with wonder, he stared at his lover.

  ‘Don’t you think, Julie, that this is a little like the fabulous discoveries by Pierre and Marie Curie?’

  Julie racked her brains, going way back in time, but couldn’t find it.

  ‘I saw the film, when I was little. We’ll have to rent it.’

  That was what Boris loved about Julie. She was natural, honest and logical. And she had soft skin, firm breasts, the body of a goddess and a torrid sensuality, not to mention the fact that she was divinely good at kissing. Early in the morning the path between extreme mathematical thought and sudden desire of the most animal kind is much shorter than one might suppose, particularly for a researcher who has just found what he was looking for.

  ‘Golubchik, come to the bedroom!’

  ‘Morning, lover boys!’

  Alexis had entered the room without knocking. He was holding a tray. On it were two plates with bacon omelettes, two glasses of orange juice, four slices of toast and two piping hot strong coffees. Simon could scarcely hide his emotion. He turned to Michel who was still sleeping against his shoulder.

  ‘Wake up, my love. Look at the yummy breakfast Alexis has made for us.’

  Just four days earlier these two had hardly dared leave the house in each other’s company, and now they were being served a lovely breakfast by the neighbour from across the street – a man whom they had known for only three days.

  ‘Sit up, lover boys, otherwise it’ll get cold!’

  Just as Alexis was about to set the tray down on the bed, Simon grabbed his arm.

  ‘How can we thank you, Alexis . . .’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing, just two little eggs and—’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. I mean for seeing us the way you do.’

  ‘Well, it’s mostly thanks to you. No, it’s totally thanks to you. It has done me good to talk to you. Thank you! Thanks to both of you.’

  ‘Don’t thank us; you’ve all helped us as much as we’ve helped you. Before we met you we were different. Now, because of you, so much has changed, and our life will never be the same. You’ll come to our wedding! Well, that is, the day the law allows it.’

  ‘Well, I must say for a couple that’s not married, you made one hell of a noise last night.’

  ‘Alexis, we don’t speak Russian when we make love.’

  ‘It was Boris?’

  ‘Yes, and he didn’t stop all night! Four times! I couldn’t sleep a wink.’

  Alex was walking by in the hallway, followed by Pipo. The two had become inseparable.

  ‘Told you, Dad, told you it was them!’

  ‘I see you’ve been expanding the range of your topics of conversation. That’s very good, very constructive. But there might be other subjects you could discuss with your son . . .’

  ‘At that age they’re curious, it’s normal. Besides, let me tell you, Simon, I can understand that Boris. When you’ve got a bike as gorgeous as that, you want to ride it all the time!’ Alexis couldn’t help but wink at his two friends. ‘Don’t you think?’

  ‘That’s one way of seeing things.’

  ‘Right, okay, I’ll let you eat, it’s going to get cold.’

  Alexis took his son by the shoulder, with a warm protective gesture, the kind only a true dad knows how to make.

  ‘Want to take Pipo for a walk?’

  The bedroom door closed gently. Simon and Michel looked at each other with an air of complicity. They picked up their toast to butter it. But before biting into it they exchanged a gentle kiss. And immediately made a face – from the other side of the wall came a loud banging.

  ‘Oh, no!
Are they at it again?’

  The tempo suddenly increased. A very loud banging on the walls. Not until the toast was already cold did deliverance come.

  ‘Aaaaaahhhhh! Ya lyublyu tebya!’

  ‘I love you . . . aaah! I love you . . . aaah! I love you . . . aaah!’

  And silence returned. Simon bit into his stone-cold toast. He chewed it gingerly. As soon as he had swallowed it, he turned to Michel.

  ‘Is there anything more beautiful than love?’

  ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

  A lot of people like to do their thinking in the shower. My mum and dad must have been getting twice as much thinking done, since they were in there together.

  When they woke up at around one o’clock in the afternoon, they couldn’t see me. I was hidden. And I was afraid: it was warm in the house. Still lying on the mattress in the sitting room, they disentangled themselves before they looked at each other sheepishly. Neither one wanted to be the first to speak. They gazed at each other, surprised to find themselves like that. My mum said the first thing that came into her nose.

  ‘Smells like a policeman who’s been working hard all night!’

  When they came upon me in the hallway, the two of them covered me with affectionate kisses. But this time my mum didn’t ask me to help my dad get washed. Maybe she didn’t have time. They looked like they were really in a hurry. I wouldn’t have listened to them if they hadn’t been talking so loudly. No, that’s not true. I would have listened.

  ‘Stop moving like that, I’ll take it off for you myself!’

  ‘If I stay on one leg I’ll fall over.’

  ‘Hold on to me. I said, “hold on”, not “rub up against me”!’

  ‘It’s because of the casts.’

  ‘Raise your other leg so I can take off your boxer shorts.’

  ‘Okay, okay . . . There, it’s raised.’

  ‘Oh, you pig!’

  I don’t know if they were doing a lot of thinking, but they were certainly making some funny noises.

  ‘Oohhhh!’

  ‘Aahhhh!’

  My mum went along with everything now.

  ‘Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!’

  Sometimes there are things you understand but you don’t want to admit that you do. I knew what my mum and dad were doing in the shower. Even if it made me happy, I don’t want to talk about it. They didn’t want to talk about it either when they came out of the bathroom. They walked past me, whistling. The phone rang and I picked it up. I didn’t want to stop the music.

  ‘Staff Sergeant Couillard here. May I speak to Martin? It’s urgent!’

  When we got to the old people’s home with my mum and dad, the evacuees for a night were climbing out of the school buses. They seemed glad to be coming home. As soon as they saw my dad they all stood around him and cheered. Dad had become the old folks’ hero. I stuck right by him, so I heard what Staff Sergeant Couillard had to say.

  ‘They wouldn’t come home until you got here!’

  My dad got loads of kisses. All the old people wanted to touch him and thank him and hug him.

  ‘Careful, Archambault, you’re going to break his casts!’

  ‘Didn’t I already shake your hand?’

  ‘That was my twin.’

  ‘Hey, you Gagné lot, let the others have their turn!’

  ‘I’ll bet you two bucks that he lives less than a block away.’

  ‘You’re on.’

  My dad had to promise he’d come again before they finally agreed to go back to their rooms. I was so proud of him. I think Mum was even prouder than I was. I caught a glimpse of her gazing at him admiringly; she was laughing, she was happy. I liked that Staff Sergeant Couillard. I could tell that he liked my dad, too.

  ‘I don’t see why you don’t come back to the force. A guy of your calibre, you’re not meant to be vegetating at the police academy.’

  My mum crossed her fingers and closed her eyes. Her wish had been fulfilled. My dad didn’t say anything, but you could see his answer in his eyes. Mum was glued to his side. He turned to her and they looked at each other for a long time. They moved closer together – well, their lips did, especially; they were already pretty close. They kissed for a very, very long time. This time it really was like in the movies. Even Staff Sergeant Couillard had to wipe away a tear, it was that beautiful. I didn’t close my eyes; I didn’t want to miss a single moment. I waited for the words ‘The End’ to appear in front of me, like in the movies. I’d recorded the scene in my head. I’d be able to play it back my whole life long.

  The moment we went into the sitting room, Dad settled into his armchair. Mum immediately joined him, sitting on the armrest. She put her hand on his shoulder, just like in the old days. I watched them. I didn’t say anything. It was funny, the way they were looking at each other questioningly to decide who would be the first to speak. I wasn’t in a hurry. A few minutes more or a few less, it doesn’t really matter when it’s forever. This time I wanted to hear what I knew they were going to say. No one at school had ever told me this story. I wanted to enjoy every second.

  ‘We’ve been thinking . . .’

  ‘Maybe we were a bit too hasty making our decision . . .’

  ‘We realise we still love each other very much, and there are bound to be lots of things we can experience together . . .’

  ‘So, we don’t want to split up any more.’

  ‘Everything will go back to the way it was.’

  ‘Not the way it was . . . even better.’

  I could tell they were waiting for me to say something. I didn’t know whether I should tell them that I might have had something to do with their ‘thinking’. But I wanted to let them have the last word – they were my parents, after all. They looked at each other as if they knew they’d had a really close call.

  ‘It looks like we owe the heavens one. If it weren’t for this ice storm . . . Can you imagine, my love?’

  In my bedroom, I felt glad I hadn’t told them my secret. What would be the point? I lay on my back in my bed. I looked up at the ceiling. It was white, but white the way it used to be. They weren’t going to be splitting me between them; I wasn’t going to be the fourteenth kid in my class to have to migrate every week; and all three of us would be going back to the summer cottage, together.

  I turned to the window but I couldn’t see the sky from my bed. So I got up: I had to tell it to its face. I looked up and it was all white. It lit up the ground still covered in ice. I couldn’t get over what it had done for me. I stayed there with the sky for a long time, trying to find a way to say goodbye. I didn’t want to muddle up my words. I hope I didn’t disappoint it.

  ‘Hey, thanks for listening to me.’

  When I went back into the sitting room the television was on, but my parents weren’t there. I was about to go and switch it off but just then the weather map appeared on the news channel. Even if the sky had never let me down, I wanted to make sure it had really heard me. I couldn’t help but smile. It looked like the sky could never do things by halves.

  ‘The forecast for tomorrow, Saturday, is sunshine and blue sky for the entire Montreal region. Our experts at Météo Canada are categorical: no more freezing rain. The storm of the century is really over.’

  Click! I switched off the television and went to look for my parents. They were in the little study. Dad was finishing his letter of resignation to the police academy. Mum was looking over his shoulder and seemed to be savouring every word that lit up the computer screen. Once they’d printed the letter, my dad signed it, folded it and put it in the envelope that my mum held out to him, already with its stamp on. He got up and gave me a smile.

  ‘You coming with us to post it?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’

  We went out into the hallway to put on our coats. While my mum was helping him, my dad gave me a big smile of complicity.

  ‘Frankly, if I were you, I’d grab this opportunity to film the street. You’re not likely to witness another n
atural disaster like this one in your lifetime. I for one have never seen a storm like it!’

  ‘Dad’s right, it would be a pity not to use the present he gave you . . . well, that we gave you for Christmas.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  I don’t know whether it was because he’d written his letter about returning to active police duty, but I was dead sure he’d already got his policeman’s instinct back. It must have been written all over my face that I was lying.

  ‘Let me have a look at your video camera.’

  I mustn’t spoil the most beautiful day of my life. I had to tell the truth.

  ‘What? In the educational director’s office? Didn’t I tell you not to take it to school?’

  It wasn’t mean, the way my dad spoke to me. I answered from the heart.

  ‘We all make mistakes.’

  My parents looked at each other. I could tell they felt foolish. Dad immediately took me in his arms. I could feel a hand in my hair and I could tell right away that it was Mum’s: there was no cast.

  ‘You’re right. Life will always give you a second chance.’

  School started again on Monday morning. Alex was waiting for me as usual at the bottom of the stairs to my building. He could see right away that I was anxious. He looked at me with a little smile and gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. Without a word he opened his schoolbag, took out an envelope and handed it to me.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Julie wrote it.’

  ‘Why’d she write a letter?’

  ‘About the video camera.’

  ‘Did you tell her I’d filmed her?’

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s really nice. And she’s in love now, anyway, so she’s even nicer.’