Aquarium (9 page)

Leave her alone! I yelled, and I ran to my mother, put my arms around her and couldn’t help crying, these sobs that came in heaves.

There’s a man at the aquarium, my mother said. He’s been touching my daughter, making plans to take her away to Mexico, telling her he loves her. You all need to pull your heads out of your asses. We’re going to the aquarium now to talk to this man.

He’s my friend, I sobbed, but I could hardly make words. My mother was hugging me tight, rubbing my back.

Mrs. Thompson, you need to cooperate here, the policeman said. He had a low voice.

And you need to do your job. I’ll talk about how you wouldn’t do anything to protect a twelve-year-old girl and just let this man go free and now he could be wandering around anywhere in the city looking for someone else’s daughter. And it’s not missus. Just Thompson.

No one said anything for a while after that. I didn’t dare look at them. I held on to my mother and kept my eyes closed.

Okay, the man said. We’ll go to the aquarium first, Ms. Thompson. But then you’ll be coming to the station, and after that, we may need to do a home inspection. We’ll be calling in family services, and having a doctor examine your daughter. No conversation is finished until we say it’s finished.

Grow some decency, my mother said. Try to be a human.

You’re not allowed to insult us, the policewoman said.

I can do whatever I want. I’m the mother of a twelve-year-old girl. Even the governor is a pedophile if I say he is. And what about you? Do you like little girls?

Okay, that’s enough, the policeman said. It’s going to be a long day for you. But we need to go to the aquarium now. It’s already after three. You’ll follow us and pull over when we do, a few blocks from the aquarium. Then Caitlin will walk ahead alone, the way she usually does, and we’ll be watching.

What happens if he does something before you arrive?

We already have plainclothes officers inside. Your daughter will be safe.

We drove then down East Yesler Way toward Puget Sound, dark water low beneath the city. My mother was talking fast, worried. You can’t ever say I slapped you. They’ll take you away from me. They’ll take you away, Caitlin. I’m so sorry. I never should have slapped you, and I never will again. I promise. But you can’t say anything to them. Do you understand?

I won’t say anything, I said. I was starting to cry again at the thought of losing my mother.

I’m scared of them, Caitlin. They can do anything. It doesn’t have to make any sense. You can’t tell them anything about me. But this old man, you have to tell them everything about him. He wants to take you away too.

Our old car charging ahead like some bull, my mother rough on the accelerator and brake, panicking, the patrol car in front. The sky white and without drizzle at the moment but the streets wet. I felt like everything was ending, all put under pressure, collapsing. The sky itself would fall in, and the streets fold and submerge and the water rush in, the weight of the entire Pacific.

The most terrible betrayal. We pulled to the curb and I was standing on the sidewalk, surrounded by shallow puddles, dark mirrors, all the land pocked with holes. I could hardly walk.

Just say hello to him the way you normally would, the policeman said. Gun and baton, silver in his belt and badge, liquid that he somehow wore.

I had no choice. All set in motion. All of childhood like that. So I walked my usual route on a day unlike any other, and I could no longer gauge distance. My feet slapping down too hard or not reaching far enough. And my friend waiting, thinking he was meeting my mother today.

I wanted to flatten, my body become a gray porous crust like the pavement, my arms fins of gravel, eyes disguised as puddles. The police would walk over my body and not know. They would search and never find me. At night, I might shift along the street, feeding on whatever gathered in gutters, and I would soften in the sun, shift my coloring to a lighter gray, then darken again in rain.

But instead I was uncamouflaged, exposed for all to see, held upright, walking on legs that seemed impossible, scissoring along the sidewalk in a side-to-side wobble pinned by gravity. The aquarium now in view.

I looked behind, and the police were there half a block back, and my mother.

My heart a low thudding, heavy and far away, dread. I should have screamed a warning and run away, but I kept walking, and then I was opening the door.

The lobby, only a few people, and I wondered which ones were the police. I hesitated, thought if I just stayed here and never went into the corridors, they’d never find him. But I walked into the warm darkness, all the worlds lit on either side, and I found him at a tank with sea anemones and clownfish.

So soft, he said. Imagine living like that.

The yellow clownfish with a single white stripe along their backs. Fish that always belonged.

Anemones are jellyfish that never swim free, I said.

Wow, the old man said. What else?

If you touch them, it’s like hundreds of little harpoons exploding, each one poisonous. That’s what makes them feel sticky. But the clownfish aren’t hurt.

The old man put his arm around me. Caitlin, today I have a wonderful surprise for you.

I could smell aftershave. He was wearing a new jacket and shirt, his hair cut and combed neatly. He was smiling, nervous, his eyes twitching.

Sir, a man said from behind us. Step away from the girl. Seattle police.

What? The old man didn’t understand. Three men now, plainclothes officers.

I’m sorry, I tried to say, but I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe.

What is this?

Please step over here, sir. We’d like to ask you a few questions.

The men like shadows in their dark clothing, only their faces lit by the tanks. They were taking him away from me, but I followed. I grabbed on to his arm. Please, I said.

Who are you? the old man demanded of the men. He sounded frightened.

Seattle police.

One of the officers took my arm and pulled me away.

You’ve misunderstood, the old man said. No. This isn’t right. You’ve misunderstood.

Caitlin! my mother said, loud over everything else, and she was running toward me.

Sheri! the old man said. Tell them who I am.

My mother stopped as if she had hit a wall. No, she said. She put her hands up to her face, as if she were praying, and then she fell down to her knees. No, she said. You can’t do this to me.

The police were still pulling the old man away.

Sheri! he yelled. You have to tell them now. They think I’m some pervert.

He’s her grandfather, my mother said. He’s my father.

The police let go of him then. Caitlin, he said.

No, my mother said. You stay away from her.

My grandfather froze, as if my mother could command all.

I still want to press charges, my mother said. He wanted to take her away to Mexico. Isn’t that child abduction? Or can we keep him away, maybe a restraining order?

My mother was still on her knees. The uniformed officers beside her now.

The policeman was slow in his response, his mouth open as he considered. Okay, he said. We can interview your father now. Then we’ll go from there.

Sheri, the old man said. Please. He walked toward her but the police grabbed him again. Sheri. He stopped struggling, went slack, had his head down. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. But don’t do this now.

L
ike eggs in tight clusters, the most dense of the anemones. A velvet-green moon at the end of each stalk, swaying in current. Lit from within, impossible to locate. There and not there. Some buoyant sense within me, being part of a family now, belonging. The police had separated us, and the policewoman I hated was questioning me again, but I only watched the anemones and thought of all the times we would have together at every birthday, every Sunday, every day after school at the aquarium. My own grandfather. The most wondrous gift of my life.

You will tell me, the woman said.

Body of an anemone only some white constellation in the background, hidden and appearing and hidden again. I couldn’t say what jellyfish or anemones were made of.

When were you going to Mexico? What was the plan?

My grandfather in some other corridor, out of sight, my mother removed also. My mother become strange, something I couldn’t understand.

Mexico, Caitlin. Focus. Look at me.

But the woman didn’t dare touch me. I watched the clownfish slide among the moons, all leaning in, and I knew to say nothing. Close against the glass, my own shadow face, one world hidden within another. And what would I call my grandfather? Grandpa? Or use his name, and what was his name, and where had he been all these years?

Like clusters of planets, lit by softer suns. Planets huddling together, without orbits, swaying together in some invisible current, no celestial wind but a force magnetic, scattering all and aligning again. Scale lost whenever I stared into a tank. Each universe opening.

Caitlin, did he try to kiss you?

I put my lips against the glass and kissed, held in place. My lips the base of an anemone, the foot attaching to rock. My head swaying slowly with those strange arms, my hair come alive, clownfish sliding in and tickling my scalp.

Caitlin! the policewoman said. She snapped her fingers close to my face, but all sound was deadened, submerged. Would he live with us? Would we go somewhere to live with him?

Did he make you touch him? Did he open his pants?

I closed my eyes for a while and just clung to the glass with my lips and hands. I thought of the handfish and their red painted lips, guarding their golden eggs. A garden of purple seagrass, my own small cave in the rock.

The glass was warm. A faint vibration, a humming, and this policewoman lost, floating away.

My mother arrived finally, her hand on my back. I let go of the glass and collapsed into her.

I’m sorry, Caitlin, she said.

I looked for my grandfather as we entered the lobby. Where is he? I asked.

Shh, she said.

I collapsed down to the floor. No, I said. I’m not leaving without him.

Caitlin!

Are you going to hit me?

Evelyn was not far away, near the doors. The police, also. My voice not loud, but perhaps loud enough. My mother knelt close and whispered. Caitlin, we have to be careful. I’ll never hit you again, okay? But we have to be careful. And you don’t know about your grandfather. You don’t know what he did to me and my mother.

I’m not leaving without him.

You’re never going to see him again, Caitlin. I’m sorry.

I hate you.

My mother broke then. It was very strange, something I’d never seen before. She broke completely, curling onto the carpet beside me, her arms around me, sobbing. Her entire body convulsing. The police came near, tried to speak with her, but she didn’t stop, and she wouldn’t let go of me. I was drowning in her, my arm trapped against her face and slick with tears. Her breath shaking, as if she were being crushed. All sound pinched and frightened.

Ms. Thompson. It was the uniformed cop. He kept trying to talk with her.

I was being pulled back into her, convulsions of a reverse birth, her mouth strained open. I was scared of her. The desperate way she clung, her shaking.

Ms. Thompson, we have to talk with you. You have to calm down. We can’t hold your father. There’s no evidence he had any plan to take your daughter to Mexico. It was only one comment about manta rays, about a nice place to go someday. He says he was thinking of you. A family vacation. The three of you, and he would pay. He said he asked to meet you today, that you’ve been estranged for many years. This is not police business. This is something you have to work out in your family. He also says he touched your daughter’s chest only once, because she was panicking and he was worried, and this matches the description your daughter gave.

My mother shaking her head, rubbing in hard against me. No words but only these terrible sobs that came fast and hard, almost like hiccups.

We aren’t going to hold him. Can you hear me? I’m not going to bother you anymore today. You’ve wasted enough of our time. Don’t drive your car until you can pull it together, okay?