Pond People

Flash insisted he would be well enough to compete next day.

Molly was unconvinced but said nothing. Flo protested and was overruled. The tournament was rescheduled for the following afternoon.

Eddy won the sharpshooting prize; it was a popular win. Molly could sense Flash was doing his best to hide his disappointment. He unwound after he won the long-distance shoot and was cheered by both sides. Prizegiving would take place at the deeps the following day.

When Molly joined Flo and Grandad in the morning, they were packing the prizes into a bag of woven blanketweed.

‘I’ve come to help – any excuse to get away from watching fry hatch. Trying to herd those little wrigglers is like trying to catch a sneeze in a spider-web.’

Few would survive in spite of their efforts.

Flash and Eddy lurched past on a young carrot-coloured goldfish that Flash struggled to steer. When the fish decided to stop and graze on pondweed, its riders gave up and swam over.

‘That reminds me.’ Flo raised a hand. ‘I’ve organised a ride for us this afternoon, Grandad. She’s a sturdy old fish. There’ll be room for a couple more if anyone wants a lift.’

‘I’ll ride with you’, offered Molly.

‘Not for us, thanks.’ Eddy pointed to their former mount. ‘We’re breaking in this dodger for riding.’

He turned to check that the fish was still feeding. ‘He’s given up trying to throw me, so we’re riding him tandem to get him used to carrying more weight.’

Distant shouts came from the world above, bursting into the garden from the house.

One of the children appeared at the edge of the pond, fumbling with something in his hand. His sister ran up, screaming at him between sobs.

Their father’s voice came from the house and thundered across the garden.

‘Joel, don’t!’

‘But Dad, she can’t keep it in a bag.’

’Goldie’s mine.’ the girl sobbed. ’I won him. He’s mine!’

Seen from the bottom of the pond, the girl’s dark head and fists contrasted with the boy’s white t-shirt as she pummelled his chest. He held something high, out of her reach.

The shadow of their bigger brother fell across them. ‘Don’t b-be mean, Joel. Give it b-back to her.’

‘Now!’ their father barked, sounding nearer.

‘Aw, man.’ The boy flung the object into the pond and ran off.

On the surface a bubble floated, enclosed in a clear bag. A small female goldfish flicked back and forth inside its own watery world. Then a net dipped, and it was gone.

‘Here you are, love. But what are you going to do with it? Joel’s right, you know. You can’t keep it in a bag.’

’I don’t want Goldie to go in the pond. I can’t talk to him in the pond.’ Her voice changed direction. ‘I want him indoors, Mummy, where I can see him.’

A woman spoke, unseen by the mirlings. ‘Oh, Bethany… I suppose it could go in that terrarium the Wilsons gave us last Christmas. I don’t think I threw it away when the plants died.’

‘What’s a tare’um, Mummy?’

‘It’s a glass bowl to grow plants in. I’ll see if I can find it.’

The child ran with her prize into the house and her mother groaned. ‘Just what I need – a fish tank to clean out.’

‘Is a terrarium like a fish tank then?’ asked her eldest son.

‘No, but you can’t keep fish in a bowl for long.’ She turned towards the house. ‘Let’s hope she gets fed up with it in a couple of days and it can go in the pond.’ Her voice became fainter. ‘We’ll tell her it’s lonely.’

Bewilderment tinged the water, and Molly realised Flash didn’t understand the humans. She had grown up listening to them in the garden, but people in a pet shop probably didn’t say much more than, ‘That orange goldfish, please,’ or ‘A tub of fish food.’

Some of the bewilderment was Flo’s.

’Did she say she won that fish?’

Grandad explained. ‘Travelling fairs used to give away goldfish as prizes, but I thought they’d stopped. Nobody’s brought one home for years.’

‘What’s going to happen to that poor fish now they’ve taken it inside?’

Flo’s eyes were large in her pale face, but nobody could answer her.

Molly sat behind Flo and Grandad on the bigger fish, ready to set off for the prizegiving in the deeps.

She turned to watch Eddy settle behind Flash on the smaller fish. Behind them, at the pond’s edge, a bucket dipped below the surface. Water flowed over its rim and the bucket rose.

She followed its dark mass from the water to the pond edge, where a blurry human knelt watching the fish. Like the cat did.

Sometimes water was taken like this when the pond became cloudy or blanketweed threatened to block the pump. With luck, Molly’s group would be gone from the shallows before the water was returned with something unpleasant added. Such treatments were diluted by the time they reached the deeps.

They were ready to leave. Molly turned back, sensing the suppressed energy from the younger fish as Flash persuaded it to swim beside the stately old glider.

The water rocked, and suddenly a net rose beneath them.

The fish thrashed, throwing Molly into the netting which now surrounded them all. She tried to avoid the flailing fish as they were dragged from the water.

A giant hand tipped the net inside out, and she dropped into water again, this time surrounded by black walls. She drifted to the bottom of the bucket while the fish shook out their tails and circled above with Flash darting between them. The sky had shrunk to a circle.

Other mirlings cowered around the base of the bucket. There was Eddy… and two – no, three others… and Flo bending over Grandad.

The light dimmed. Molly looked up to where oval-shaped human eyes followed the fish around the bucket.

‘That one’s too big.’

‘I couldn’t catch the other one without netting b-both of them. They were swimming together.’

Human hands descended to grip the bigger fish firmly and lift it from the bucket.

‘Whoa-ho! Slippery…’

‘Look out, Andre.’

Molly heard a splash.

‘S-stupid fish nearly threw itself in the shrubbery.’

‘Can I have another little one then, instead of the big one. Ple-e-ase? Look, that baby white one with orange spots, there!’

The father said. ‘This was the little one you wanted, wasn’t it? Andre’s been very clever to catch it.’

‘But one fish isn’t much company for Goldie.’

’All the fish would rather be in the pond, Beth, where they’ve got room to swim properly and grow big.’

‘Ple-e-ase.’

Molly stopped trying to make sense of the grumblings and splashes outside the bucket and peered across its base to the three mirlings huddled there.

A small black fish plopped into the water to join the carroty one.

‘That’s it! No more! If you don’t want these two, they can go back in the pond. They’ll be better off there than in a bowl, and so would your Goldie.’

Andre’s voice backed up his father. ‘How would you like it if you c-could only ever walk round and round and round your room all the time?’

’Oh-h, all right. I’ll just have these then.’

‘Take them into the kitchen, Andre,’ said the father, and the bucket rose.

Water slopped, and the sky moved.

Molly’s world darkened as she left the sky behind. After much sloshing of water, the bucket came to rest on a table and the children’s argument carried on into another room.