Eels<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n It\u2019s nearly dawn. The water of Seneca Lake is still and exceptionally warm\u2014like a bath, Emma says. The beach park won\u2019t be open for hours yet. It was Emma\u2019s idea to leave their bed at the inn and sneak into the park this early.<\/p>\n They\u2019re in the heart of New York\u2019s wine country. Vineyards drape over the region like lace, and all around the vineyards are humid forests buzzing with insects and dotted with the golden and pink blossoms of hazy weeds. Along the lake, winding lanes dip down to cottage after cottage as well as the stretch of beach where Emma and Carl now tread the shadowed water. There\u2019s no breeze. The air is thick with the scent of burdock and ragweed.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s play eels,\u201d Emma says.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay,\u201d Carl says. \u201cWhat are the rules?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt isn\u2019t that sort of game. You just pretend to be an eel. Like this.\u201d<\/p>\n Emma dives under the water and circles Carl, brushing against his torso, hips, groin, her body undulating. She pops up out of the water, laughing, and slicks her hair back from her forehead, the pixie cut she got just before their wedding with the little bangs and the hair shaved up from the nape of her neck. Carl loves the way the bristles in back feel.<\/p>\n When they tire of swimming, they retreat, naked and gleaming, to their blanket. They lie side by side facing each other, bellies, thighs, and feet touching. Carl feels a familiar stab of worry about making love, but Emma\u2019s doctor has assured him that sex can\u2019t hurt the fetus. Still. It\u2019s so tiny, just a few months along. He imagines it floating in a fine, delicate bubble, though he knows that its dwelling is strong and robust. He kisses Emma\u2019s throat. She wiggles underneath him, clings to him.<\/p>\n A cluster of little brown birds watches them. The birds, perched on a branch that\u2019s fallen into the water, are so still, they might not be real. Carl knows he and Emma are real: skin, hair, muscle, blood coursing through them, and then his gasping cry when he comes, which startles the little brown birds. They shriek and lift and flap into the pale sky.<\/p>\n Emma and Carl put on t-shirts, shorts, and sandals and find a grassy clearing where they throw rocks at the trunks of the surrounding trees. One irregularity in a trunk looks like a laughing mouth, a crying mouth\u2014crying so hard, it\u2019s laughing. Thunk! Emma sings softly a folk tune in Gaelic and does handstands and ungraceful flips. She gets grass cuttings and clover stuck to her skin. She flops down on the blanket next to Carl, grows quiet, and falls asleep. Carl watches her. So simple and easy, her nap. He envies it. Sleep is a hard black thing like a beetle\u2019s shell that he has to climb uncomfortably inside of.<\/p>\n Emma is a taxidermist. Her livelihood involves animal corpses and she is comfortable with this in a way that astounds Carl. Her studio is not what he expected; what he expected was a stinking, blood-soaked slaughterhouse with animal husks dripping from hooks. But the animals come to Emma already dead and stay in a freezer until she is ready to work on them in the neat, clean, brightly lit studio. She drives a powder blue 1973 Buick Electra that she restored herself. She\u2019s the only child of an Irish mother and a German father. She has a small tattoo of the Egyptian goddess Bastet on the inside of her wrist. When she was an exchange student in France, she ate boiled eels with mushrooms.<\/p>\n Carl is a student of literature, a reluctant omnivore, and an agnostic (because what if there is a god and she\u2019s pissed?). He has no tattoos, no vintage car, and he\u2019d rather stick needles in his eyes than eat an eel, but he can run fast for miles, and he writes stories that captivate Emma\u2014little Twilight Zones, she calls them. Emma says that she adores Carl, and he knows he adores her, even if he\u2019s scared of love, the power of it, the sweep and boundlessness. He\u2019s also afraid of heights, choking, caves, cancer, the ocean, riptides, rogue waves, big dogs, bears, guns, knives, anesthesia, asphyxiation, nuclear war, brain tumors, rabies, and his impending fatherhood.<\/p>\n Emma continues napping. Emma, his wife. Carl has seen her stretching and sewing dead skin over an armature. Poking glass eyes into dead sockets and singing along to Badfinger, the Hollies, the Beatles while she does it. She\u2019s happy when she sings. She often sings to him.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n It\u2019s already a stiflingly humid day. Wide awake, Carl leaves the clearing and goes back to the beach. He spreads out a towel, takes off his shirt and sandals, and wades into the water. It\u2019s warm but still refreshing; it laps around his calves. The sky is brightening with striations of peach and plum over the hills across the lake. \u201cGood morning, sunshine,\u201d Carl\u2019s mom used to say to wake him up when he was little. Carl smiles. Good morning, sunshine.<\/p>\n Carl\u2019s mom died five years ago when Carl was starting his doctoral program. His mom supported him enormously. It\u2019d just been him and his mom and brother for a long time, making their way without his dad whom Carl barely remembers. His dad was killed in a car accident when Carl was three. His mom remained single, wistful, and pensive until the end of her life. Carl believed that she found joy in him and his brother. She never went to college and was thrilled by the idea of Carl earning his Ph.D.<\/p>\n Now it\u2019s Emma who encourages him to finish the degree. While he doesn\u2019t want to be a barista forever, the idea of interviewing for a position in academia makes him nauseous. The idea of writing and defending his dissertation brings on panic attacks that make him feel as though he might actually die, like his heart could stop, or he could have a massive stroke, or an aneurysm, a pulmonary embolism, a fatal seizure.<\/p>\n Carl hears from behind him: \u201cWant a raisin?\u201d<\/p>\n He turns around and sees a kid, maybe five or six years old, holding a giant tub of raisins. The kid\u2019s hair curls upward on his head like a little pompadour. His skinny arms and legs are sunburned and there are neon green water wings around his tiny biceps. He\u2019s wearing baggy blue swim trunks with big spotted dogs on them.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019d you come from?\u201d Carl says.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Lewis,\u201d the kid says as if Carl should know this.<\/p>\n Carl looks around in search of the kid\u2019s parents. There\u2019s no one. Why would anyone else be here this early?<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d Lewis says.<\/p>\n \u201cUh, I\u2019m Carl. Where are your parents?\u201d<\/p>\n The kid tosses a raisin in his mouth. \u201cDad\u2019s home,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cIt isn\u2019t safe to be by the water alone.\u201d<\/p>\n The boy shrugs. \u201cI can swim. I can swim across the lake. I did it a bunch of times. I have a billion bathing suits. I like raisins. I\u2019m not allowed to play GTA.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGTA?\u201d<\/p>\n Lewis sighs and looks at Carl. \u201cGrand. Theft. Auto.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know what GTA is. It\u2019s just\u2026 Do your parents know you\u2019re out here? Where do you live?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot far. Over yonder.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYonder, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a word. I heard it on Little House on the Prairie<\/em>. It\u2019s an old show. So is Knight Rider<\/em>. I hate Knight Rider<\/em>.\u201d Lewis plops down in the gravel of the beach and nestles the tub of raisins beside him. \u201cWhat\u2019s your favorite car? I like the Honda Fit.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cReally? I thought you\u2019d like, I don\u2019t know, a Mustang or something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA mustang is a wild horse.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt is, but it\u2019s also a car.\u201d<\/p>\n Lewis regards Carl a moment. \u201cI\u2019m going into second grade,\u201d he says with authority. He adds, \u201cI know what a tapir is. My mom is gone.\u201d<\/p>\n Carl watches the kid examine a scab on his arm. Is his mom dead? Carl imagines the boy in a little funeral suit and black shoes, grieving in the rain. \u201cMy mom\u2019s gone, too,\u201d Carl says.<\/p>\n \u201cIs she in Detroit?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe got very sick and died.\u201d<\/p>\n This doesn\u2019t seem to register with Lewis. He shoves a handful of raisins in his mouth and chews with loud smacking sounds. \u201cMy mom\u2019s in Detroit,\u201d he says. \u201cI was born there. No, I mean London. London Bridges. My dad went to Africa one time and ate an antelope. There\u2019s a place called Turks and Cakeholes.\u201d<\/p>\n Carl laughs. \u201cIt\u2019s Turks and Caicos.\u201d<\/p>\n Lewis gets up and starts spinning in circles with his arms outstretched. \u201cYou should do this,\u201d he says. He keeps spinning, then he stops and tries to walk, stumbles, falls down laughing.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, Lewis,\u201d Carl says. \u201cI really think you should go home and get a grown-up to watch you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecause you\u2019re a little kid.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAm not. Hey, I know. Walk me home. You can see my house. It\u2019s humongous. It cost a zillion dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n The boy\u2019s plan is as good as any. Carl puts his shirt and sandals back on and rolls up his towel. He returns to the clearing with Lewis following. Emma is still asleep.<\/p>\n \u201cWho\u2019s that?\u201d Lewis says.<\/p>\n \u201cMy wife.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs she dead?\u201d<\/p>\n Carl leaves Lewis at the edge of the clearing and crouches next to Emma\u2019s sleeping form. \u201cThis little kid showed up,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019m going to walk him home.\u201d<\/p>\n Emma opens one eye. \u201cLittle kid?\u201d she says.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah. He lives around here.\u201d<\/p>\n In one quick and clumsy motion, Emma sits up. \u201cHi, little kid!\u201d she says.<\/p>\n \u201cHello, ma\u2019am,\u201d Lewis says.<\/p>\n \u201cMa\u2019am?\u201d Emma laughs. \u201cMa\u2019am. I like it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo I\u2019m just going to take him home,\u201d Carl says.<\/p>\n Lewis looks around. \u201cWhere are your kids?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe don\u2019t have any,\u201d Carl says.<\/p>\n \u201cWe do so, Carl,\u201d Emma says. She places her hand on her belly and gazes at Lewis. \u201cThere\u2019s one in here. She\u2019ll come out next spring.\u201d<\/p>\n Lewis walks over and presents the raisins to Emma. \u201cWant some?\u201d<\/p>\n Emma smiles and reaches into the tub. \u201cI love raisins,\u201d she says. \u201cHave you ever eaten golden raisins? How about capers? They\u2019re like tiny olives.\u201d<\/p>\n Emma\u2019s hair is sticking up on her head, and as she talks to the kid, it strikes Carl who Lewis reminds him of.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n Lewis lives in a sprawling ranch that seems out of place in the Finger Lakes. It\u2019s near the inn where Carl and Emma are staying, and while it wouldn\u2019t have cost a zillion dollars, it surely wasn\u2019t cheap. Its landscaping is pristine: arbor vitae form a barrier between the towering trees and a lawn of soft grass with gardens of echinacea and black-eyed susans. Carl and Lewis go inside the house through a back hallway into a large kitchen. There\u2019s a white and brown pit bull lying in the corner of the room. The animal gets up and stares at Carl. Carl freezes. The dog yawns, flops to the floor, and rolls onto its back. It squirms, scratching its back, and lets out a moan.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s Larry,\u201d Lewis says. He puts the raisin tub on a stool by the door and takes off his water wings. \u201cHe\u2019s smelly.\u201d<\/p>\n Carl doesn\u2019t notice any dog smell; rather, the kitchen smells like baked apples and cinnamon. He hears someone humming. There\u2019s a pantry off the kitchen; a tall humming man comes out of it and looks at Carl and Lewis. \u201cHey,\u201d he says as if he expected them to be standing there.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, Dad,\u201d Lewis says. He goes over and flops on the floor in between the pit bull and a massive bag of dog food.<\/p>\n \u201cYour son was at the lake,\u201d Carl says. \u201cI walked him back here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure. Thanks,\u201d the man says. He\u2019s wearing a Blue Oyster Cult t-shirt and has long spindly arms, a prominent Adam\u2019s apple, and deep-set eyes. He puts an industrial-sized container of coffee on the butcher block island near a big Bunn coffee maker. Carl wonders if these people buy everything in bulk. The man says, \u201cI bet you\u2019re a guest at the inn.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, with my wife.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019s your wife?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAt the lake.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPark\u2019s not open yet.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, but your son was there. By himself.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, he wanders,\u201d the man says. He puts a filter and coffee grounds into the coffee maker. His fingers are shaped like kayak paddles. \u201cLewis likes the lake in the morning. He knows not to go swimming though, not alone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think he was planning to go swimming.\u201d<\/p>\n The man shrugs. \u201cHe just likes to wander. Didn\u2019t you wander when you were a kid?\u201d Before Carl can answer, the man says, \u201cYou did. We all did. We did things that\u2019d turn our parents\u2019 hair white. I tell you, I climbed shit. Real high-up shit. The fire tower, the bridge, the side of the school by the gym. I could\u2019ve broken my head open, broken my back, but here I am.\u201d He stares at Carl with piercing but not unfriendly eyes. \u201cI\u2019m Ace, by the way. Ace O\u2019Shaughnessy.\u201d He extends his hand.<\/p>\n \u201cCarl Bishop.\u201d Carl walks over and shakes hands.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere are you from, Carl?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBuffalo. I\u2019m, well, I\u2019ll be a student. My wife is a taxidermist.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo kidding!\u201d Ace says. \u201cThat\u2019s cool as hell.\u201d<\/p>\n Carl thinks of the row of pheasants currently in her studio that might not agree. Or the turkey vulture for the historical society, the ermine with holes where its glass eyes will be, its body deflated, waiting. Emma\u2019s studio: a smell like burnt toast, and sawdust, epoxy, wet fur.<\/p>\n \u201cShe wants to start doing aquatic animals,\u201d Carl says. \u201cSalamanders, rainbow trout, turtles. She has a piranha mounted on a river rock. She\u2019s had this thing since she was a kid. It\u2019s what got her into taxidermy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA piranha, huh? That\u2019s crazy, man.\u201d Ace puts his hand on his chin and rubs the stubble there. The coffee maker hisses and steams and fills the room with its rich scent. \u201cSo who buys the stuff she makes?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPeople commission it. Collectors, hunters, middle-aged women, young couples. She has a wide variety of clients, wider than you\u2019d think.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA whole world of taxidermy enthusiasts.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSomething like that.\u201d<\/p>\n Again Ace stares, his eyes like laser beams. \u201cIt bothers you,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cA little, I guess,\u201d Carl says. \u201cI could never do what she does. I mean, it\u2019s not like she kills the animals\u2014it\u2019s just the idea of working with dead things that way, you know?\u201d<\/p>\n Lewis and Larry wander over and stand next to Carl. Carl can smell Larry: kibble breath, corn chips, flatulence. \u201cThey have a baby,\u201d Lewis says. \u201cIt\u2019s coming here next spring.\u201d<\/p>\n Carl says, \u201cMy wife\u2019s due in the spring.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCongrats,\u201d Ace says. \u201cIt\u2019s a world of fun.\u201d<\/p>\n Carl wonders if Ace means this sarcastically or honestly. He wants to think the man is being honest. There are enough prophets of doom when it comes to expecting a baby: your life as you know it is about to end, you\u2019ll never sleep again, you don\u2019t know what freedom is until it\u2019s gone. Carl hates that some people feel it\u2019s their right to give him their opinion, and that these people suddenly have such a dim view of parenthood when faced with a pregnant woman. Or worse, that they enjoy handing out their dire predictions. He knows it\u2019ll be hard to have a baby. He doesn\u2019t need to be told; he catastrophizes enough on his own. A world of fun.<\/p>\n Carl jumps when the pit bull nuzzles his hand. The animal puts its haunches down on Carl\u2019s foot. Carl challenges himself to touch the dog\u2019s head. It\u2019s soft and warm. Lewis is spinning around as he did at the lake and showing little regard for the edges of furniture and countertops.<\/p>\n \u201cCareful, dude,\u201d Ace says. \u201cYou\u2019ll bust your noggin.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAren\u2019t you afraid he\u2019ll hurt himself some other way?\u201d Carl says. \u201cWandering and all?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAround the lake? Nah. This kid has grown up here. Knows the area like a little bobcat.\u201d<\/p>\n Carl imagines the being in Emma\u2019s belly wandering around on its own, talking to people it doesn\u2019t know. An infant the size of a pinto bean, leaping and hopping from person to person, offering raisins, spinning. The pit bull is looking up at him. It grunts, farts, and walks back to its corner where it lets out a world-weary sigh and curls up in the sun.<\/p>\n \u201cMy wife,\u201d Carl says softly, more to himself than anyone else. \u201cShe\u2019s so okay with it.\u201d<\/p>\n Ace says, \u201cThe taxidermy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEverything. Life.\u201d<\/p>\n Lewis lets out a whoop. Ace laughs and says, \u201cGood way to be.\u201d<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n That night in their bed at the inn, Carl stares into the darkness. He looks at his phone. It\u2019s 3:21 a.m. Emma is asleep and snoring, her hands resting on her belly. Carl sits up.<\/p>\n Emma stirs and says, \u201cCan\u2019t sleep?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. I think I\u2019ll go outside, walk a little.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou want me to come?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, you sleep. I\u2019ll be back soon.\u201d<\/p>\n Carl creeps out of the inn, crosses the road, and heads to the park. The moon is nearly full. The muggy night smells of soil and damp leaves. A little bat zooms past his head. At the lake, he strips down to his boxer briefs and stands on the beach. He can do this; he can go into this dark mass and swim until the water is over his head, until he\u2019s really in it, this body of water that plunges more than six-hundred feet into the earth. There\u2019s nothing in it that can hurt him\u2014no tides, no sharks or jellyfish. He\u2019s going to be a tiny person\u2019s father. He can swim in a lake at night.<\/p>\n He wades in, then pushes off and swims out. He pulls himself through the darkness, kicks to keep himself moving forward. He\u2019s a good swimmer. His mom had him and his brother take swimming lessons up to the lifeguarding level. He wants to be submerged, to feel the water over him. He somersaults through the murk, surfaces for a deep breath, dives down, turns, stretches.<\/p>\n But then he\u2019s confused, frightened, uncertain of where he is in the water. He\u2019s heard about disoriented airplane pilots who fly their planes straight into the ground because they think they\u2019re headed up into the sky. Tendrils of fear reach from his chest to his limbs. Panic builds, pushes. He doesn\u2019t know where the surface is. He can\u2019t hold his breath much longer.<\/p>\n And then. Then he\u2019s not alone. There are hundreds of eels buoying him up, swimming around him, lifting him to the surface. It\u2019s not possible, but here they are. His head comes out of the water into the close night air. He breathes in, out, in deeper. He exhales laughter. Eels wiggle and squirm around him, bump against his body. They pull him back into their current. They pull him back to shore, to the gravelly beach, to Emma.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “Eels” was selected by Raul Palma as the winner of the Distinguished Voices Short Story Contest\u00a0<\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n “I love this story! It\u2019s deceptive in its simplicity: a couple, expecting, vacationing in the Finger Lakes. But the setting\u2014as this adjacent space to Carl and Emma\u2019s usual life\u2014holds this weight and uncertainty of a complex world to come. The writing is evocative and beautifully rendered– projecting Emma\u2019s fascination with taxidermy out onto the natural world, much in the way that it does the same for Carl\u2019s anxieties about being a parent. But, perhaps, the real power in this story is the association made between play\u2014at the story\u2019s beginning\u2014and survival. Well done!”\u00a0– Raul Palma, author of In This World of Ultraviolet Light <\/em>and A Haunting in Hialeah Gardens<\/em><\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n Emily Glossner Johnson: <\/b>I am currently pursuing my M.A. in History at SUNY Cortland. I hold degrees from SUNY Buffalo and SUNY Brockport. I have had short stories, poetry, and essays published in several literary journals. I live in Syracuse where I love to write, read, and spend time with my family and two cats.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
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