Half-eaten fish ruins the karma, with neighbour’s cat under suspicion
THIS WOMAN’S LIFE
I’VE heard that water and fish create good karma around the house, inside and out. And we all want some good karma for ourselves and our loved ones, don’t we?
For many years we have had a water feature that trickles down onto a manmade large fish retreat. The aperture was made by himself one sunny afternoon in June many years ago. I’d say fish pond — but it has far more character than a mere pond. He placed a miniature Japanese bridge the size of a pencil case at the point where the water becomes visible. It is designed to trip the water as it tumbles down.
Over time he added some lovely looking fish, none of them any bigger than a fat trout but all of them bigger than a goldfish. To the periphery, along with the little bridge, he added a fake crab, a Buddha and a fat old frog — that was also ornamental.
Only the fish were real and it always meant that there was some kind of life in the garden.
When the estate is quiet at night you can hear the water trickle down, creating a comfortable sound that echoes and repeats over and over. The rippling never stops, unless we have a power cut — the motor is powered by electricity. The water comes from a rain barrel outside the back door and the tubes that carry it to ‘Little Niagara’ are concealed in the earth.
No matter what country I am in I miss that sound and I’m always happiest to hear it, because I know I’m home.
This morning when I was putting the kettle on I noticed something colourful on the path halfway up to the man-shed. I thought first it was sweet papers. When I investigated further I discovered that one of the bigger fish had gotten out of the fish retreat. His head and eyes were visible and his lower body was eaten.
I called himself in a panic: one of your lovely fish is dead I said. Don’t tell me it’s the lovely red one he said. No, I said, it’s the lovely orange one. I don’t have an orange one he said.
It wasn’t the time to argue the toss on the hue of the half-eaten fish, so I said orange is the new red. But that got no laughs at all.
From this point onwards we were experiencing a serious breach in the karma department. Such threats against the neighbour’s cat were not healthy or kind. Intemperate language was used.
If ever he happened to be away without me he would always say don’t forget to feed the fish — and remember to let the rainwater drain off into the pond if the water seems lower. Then one day I overfed the one with the silver back and he died.
He was a greedy fish and he always jumped up showing off and grabbing the fish food before any of the smaller fish had a chance. I buried him in a shoe box in the garden.
My grandson was there and I thought it would be a great way of throwing him a Grizzly Adams-type learning adventure. It actually traumatised my grandson who won’t go to movies with fish in them ever since. He has to wait outside the cinema while I watch Finding Nemo and Shark Tale. I’m bribing him towards Finding Dory but its not working until I give him a Rolex.
Gender is a funny one isn’t it? I don’t know how to identify a fish’s gender, so I call them all “he”. The only thing we know for certain is that when a bomb is being dropped in Afghanistan it’s a she, it’s the mother of all bombs. In Venezuela the protest set for this week is the mother of all protests. Are women becoming more powerful in the face of war and protest or is it just macho sh*te talk?
Sometimes men call engines “she”. As in: “she’s after collapsing on me again, she is the bitch.”
I never told himself about the silver-back. He thinks a hawk might have taken it but hawks don’t like the estate — too many council houses and piebalds. The Cuirt International Festival of Literature is on from today until next Sunday, April 30. I see firsthand how culture really matters when people take trains and buses to come to Galway to hear poetry and prose read and I’m aware of the high attendance at workshops.
Cuirt is becoming much more communitybased while never losing its international flavour. The international artists are brought into the local communities to read in people’s kitchens and in libraries (while we still have libraries with staff in them). This year, the festival is in its 32nd year and I have attended many of the events over the years.
Damon Galgut and Eimear McBride are reading, as are Claire Louise Bennett and Mia Gallagher, Sarah Clancy, Simon Armitage and Terrance Hayes, Sara Baume, Martina Evans and Mary O’Malley.
William Wall reads too, as does John Boyne and Kit de Waal. There are launches, spoken-word sessions, plaque unveilings and new collections from Elaine Feeney and Kevin Higgins.
See cuirt.dot.com for news more readings.
My girls used to say to me: “Mammy, when we were young and Cuirt was on, you used to stay out nearly all night for that whole week.”
Bad Rita. This year I’m older — and anyway I have a few fish to fry first.