Domestic Bliss

Sebastian was woken by a fin slapping him in the face.

He opened his eyes to see Doris staring at him. As usual, his partner wore her ever-present expression of disapproval. Even asleep, he was capable of irritating her.

"He's gone," she said, her voice dripping with distaste. 'He' was their owner. A middle-aged man named Robert. And, if there was one creature Doris appeared to dislike even more than Sebastian it was their current keeper.

"We need to get started," she said, swimming away. "Follow me."

As he stared at the departing rump of his partner, Sebastian, not for the first time, was comforted by the thought that fish only have short lives. Given that he was already eighteen months old, he knew he wouldn't have to endure her dissatisfaction with him indefinitely.

However, the relief this thought provided was short-lived.

For he and Doris were trapped in some indecipherable karmic dance. Whatever form he would be reincarnated into next, she would be there as well. Had been for years. Decades.

No matter what creature he morphed into, her sour face would soon appear on the visage of some entity close to him, regardless of whatever cage, family, herd, or school, he found himself in.

Lazily, Sebastian extended his fins, and - leisurely swishing his tail - floated after her.

There was often some temporary respite. Sometimes he would 'appear' before she did. He remembered one blissful period of nearly a year when he had inhabited the form of a dog belonging to a well-heeled family in the American Deep South. Days were spent running, playing, and being doted upon. Then...

The family had taken in a Poodle. Rescued from the local Pound. Sebastian recognized the scowling face instantly. The universe had found him, and delivered to him his eternal mate. He'd lasted three months before he'd thrown himself under a passing truck.

An eagle had been next. However, this time, it had only been a matter of days before Doris had joined him.

He didn't know why. His memory lessened with every 'jump', but he was certain he had been, at some point, human. Apart from the knowledge that his name was 'Sebastian', other reflections were hazy, milky. For all he knew, his 'human' memories could have been transposed from all those years he'd spent as various house pets, surrounded by people.

Maybe those foggy memories weren't even his at all but formed from observing his many owners.

However, all that being said, he was almost certain he'd been a person. He'd probably had a partner. A wife, or girlfriend. Maybe that's who Doris was. Perhaps their seemingly immortal bond had been formed back then.

Quite frankly, it was all a mystery to Sebastian.

As was their way of communicating. He supposed you could call it telepathy. It didn't matter what animal they became; as if by magic, her clipped British accent always found a way to penetrate his mind. Her voice required no humanoid lips or tongue - it was just there.

Sebastian had the same ability but seldom employed it. He'd tried conversing more meaningfully in the past, but Doris had little interest in discussing anything of importance. The attempts had always been unsatisfying, and he'd ceased trying to engage with her a long time ago. He was effectively mute nowadays.

Like the reincarnation aspect, Sebastian had practically given up on trying to unmask the communication angle. All that mattered is that, at some point, he would die. He would then take another form.

And she would be there, able to speak to him, regardless of whether she had vocal cords or not.

Besides, none of this was about understanding anymore. It was about endurance.

And that started with whatever cleaning-related nonsense Doris had planned for the day ahead.

"At last," she said, as Sebastian - finally - joined her at the far end of the aquarium.

"He was supposed to clean the tank yesterday," Doris tutted. "Safe to assume he's forgotten. Again."

Robert did often forget to clean the tank. In fact, he seemed to forget a lot. To eat, to sleep, to wash... he was probably the only creature with a more pitiful existence than Sebastian.

Sadness enveloped their owner, like a shroud. Sebastian imagined it had something to do with the photographs of the smiling children that lined the walls of the apartment.

Children that Sebastian had never seen Robert with.

In fact, in the eighteen months he'd been a fish, Sebastian had never seen another human in Robert's home. However, despite having Doris, he wasn't any less lonely. But, even so, at least he had someone. He wished...

Sebastian wished he could do something to help Robert. Doris may have hated him for his laxity, but Sebastian felt sorry for their owner. He was sad.

And weren't pets supposed to make their owners happier? Being a mere fish, Sebastian was unsure how he could do so. However, that didn't lessen his desire to want to at least try.

"You start licking that end; I'll take the other," Doris said, darting to far end of the tank. "And, please, employ some decorum, and eat in a civilized manner. You know it upsets me when I hear you slurping like some ill-bred, greedy toddler."

Sebastian slowly swum forwards, and - pursing his tiny lips - attached them to the glass. He began sucking at the thin, green mist stuck to the inside.

Truth be told, he didn't mind this bit. The algae had a sweet, pleasing taste. It was certainly nicer than the tiny, bland flakes Robert sometimes sprinkled onto the surface of the water. Being a fish wasn't the most exciting of existences; the licking of the glass was one of its very few highlights.

Actually, it was probably the only one. Everything else revolved around cleaning. It was hardly a life of relaxed luxury. And, ordinarily, a very strict schedule was followed.

Fish had a reputation for having short memories. The reality, as Sebastian had discovered, was vastly different. The whole 'fish only have a five-second attention span' was an utter myth. Granted - overall, his long-term memory had been affected by his various, and many reincarnations, but his short-term recall was immaculate.

Especially when it came to the housekeeping routine. To be honest, given the boredom of his aquatic existence, he didn't have much else to think about.

If Robert didn't clean the tank on a Sunday (which he rarely did), then - as soon as their human left for work - Mondays were spent sucking the glass.

On Tuesdays, it was the turn of the tiny rocks, carpeting the floor of the aquarium, to be siphoned free of the algae.

Wednesdays, he and Doris focused on the ten 'big' stones that sat, at various, isolated points around the tank.

On Thursdays, they cleaned the miniature castle. Sebastian would rather have spent the time actually playing in it; he fantasized about zooming in and out of the open gateway - he might have been ancient, but there was something about the castle that set off childish impulses within him. However, Doris had forbidden such behaviour, calling it ‘juvenile.’

And Sebastian didn't have the inclination for an argument.

Fridays and Saturdays were spent nibbling at the tiny plants, trimming and tidying.

Sundays were the nominal day off. Though Doris always - always - found some task for him...

Sebastian stopped sucking.

Something was wrong.

He knew it. Not due to some primordial sense, but more the simple fact that Doris was quiet. And she was never quiet.

Especially not when they were cleaning; she always had some command to issue. But, she'd said nothing since they'd begun.

Sebastian flicked his tail-fin, and turned in a semi-circle, peering to the far end of the tank. Doris wasn't there. If she wasn't giving him orders, she was cleaning. She was presently doing neither. What was she up to?

Sebastian got his answer when he looked upwards, towards the surface of the water.

The lifeless body of Doris bobbed above him. A long, stringy piece of algae dangled from her mouth.

Dead.

The irony wasn't lost on him. Despite all those times she'd told him to slow his eating down, she was the one who'd ended up choking.

Sebastian let himself float upwards, coming to a stop underneath her. He hovered there, staring, looking for tell-tale signs of life.

There were none - she was definitely dead. Her inert body simply lay there, the gills steadfastly closed, and unmoving.

And there was nothing he could do. He was a fish. He knew no more about saving another fish's life than he knew how to construct an aeroplane engine.

Guiltily, he realized he wasn't sad. To be honest, he knew he didn't need to be. This was only a temporary 'death' - Doris would be back with him soon. It was inevitable. He, like her, would expire soon, take another form, and the two of them would be reunited.

Grief wasn't necessary. The 'goodbye' was never final.

Relaxing his body, Sebastian let himself descend towards the bottom of the tank. As he gently sank, he wondered what he should do. It was Monday, which meant cleaning, but - with Doris dead - the pressure to be productive had vanished...

He could do what he wanted...

The castle. He could play...

Something moved above him.

He turned his small, colourful body upwards, arcing it at a forty-five-degree angle, so his head faced the surface of the water.

The silhouette of Doris, swimming down to him, filled his vision.

Once more, a pang of guilt filled his tiny body, as he realized he wasn't happy to see her alive. Just disappointed.

Oh, well, Sebastian sighed, inwardly. Maybe tomorrow.

Doris came to a stop an inch in front of him. Sebastian braced himself for a volley of abuse about his utter lack of an attempt to save her life. But...

She just floated there. Looking at him. She wore a puzzled expression; her face was a mask of bewilderment.

"Are you okay?" Sebastian eventually asked.

Doris' mouth bobbed open and closed a few times. The confusion remained on her small, circular face. Can fish suffer a stroke? Sebastian wondered. If so, Doris appeared to have done so.

"Doris? Can you hear me?" he asked.

"Who's Doris?" a male voice replied. A voice that came from the mouth of the fish in front of him.

"Err... you are," Sebastian stammered. "That's your name; Doris."

"I don't think it is," 'Doris' said, slowly. "I think I'm called..."

"Yes?"

"Robert," the fish replied. "I'm sure my name is Robert."

Sebastian stared at 'Doris.' At 'Robert.' Although nothing had structurally changed in the fish's face, it looked softer, kinder. There was no trace of Doris' inherent meanness.

It reminded Sebastian of...

"Robert?" he asked, gently. "What's the last thing you can remember?"

"A... thing... I don't know what it was.... it was big. Metal. Scary," 'Robert' said. "Screeching. I remember screeching. Then..."

'Robert' stopped, searching for words.

"... then nothing."

"Blackness?" Sebastian kindly prompted.

"Yes. Darkness."

"Were you scared?"

"No," the fish said, looking straight at him. "I was relieved."

"Because you weren't sad anymore?"

There was a pause.

The water was still, as the two fish hung in the middle of the tank, their fins at rest.

"Yes," Robert said, finally. "The sadness had stopped."

Sebastian knew what had happened.

That pitilessly dark shroud that had for so long enveloped his human owner had...

"Where am I?" Robert asked. "It feels familiar, but... strange. Like... like I'm seeing everything from a new perspective."

"That's one way of describing it," Sebastian said.

"Pardon?"

"I know we've only just met, but you have to trust me," Sebastian said, slowly moving closer. "You've just experienced something that I have endured many, many times. Too many to count. Some of your memories will come back. Some won't. But, for now, it's best not to worry about such things. You just need a bit of time to adjust."

"Time," Robert repeated, thinking. "Okay. So, what do we do, in the meantime?"

"Well, if you feel the need to be occupied, we could clean."

"Do we have to? It's no problem if we have to. But..."

"No," Sebastian said, smiling. "We don't have to. At least, not today."

"It's just that I think I'd like to..."

"Yes?"

"Fun," Robert replied. "I think I'd like to have some fun."

"That's a much better idea," Sebastian said. "Do you see that castle down there?" he added, pointing a fin towards the small, stone, turreted construction.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to play in it?"

"I think I would."

"I'll race you."

"You'll lose," Robert said. The corners of his lips raised as a smile began to form on his face.

"Bring it on, newbie," Sebastian said, turning, and darting towards the bottom of the tank.

As he propelled himself downward, he felt the water around him vibrate as Robert descended too.

Sebastian let him win the first race. The second too. Pride dictated a stronger performance in the third, and he won that one with ease. The expression on Robert's tiny face showed that the defeat wasn't taken personally.

Afterwards, the two fish explored the castle. As they did they imagined themselves knights and told each other the most infantile jokes they could recall.

As they played, Sebastian occasionally found himself thinking about Doris. Wondering if that immortal bond had finally been somehow broken. If it had, he would have to grieve. He understood that. And he would.

But not today.

Today was about Robert.

Maybe this was all just a temporary thing, and, perhaps, Robert was only to inhabit Doris' body until another, more suitable, host could be found. Sebastian didn't know; the rules of reincarnation remained unfathomable to him.

But, short-term or not, all that mattered in the present was Robert's happiness. After all, wasn't that the job of a pet, to make its owner happier?

As the fish played, they were watched by the eyes of the children in the photographs on the walls.

Sebastian hoped that, somehow, the smiles on those children's faces grew just that little bigger as they saw their father finally having fun.

And, that, for a short time at least, he was no longer sad.

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