The city sparkled in the distance, like a star fallen from the sky and settling softly in the white powder, disguised as a snowflake. But on the moonless, starless night, nothing sparkled half as brightly as San Nicolas—or half as beautifully. Night clung to its sheer, vertical walls, blanketing everything not already covered in snow with black and navy blue—but the city didn't sleep. Here and there, a bright white light shone from windows—as if suspended in the darkness, like a star. San Nicolas, if you looked at it from just outside its perimeter, looked like a shimmering galaxy. The Milky Way dotted with a thousand stubborn suns.
The boy glided through the empty streets, puffing out shaggy clouds of steam from his nose. He trudged through the snow, digging up the drifts that lined every inch of flat ground throughout the city and all around him with the tenacity of a snowcat. He didn't have the strength to jump through the half-meter-thick layer of white powder. He inched forward, dragging his feet with such effort that he felt as if they were made of lead. He dug his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders even further. He closed his eyes. He walked, slower and slower, and only the white, furry puffs that erupted from his nose, purple with cold, gave him the impression that he was still alive. Todd sank into himself, and somewhere between numbness and sleep, a strange sense of bliss arose. The snow suddenly felt light and warm, the air stopped stinging, his breath no longer throbbed, and the dim streetlamps seemed to put on an astonishing light show, as if just for him. Reflections danced on the bodies and windows of the half-buried cars parked in rows on both sides of the street. Through narrowed eyes, the world looked like a Christmas tree.
When something braked in front of him, Todd's first thought was a car—and he took a half-step back, as if the driver might change his mind and hit him after all.
But it wasn't a car.
"Hello."
When Todd pulled back enough to assess, he saw that it was the shape and size of a sturdy minivan. But it had no wheels. It hovered in the air, its two fins flanking it fluidly. It was a fierce yellow. And it stared at him with two round, black eyes. And it talked.
"Fish don't talk..." Todd muttered, more to himself than to the square, yellow fish. But if it had spoken, it probably had heard him.
The creature snorted—a bit like someone pretending to be a two-stroke engine. If it hadn't been for its nearly hexagonal shape, it probably would have shaken its head.
"There we go again..." it muttered to itself. It had a soft, warm, feminine voice; like stale cocoa. "Indeed, they don't talk," the fish admitted ironically. "And they don't fly! Or at least they shouldn't."
She settled lightly in the snow. Surprisingly, the down blanket didn't sink beneath her.
The fish sighed heavily.
"And people shouldn't build cities in Antarctica," she continued after a long moment of thought.
"But... but that's different..." the boy stammered, still staring with disbelief and a hint of disgust at the angular fish the size of a Japanese car. "But... a talking, flying fish... that's simply... impossible..."
"And building a city on a glacier at the South Pole is stupid. "
The boy pondered for a moment. He ruffled his brows.
"That's true..." he admitted.
"Come on, I'll take you for a little ride," the fish suggested. It rose slightly into the air, flapping its fins at its sides.
Todd looked at it and blinked.
"Okay..." he finally said. He walked up to the fish and ran his hand along its yellow flank, clearly searching for something. "Where's a door handle?" "
Do I look like a car to you?
" "Well... Kind of... Like a yellow taxi...
" "And do I have a TAXI sign on my back?"
Todd took a few steps back. He stood on tiptoe, trying to peer over the supposed roof.
"No," he said.
"Well, I'm not a taxi. I'm just a flying fish. It's very simple and logical, when you think about it.
" "So where am I supposed to sit? Or maybe I should just grab your back fin and fly?
" "Bareback," the fish said. If it had shoulders, it probably would have shrugged. "Have you ever ridden a horse?
" "No," Todd said. "People might be stupid to build cities on glaciers, but we haven't gotten stupid enough to bring horses here yet.
" "Never mind," the fish said indifferently. "Riding bareback on a fish is a whole different story. Jump on!"
The fish settled deeper into the snow, and the boy took a slight run and climbed onto it. Once he was on its back, he had to admit it was certainly not like riding a horse, though he'd never done either before. Riding bareback on a fish was more like... riding bareback on the roof of a minivan. Todd looked around for something to grab onto—though he had no experience in Japanese car rodeos, it didn't take a genius to predict that a freewheeling ride could end in, at best, a rather unpleasant face-first trip. He shifted back a bit and clutched tightly to the dorsal fin. The yellow minivan fish groaned softly.
In unusual circumstances—and a situation like a South Pole city boy encountering a talking yellow fish measuring two by two by three meters might be considered unusual—ordinary things sometimes simply escape you. So Todd completely forgot he was walking home and was very hungry. And it didn't occur to him to ask where they were going
.
The fish moved along the street, gliding just above the fluffy blanket of snow like a hovercraft, and around the bend, it lifted into the air. It rose like a helicopter—with its nose tilted slightly downward, soaring almost perfectly vertically. Todd, looking around, peered into the lit apartments where people had long since forgotten they should have been asleep. It was the middle of the night. But he didn't blame them all that much. After all, you can get a little carried away when the middle of the night lasts for months. Not to mention the boredom that can drive you crazy.
The boy didn't lean forward or look down. And he wasn't afraid. They were rising higher and higher, and if he fell off the fish's back now, he'd have time to tire himself out in mid-flight before he crashed to the ground. They were already high above the city when the fish finally stopped and then moved forward. Faster and faster. San Nicolas disappeared somewhere below them, and from a distance, it seemed only a star settled in the navy blue snow. The fish glided silently between the glacier walls—as vast and ominous as government buildings, older than human stupidity.
"What's your name?" the creature asked.
"Todd," the boy replied calmly. In the meantime, he had managed to get used to the situation. He also completely failed to grasp that he was several hundred meters from the ground. He felt no fear, no fatigue, no hunger, no cold. "And you?
" "I'm just a fish. Why would anyone give me a name?
" "I just thought... But you're right, that would be an exaggeration. A cat, a dog, or an iguana, yes, but a fish... that would really be a bit of a whim," Todd said. "But then, what do you think of yourself?"
"For me, I'm me. Someone else needs a name for you, to distinguish you from someone else. You won't confuse yourself with anyone else.
" "Probably not."
The icy continent ended, and beneath them appeared a black, icy sea, dotted with broken floes. They could hear its soft murmur. It rolled like a sleepless man. It slept. It liked to sleep, though it fell asleep and woke at random hours. It often snored during the day and awoke at night. But it was man who had invented the idea of going to bed at midnight and getting ready for work at six. And the sea didn't care. It existed long before man—and in fact, it never slept, nor did it allow its inhabitants to fall asleep. Fish had no eyelids.
The fish accelerated. It sped just above the nervously rippling ocean surface like a small jet. But Todd felt neither the momentum nor the cold. He sat as if glued to the fish's back, as if fused to it at the buttocks.
***
"This isn't your place," the fish continued.
They glided at an illegal speed through the night-drenched desert. Its yellow rear fin flapped furiously, kicking up clouds of sand. But it didn't make a mess. The desert is, after all, just sand, and it doesn't matter where the sand lies or how it lies. A deep ditch in the middle of nowhere didn't bother anyone important. At most, it might surprise a human.
"It's too hot here," the creature stated in an instructive tone. "You fit in here like, without even trying, a frying pan. It's stupid and masochistic to voluntarily expose yourselves to frying temperatures. I understand you can overdo it, but a minimum of good will is enough to turn back. And you: no, you'll sit your comfortable asses on the hot sand and you'll be fine. People!"
The fish panted heavily. Its gills flapped and sucked in air with a distinct hiss. And not because it was struggling. Yes, they'd already covered a considerable distance. Antarctica itself isn't small—and the fish had given the boy a quick tour of Japan and the Indian Ocean, touched down in Tibet, grazed Amsterdam, crossed the equator through Ecuador, and was now tearing through the Sahara—without even breaking a sweat. But inside, it was seething, and in its gentle voice, unsuited to fiery oratory, it expressed increasing dissatisfaction and disgust.
"There's no place in this world you haven't stumbled upon. You won't stop and think: hey, this isn't a nice place. If you can stand on it, it's good. And if you can't manage it, you'll figure out a way to squeeze in. And then you're surprised when it floods you, drowns you, dissolves you in lava, buries you, and shakes you out. With a little good will, you could walk into a fire and settle down, or live at the bottom of the sea." Besides, there's no example to be found here...
Saying this, the fish suddenly lifted from the Saharan sands and flew into the starless night sky. Todd squeezed his eyes shut and winced, slightly overwhelmed by the rush. When he opened his eyes, a million stars sparkled in the sky, and black and navy clouds lay below them. And they kept rising higher and higher—into the sky, towards the stars. Suddenly, Todd stole a glance down—and saw all of Africa there, no larger from this perspective than the boot he was wearing. He saw blue oceans rippling peacefully, and a blue glow enveloping the Earth.
He lost sight of everything man had accomplished. Well, except perhaps the Great Wall of China—a thin thread stretching across Asia.
"You're not really here," said the fish. "You've only been here a short time, and in reality, each of you has only been here for a moment, and yet you think you're the masters of the world, that every star shines for you and the moon smiles at you. But all of this was here long before you. The stars, the satellites. Even the fish. They've been here for a billion years. And none of this was waiting for you. And yet you're so bossy, you're sticking tags everywhere that say 'MINE,' and there's nowhere you wouldn't try to stick your humpback noses. You've been here before," she said, lowering her flight briefly to graze the silver valley on the moon with her belly, then setting course for a faint red sphere suspended in the void, "and you'll be there soon. And why? It's just a pile of iron oxide. It's like trying to settle on a mountain of rusty cans."
She took a deep breath.
"This isn't your place," she continued. "This isn't your world." It's just a place that you're given for a moment.
Todd listened to her in silence. She was too focused to even hear him when she spoke. But when she finished, he simply asked,
"Why are you telling me this?
" "Because people should know they're just mites on an eggshell, and this egg doesn't belong to them. It doesn't belong to anyone. It's an egg, that's all. And people are just insignificant dust.
" "But why are you telling me this? Okay, I get it: people are brainless and insignificant. But what's the point of this whole ride? It's very fun, I won't lie, and educational, but right now I really want to go home and lie down.
" "No," the fish replied in that gentle voice, sweet as warm cocoa.
"Why?
" "Because you're dead."
Todd was stunned. An icy chill ran down his spine and spread through his entire body.
"Excuse me?" he stammered.
"You died. Am I speaking unclearly?
" "You...clearly..." the boy stammered. "But... but... how?!
" "You're frozen," the fish said indifferently. "That's what happens when you're out at night at minus fifty degrees."
In an instant, it dropped, and they were back on the empty, dark street of San Nicholas, blanketed in snow. Todd saw a hole two feet deep in the down comforter. The hole had arms and legs. Leaning over it, he saw himself sleeping there with a blissful smile. He recognized himself easily. He was the same as always. Only white. And dead. He wasn't breathing. Not even a wisp of white steam escaped his mouth.
The fish rose into the air and soared toward the stars.
"Couldn't you have told me right away?" Todd asked reproachfully.
"You wouldn't have liked it.
" "Of course not!" Todd grumbled. "But I don't like it now either."
"But if a yellow fish came up to you and told you you were dead, you'd be furious, and it would be difficult to come to terms with you. Such things have to be handled diplomatically. First, they accustom you to the yellow fish, then they take you to a few places, take you into space, and only when nothing surprises you anymore, tell you you're dead.
" "Aha. Well, that's fine.
" "Exactly."
They passed red Mars on the left and Jupiter on the right—and a moment later they were far beyond the solar system; nine beads orbiting a small star.
"Listen, does this mean there's a God?"
"You'll see," the fish replied.
"Aha."
He shrugged. He didn't ask any more questions. He calmly looked around the endless cosmos. He tried to guess where they were going. Maybe to paradise. Or maybe somewhere else entirely. Somewhere ahead he saw a beautiful star—shining brighter than all the others around it. Perhaps it was the North Star. Or perhaps not. Either way, it was the one he focused on. And as he gazed, breathless, he couldn't help but feel that it shone just for him.
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