Girls with Insurance

The octopus is spooning sugar into his tea when there is a knock on the door.

Come in, says the octopus over his shoulder, and the door opens.

It is Mrs. Jorgenson.

Got your mail, Mr. Octopus, she says, moving daintily into the apartment.

Thank you, Mrs. Jorgenson, says the octopus. Would you like some tea?

Why yes, I'd love some, comes the response. Do you mind if I sit down?

Not at all, says the octopus, getting down another cup. Not at all.

He brings the tea to the table.

Oh, my aching feet, says Mrs. Jorgenson. I've been up and down those stairs so many times today already.

I do appreciate your bringing up my mail, says the octopus, laying a spoon beside the sugar bowl for Mrs. Jorgenson.

Oh, for you I don't mind at all, she says in return. It's just some of these other tenants. Everyone's got a problem of some kind. And I nearly tripped and fell on the third floor; there was some kind of puddle.

Puddle? says the octopus.

Puddle! says Mrs. Jorgenson. Just sitting there in the middle of the staircase.

The octopus looks confused. Then he sees the mail.

Do you mind if I…? he says to Mrs. Jorgenson.

Heavens, no, she replies. You go right ahead. Mmm, this is good tea.

Darjeeling, says the octopus, leafing through the mail.

There's really nothing good, just the usual stuff. Bills, catalogs, junk mail, more bills… and then the octopus gets to the last piece of mail. He sits there, holding it gently in one tentacle.

What is it? says Mrs. Jorgenson.

It's from the ocean, says the octopus, staring at the postmark.

I didn't know you still had folks there, says Mrs. Jorgenson.

Oh yes, says the octopus. Oh yes, I do. My brother, my brother's children.

How nice, says Mrs. Jorgenson. Perhaps it's from them?

Perhaps it is, says the octopus, and slits the envelope open.

He reads for some time.

Hmm, he says, when he gets to the end.

He looks up to see Mrs. Jorgenson staring at him.

It's from my little nephews, he says. Would you like me to read it?

I wouldn't dream of it, says Mrs. Jorgenson. I mean, unless you wanted to.

The octopus smiles and holds up the letter again. He begins to read.

Dear Uncle Harley, he reads-- interjecting My name is Harley-- Hello from the ocean! We hope everything on land is going well. The other day Aunt Hattie got into a fight with a cuttlefish. It was funny! We think we might like to come visit you, just the two of us. We've heard so much about you, we'd like to meet you in person. Would that be okay? Please let us know. Your nephews, Gerald and Lewis.

He finishes reading and lowers the letter.

Gerald and Lewis, says Mrs. Jorgenson. They sound like nice young boys.

Oh, they are, says the octopus. Or at least, so it seems. I never really met them in person. I mean, they were only just hatched when I left, so they hadn't quite developed personalities.

Ah, says Mrs. Jorgenson. Are you going to let them come?

Well, says the octopus, looking around, I don't really have a lot of room. Just the couch, really. Where would the other one sleep?

I have a cot I could bring up, says Mrs. Jorgenson.

Do you? says the octopus. Well, that would work. It would be nice to see some of the old gang again.

How long have you been here? asks Mrs. Jorgenson.

About fifteen years, says the octopus.

That's a long time, says Mrs. Jorgenson.

Yes, but I love it, says the octopus, looking around at his apartment. Yes, I do love it so.

Well, says Mrs. Jorgenson, I guess you should be writing back. If you dash something off, I'll put it in the mailbox when I get down to the lobby.

Would you? says the octopus.

Yes, of course, says Mrs. Jorgenson.

And so it is done.

A few days later there is a knock on the door.

Come in, hollers the octopus, who is cleaning his spoons.

But the door does not open. The octopus grumbles a bit, then gets down from his chair and glides across the room. He opens the door a crack.

Gerald and Lewis! he says, in surprise.

Hi Uncle Harley! they say, and they all embrace.

Come in, come in, says the octopus.

Gerald and Lewis move inside the apartment.

So this is what an apartment looks like, says Gerald, his eyes roving all over everything.

It's a little dirty right now, says the octopus.

Dirty? says Gerald. It's amazing-- so many treasures!

He is looking at the octopus's collection of spoons, laid out on the table for polishing.

Those are my spoons, says the octopus. I collect them.

What are they for? says Lewis. His voice is rather squeaky.

They're for moving small volumes of liquid around, says the octopus. Or solids, like sugar. I use them all the time.

All three octopi stand there and stare at the spoons.

We don't have anything like that in the ocean, says Gerald.

No, says the octopus, you don't.

Well, he says suddenly, turning. Gerald, you will have the couch. And Lewis, you will have the cot. Unless you want to trade off from night to night.

No, that will be fine, says Lewis, I don't mind. I've never slept on a cot before.

He goes and sits on the cot. He bounces up and down.

So where will we go first? he asks.

Go? says the octopus, looking at him in confusion.

Go, says Lewis. What will we go to see first?

The octopus doesn't know what to say.

You mean in the, in the city? he asks.

Of course, says Lewis. We just came from the ocean.

Oh, well, I don't know, says the octopus. I don't really go out there.

You don't go into the city? says Lewis.

No, says the octopus. Not really.

Ever? says Lewis.

No, says the octopus. I like it here.

Gerald and Lewis look at one another.

We thought you were going to take us around to see the city, Gerald says. That's why we came.

I thought you came to see me, says the octopus.

Well that too, of course, says Gerald. It was both, it was both.

They said we could only come if you'd show us around and take care of us, says Lewis.

Who? says the octopus. Who said that?

Daddy and Aunt Hattie, says Lewis.

Ah, says the octopus. I see.

And now we're here, says Lewis.

Indeed you are, says the octopus.

The three octopi regard each other in silence.

Well I guess I'll be being your tour guide, the octopus says, finally.

Gerald and Lewis smile broadly.

They spend the next day walking the streets of the city. Gerald has a map, and Lewis is in charge of sunscreen. The octopus himself merely walks, staring up at the huge, awe-inspiring buildings and trying not to be terrified of the passing buses and cars.

You're more scared than we are, Uncle Harley, says Gerald.

And Lewis and the octopus both laugh.

They go to the museums and libraries. They listen to a concert in a park. They have lunch and dinner, and go to an opera.

At the end of the day, they find themselves sitting at an outdoor cafe. Gerald and Lewis are drinking root beer; the octopus has tea.

So? says the octopus. What do you think?

It certainly is large, says Gerald.

It certainly is huge, says Lewis.

The octopus nods.

Yes it is, he says, yes it is.

It is true that you'll live forever? says Gerald, out of the blue. I mean, if you stay here?

The octopus looks at him thoughtfully.

It is, says the octopus. It is true. Supposedly, of course. I guess the only way to tell for sure is to stay here and find out.

But why does it work that way? says Lewis. Why can't we live forever in the ocean?

I don't know, says the octopus. That's just the way it is. When an octopus comes to land, he lives forever. It's just the way it is, like the way some people have brown hair and some people blond.

Gerald and Lewis sit and stare at their sodas.

Has Dad ever been here? Gerald asks the octopus.

No, says the octopus. Your dad was never much interested in land.

Why's that? says Lewis.

I don't know, says the octopus. He just wasn't. He met your mom and they were very happy, and then they had you. So there was never really time for coming to visit the land, or for thinking about living here.

But why don't we all live here? says Gerald.

The octopus looks at him and smiles.

It just doesn't work that way, he says. It just doesn't work that way.

That night the octopus tucks Gerald and Lewis into bed.

Sleep tight, he says. Tomorrow you go back to the ocean.

What? Already? say Gerald and Lewis.

I'm sorry, nods the octopus, but yes. I have a lot of things to do and I can't do them with you boys hanging around all the time. I love you, though. You boys know that?

The boys grumble a little, but say yes.

Good, says the octopus. Then good-night.

He pats the boys on their heads and then goes into the kitchen. He makes himself a cup of tea and stirs sugar into it with a spoon. He listens to the clanking noise the spoon makes against the cup, and watches the liquid as it swirls around: a circle, a circle, a circle.

When he returns to the living room, the boys are fast asleep. He stands there in the darkness, watching them. Then he returns to the kitchen and opens a cabinet. Inside, the silver polish; in the drawer, he finds the spoons.

The next morning they are all off to the beach.

Shall I carry your suitcase? the octopus says to Lewis.

Oh no, says Lewis, I got it.

They move down the staircase. In the lobby, they pass Mrs. Jorgenson.

Why Mr. Octopus, says Mrs. Jorgenson, you're out and about!

Just taking the boys back to the sea, says the octopus, and the boys wave hello and goodbye.

They take the subway to the beach. The subway is very crowded.

Where are all these people going? says Gerald. There are so many of them.

I don't know, says the octopus.

He looks all around.

I always wondered that myself, he says.

When they get to the beach, Gerald and Lewis trudge down to the waterline.

Are you sure we can't stay with you another day? asks Gerald.

I'm positive, says the octopus. I'm sorry.

But why can't we stay? says Lewis.

There's no reason, says the octopus. I just can't let you. Please boys, just do as you're told.

The boys grumble some more, but they're not really upset. They give the octopus great big hugs.

Goodbye, Uncle Harley, Gerald says.

Goodbye, Uncle, says Lewis.

Goodbye, boys, says the octopus. Now off with you.

And he stands there and watches as the boys slap down into the surf and wade out, and vanish beneath the waves.

Thank God that's over, thinks the octopus. Now I can go back to my life.

But strangely, the octopus does not turn. Instead, he stands there and stares into the gently rolling surf, stares down into the water, after little Gerald and Lewis. In his mind he pictures his brother-- their father-- and poor Aunt Hattie, and all those other octopi he used to know. He remembers the day he turned away, the day he swam away from them, the day he walked up onto the beach, and headed into the city and the apartment. He remembers the day he began drinking tea, and the day he started collecting spoons. He remembers the day he stopped getting his mail and let Mrs. Jorgenson bring it up to him. He remembers all of these things, all of them and more. He even thinks of the tea swirling round and round in the cup.

The octopus finds himself walking down toward the water. He feels the sand beneath his tentacles, and then the water washing over them.

My god, the water feels good, he thinks. I had almost forgotten.

He stands there in the shallows, gazing out and gazing in, and then he steps forward and lets go. He swims toward the depths-- his tentacles waving free-- and something inside him opens up. Suddenly, he can breathe.

I'm coming, brother, he calls out, in his mind and in the sea. I'm coming, nephews. I'm coming, friends. I'm coming home. It's me!

Story archived at http://girlswithinsurance.com/index.php/prose/short/56-bl-0709-octopus