Finally, some whalers found me. Bobbing on a lone plank, stranded at sea. The large one who hauled me up smelled of fish and vinegar and when my forehead slipped between his arms, I felt the slick grime of his skin, lubed up with blubber to trap his body’s heat.
His name was Carl but they called him Cornichon. Empty gherkin jars rattled at the squat rowboat’s tip. He asked what had happened, and where was I coming from, and had my ship sunk?
I’m the only survivor, I said. I don’t want to be reminded of that life. Take me with you! Teach me how to be a whaler!
There are no more whales, Cornichon said, crestfallen. We’ve killed the last one. Not a single whale left on this planet. His head juddered before he privately mopped his eyes with a crackly handkerchief.
To new beginnings, I said, lifting a jar filled with brine, and I drank before apologizing: Sorry, I said, I’m simply so thirsty.
Grey clouds carved the sky into crisp circles as the boat rocked. You might be surprised to hear this, Cornichon said, but I’m a mathematician. He’d lowered his voice now, had pulled me close with his great, grotty arms. I know I look a little stupid, he said, but I have so many theories. He unfurled a roll with all his markings. Two plus two, etc. They were all wrong; I told him he was a genius.
When we hit land, Cornichon asked if I wanted to be his assistant. I said yes, I had all the faith in the world in his genius. Screw Einstein!
He worked on his proofs at night and, during the day, he went to his shift at the massage parlor. Run by blind women, he’d told them he was blind, too. When the suspicious owner asked if he was a woman, he said, Yes, I’ve always had a deep voice, in some ways it makes me more woman, you understand, yes, you and I, we have more testosterone than many men.
Only Cornichon saw her blush.
On weekends, he practiced on me. On weekdays, I hobbled out to the market with new cricks in my neck and a panging back. Potatoes and fish and I couldn’t forget his precious gherkins. The years passed uneventfully. I was becoming an old woman, and fast. I had developed a limp, in large part from Cornichon’s antics—he had devoted himself to the Ashiatsu massage, sometimes even doing handstands all over me. Corns cropped up in my feet. Deep rucks tucked across my sagging face. Beauty faded, and all so quickly. Cornichon asked why I was unhappy, and I told him I felt like a washed-up whale.
So you heard?
Heard what?
There’s been a whale spotting.
What about your math?
I can do it on the ship.
But your massages! Have you forgotten the whole town now thinks you’re blind?
Miracles happen all the time. God has given me my sight back.
I’m not so sure. The sea traumatizes me now. Remember?
This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Besides, what else have we got going here? The university has rejected my application forty-seven years in a row. This despite the fact I am certain seventy-seven divided by seventy-seven is not one.
I cast about the room, the room with all its old and damp belongings. I’d done my best to fix it up those first days before giving up completely. He was right, I had nothing going on here.
***
The whale spurted blood when the men aimed harpoons all across its magnificent back. One final shot into its blow-hole and guts rained over the ship. Lugging up rounds of blubber, the men discovered something in the whale’s belly. It was a little man clutching a treasure chest.
His gaze drifted across the men and the ship before they landed on me, and then they lit up. You, he said.
You, I said. My heart screamed, and I ran before we could be discovered.
They kept the little man locked up downstairs for questioning. He wouldn’t free the treasure chest from his grip. Come nighttime, I crept out of the hammock I shared with Cornichon and into the captain’s office, where the little man was handcuffed over a chair.
Darling… he said.
I will free you, I said, and I gave him soft little kisses all across his face: besos besos besos. I’ve missed you so much, you don’t even know!
How will we ever get out of this one?
We’ll light this ship up and drop off on the rowboat. But it won’t be like last time. You cannot get swallowed up by a whale. Was it so awful in there?
He contemplated this. No, he said. I befriended millions of shrimp.
The man who loves me here is an idiot, I said. But you, you are the real genius!
I have a confession to make, he said. I cheated on you.
Is it cheating if it’s what we do to survive?
I cheated on you with a fish, he said. Several fish, actually.
Good, I said, I stink of fish all the time now, it will feel like home to you.
Shall we make love now, or after?
My sweet, I said. Let’s get off this fucking ship.
***
The little man wouldn’t free up the chest, even to me, even after I’d given him my body, even after we’d blown the ship up, Cornichon down in flames. He nuzzled his sharp nose against my breasts after I told him to hold me tight. The stink of burnt blubber clung to our hair and skin. Finally, one night, I crushed a bunch of Ambien I slipped into his drink and, when he was out cold, I grabbed his chest.
Inside was a smaller man with a smaller chest. There were gold coins, too, coins he swam in. He looked up at me and said: You!
You! I said.
I fished him out, gave him little kisses, besos besos besos, told him how much I missed him.
I’m on to you, he said. You just want my chest.
I need to get to the end. Don’t you know what that’s like?
Over my dead body!
So be it, I said, and I stepped on him until he went splat. The chest rolled across the floor. I flicked it open with my fingernail. Inside was an even smaller man with an even smaller chest. I had to press my ear close so I could hear him. He said, You! His voice a squeak.
Hand it over, I said.
I can’t, he said. Over my dead body!
Splat!
And so it goes. In this basement apartment, I’ll spend the rest of my life. One little man after another, one little chest after another. I’ve pressed myself so close to the floor, my back all spent, flicking chest after chest open, letting the years run by. One day, I am certain, I will reach the end, and won’t it be so great? In the meantime: flick, splat, flick. Splat!