Octopus's Garden

Here for your reading pleasure is a story I wrote about my goldfish as I was preparing to leave Ohtawara-shi after my three one-year contracts aboard the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme had concluded. When it was published, a couple of fellow AET (Assistant English Teachers) thought there was truth hidden within the story.   

Originally entitled: The Irrationality Of My Goldfish

I probably shouldn't have done it, but I couldn't help myself - steeped in that Kafka-like perversity that is me.
I wanted to get rid of my goldfish because of my upcoming extradition, but I didn't want to kill'em. It would be better if they killed themselves. Y'know... no questions asked. But, being just plain old goldfish, it was quite apparent that I'd have to help out a little bit.
Drawing upon my years of research into urban decay while watching the television show, Family Affair, I decided the quickest most efficient way of achieving my objective would be to arm my fish. Not limb grafting, but rather the inclusion of weapons into their tidy little environment.
Oh, how I chortled with glee when I dropped the lead pipes into the perfectly pH balanced water. Civil unrest. I wondered how long it would take. But, I should have realized the folly of placing lead pipes into an aquarium for the fish to use. It was obvious to all, that the damn things were too bulky for their shiny, gossamer fins.
After a couple of days, I came upon a solution. Knives. I dropped a few into the tank and sat back to watch the fun. But, being goldfish (and rather stupid ones at that), they just threw themselves at the blades to rub their scales against it. The blood made the water murky for a couple of days.
When the water finally cleared, and I could see inside again, I saw a number of fish tattooed with scars. None, however, were the worse for wear.
At least the knives had proved my theory. If an element of death is placed in a sterile (such that it is) environment, the inhabitants will find some way to exploit its dangerous uses and bring about the downfall of its society.
I decided to add guns to the overall equation. The fish immediately swam over to them and began bumping their large misshaped heads against them. I could tell that their interest was piqued. I left a stainless steel Colt .45 Peacemaker and a nice shiny, black Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum in the tank and then went on vacation to Tokyo.
While I was away indulging in various forms of voluminous intellectual discussions with my 38DD girlfriend, the fish had gone to work.
When I looked back in on them, the fish had completed a pair of exo-skeletons, and had placed them neatly against the pirate treasure chest. It was made expertly from driftwood and goldfish dung and came complete with a pair of arms so that they could pick up the guns.
Within a few minutes of my arrival, I watched in awe as the Black Moor goldfish became quite ticked with the Celestial Eye goldfish, as it always had a bad habit of crapping during feeding time. And, if anyone has ever watched fish eat during feeding time, they suck everything into their maw - including the crap of the Celestial Eye goldfish. Such is their frenzy.
The Black Moor began chasing the Celestial Eye trying to nip at its spotted veiltail. Suddenly the Black Moor stopped, and veered over towards one of the exo-skeletons. He moved into the complex looking contraption with fluid ease. However, picking up the gun proved to be more of a chore (he had chosen the .357 Magnum... which has far greater body penetration power than the Colt .45. I suppose this could indicate that the goldfish possessed some form of rational thought - or it was just a lucky guess).
The Celestial Eye skittered around the tank for a few seconds more in pure abject panic, first clunking its body against the thermometer and then against the large red rock that might be a brick or part of a Toyota. It finally gained control of its senses and manoeuvred into the remaining exo-skeleton harness.
The other eight goldfish quickly ducked into the Roman temple for shelter. The Celestial Eye then attempted to pick up its gun, but it was too late. The Black Moor had already managed to properly grasp his gun, and held the Celestial Eye in his sight. The left arm of the exo-skeleton moved in response to the Black Moor's fin. The trigger was pulled.
But, imagine his surprise when the gun didn't fire. The silly creature forgot to load the gun! Geez, I'd even dumped the bullets into the tank and everything. This, too, took the Celestial Eye by surprise as he barely had time to soil himself.
I decided to go and make myself some lunch and wait to see what they would do next.
While eating my tuna fish sandwich, I watched as the other eight goldfish quickly broke up into sides (I'll call the Black Moor's side the Sharks and the Celestial Eye's side the Jets, in honour of my love for the musical West-Side Story), and began helping to load the weapons. I suppose it's a good thing none of the guns used an ammo clip.
After a few minutes, they were ready. They marched up close to each other, saluted with their guns, and then expelled an air bubble or two. They then turned veiltail to tail, dorsal fin to dorsal fin and began slowly swimming away from each other. Then, as they reached the opposite side of the aquarium, they spun around and squeezed the triggers. Nothing happened. I guess the water screwed up the firing mechanisms of the gun. Great! Now I was out $647 for the stupid guns. However, despite the financial set-back, my fish all kicked the proverbial bucket the next day. It seems that the lead pipes I had initially placed in the tank changed the pH level of the water. Lead poisoning slowly destroyed their brains.
Oh, well. I guess I'll never really know if urban decay can be caused by the inclusion of weapons. Now all I have to do is figure out what I'm going to do with my hamsters.

Somewhere with pet problems,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is was performed by The Beatles and written by their drummer Ringo Starr (aka Richard Starkey). SWIM  
PS: I actually ended up giving my goldfish away to Wakakusa Junior High School. They had a class for mentally-challenged kids there who I knew could look after them. Whenever I visited that school, I always ate lunch with them. They were the only school of seven to have a separate class for these special needs kids. At other schools, the kids were placed in the normal day-to-day school system, and learned nothing.