Tales of Accidental Genius Read Free Page B

said. “Wants to ask your advice about his goldfish.”
    Gerald shot Akin a look of annoyance, then turned to the old man. “What is it, then? Food? Gravel? Tank toys?”
    For a few moments the old man didn’t move. Then, with a great show of emotion, heaved the words from his throat.
    â€œMy goldfish, Piper, has stopped moving.”
    Gerald nodded. “I see.”
    â€œHe was first on his side—but now he’s completely upside down.”
    â€œIs he dead?” Gerald asked.
    The old man thought for a moment. “He’s certainly very ill, gravely perhaps—but dead?”
    â€œWell is he moving?”
    â€œWhen I put my hand in the tank he moves. He bobs when I put my hand in and go like this.” Gerald and Akin watched as the old man motioned in the air with his hand.
    It was soon past closing and Akin would miss the 5:41 bus.
    He lived with his mother and brother, Sam, who was ten years younger. Their house was half an hour across the city by bus. It had a small garden in the front that the wind filled with leaves and fast-food wrappers. The back garden—an uneven slab of concrete when they moved in—now had potted plants and a freestanding pond, where Akin and Sam sometimes arranged plastic soldiers on lily pads.
    If it wasn’t raining, Akin rode his old BMX to the pet shop. Their mother left early for work during the week, and so Akin made his brother’s school lunches and saw him off. Their father had died while Akin’s mother was in the hospital giving birth to Sam.
    Sometimes Akin slipped notes into his brother’s lunch box, lines from hip-hop tracks that were rude or funny. Sometimes his brother crept into his bed at night, then lay there in the darkness, his eyes completely open, thinking of questions and then forgetting them.
    On the last Saturday of every month, Akin would take his brother into the city center to choose a new Xbox game. Their mother gave them money to have lunch and see a film. They pooled any change for comics, or a box of doughnuts, which they gobbled on the bus home.
    G ERALD EXPLAINED TO the old man that if his fish wasn’t dead, it was probably constipated, and asked how often he cleaned the tank.
    â€œEvery Sunday,” the old man said. “Like clockwork.”
    â€œIn that case,” Gerald instructed, “try feeding him frozen peas for a week.”
    The man fumbled in his coat pocket for a pencil and something to write on.
    â€œHow many peas exactly?”
    â€œTwo,” Gerald said. “Take the skins off, then drop the bits in.”
    The old man jotted it down, then slipped the frayed envelope back into his coat pocket. “This is a great help, how much do I owe you?”
    â€œJust five pounds.”
    The old man removed a large zip wallet, and from a mass of yellowing receipts located a five-pound note.
    â€œTwo peas a day, doctor’s orders,” said the old man, handing over the money.
    â€œIf it doesn’t work, I’ve got freeze-dried fish laxative—but pea fragments are better if you can get them to eat it.”
    â€œOh, I’ll get him to eat it,” the old man said firmly. “Beforeall this happened, he used to come right up to the glass whenever he saw me, just like those colorful fish at the aquarium.”
    Before leaving, the old man lingered in the shop doorway. Akin wondered if he wasn’t going to say something about the unfair charge levied for advice.
    â€œI know you want to close,” the old man said, “but I have to ask—could it be anything worse than a digestive complaint?”
    Gerald was straightening up a display of rubber Christmas trees. “Oh, absolutely—floating upside down could also be a bacterial infection or swim bladder disorder—in which case it’s only a matter of time.”
    The old man didn’t speak or move.
    â€œYou have to face facts,” Gerald said. “Some fish just