Page 2 of Ocean's Lost Octopus
As soon as I got the promotion and could afford it, I’d moved out and into this place. Unfortunately my raises at work did not keep up with the annual rent increases. Working in the restaurant industry, even as a general manager, did not pay as much as many other professions, but I enjoyed it. Keeping things running smoothly, customers happy, the kitchen up to standards, hiring excellent staff, and so many other details made my days fly, but I might have to look into other industries if I couldn’t afford to live.
Then, one night as we were closing up, I got a text from my brother.I’m going to be on tour for the next six months, and I need someone to sublet while I’m away. Think of anybody? They’d have to be trustworthy.
It didn’t take me two seconds to type back.Me, if I can afford the rent.Even as I pounded the screen, I knew I couldn’t, but his reply changed everything.
I’ll make you a deal you can’t refuse. And I’ll cover storage for your furniture because I don’t want to have to move mine.
I dropped by the next day to go over details.
“I don’t want to lose the place,” he said. “Did I mention it’s rent controlled?” Bob wasn’t a billionaire or anything. He was a gifted concert pianist who made enough more than me to live in a nicer building, but he’d never been away for so long.
Even with rent control, I couldn’t have afforded it. But if he left and tried to get something comparable when he got back, it would be out of reach. “There’s a chance the tour will extend to a full year,” he went on. “I just learned that today. I hope you can stay the whole time, but if you can’t, I’ll understand. You’re putting your life on hold for me.”
My brother was the nicest man in the entire world. I’d always known that—well, once we got past the competitive early teen years—but listening to him now, his kindness was reinforced. “I’m not exactly putting my life on hold, just a few pieces of furniture in storage, which you are paying for.”
He still insisted that I was doing him a huge favor, and he felt guilty letting me pay anything at all. Even though I’d told him right away about my situation. And a week later, he left on his tour. He’d been to Europe and Japan before, but this trip would encompass countries he’d always dreamed of visiting, and I left him at the departure doors and drove home—in his much-better-than-mine car, which he insisted I drive to keep the battery from dying.
Bob’s pet snail had generally spent my brother’s short trips away at my house, so we were already friends, but he still left me a laminated sheet of instructions on Quirby’s care and feeding. At first, I’d wondered what my brother saw in the little guy then, as he’d stayed with me, I often found myself lying on the couch in the evenings, watching him make his way around his terrarium, nibbling on fresh fruits and vegetables and carrying an aura of peace all his own.
We’d get along fine.
I’d used the move to thin out my excess belongings and moved in feeling lighter and freer, and when I got back from the airport, I settled in on the sofa to watch a movie and eat the báhn mi sandwich I’d picked up on the way home. My new home for the next six months to a year. As I flipped through the channels for something interesting, I reminded myself I’d have to be careful to save as much money as I could for when I needed to have my own place again at the end of that time. Since the rent I was paying Bob included all utilities and everything else—something he hadn’t mentioned when we negotiated—a little careful saving would put me in a much better position than I had been.
Halfway through the freshly baked baguette with sliced pork and delectable Vietnamese pickle, a loud blare went off in the hallway outside the apartment door. I scrambled to my feet, panicked. What was it? I peeked out and saw the fire alarm mounted on the wall flashing. Fire! I glanced around. What should I take? What would Bob want me to save? The only things of mine here were clothes and toiletries, for the most part. Everything was his. My gaze went from the TV to the vintage stereo, the musical instruments hung on the wall. He performed on the piano but could pick up anything and play it. They were all either antique or gifts, all valuable and important to him.
I couldn’t take them all.
Then I knew. Lifting the terrarium, I whispered soothing words to Quirby. “Sorry, buddy. I know you don’t want to be moving all around, but there’s a fire, and Bob would be crushed if anything happened to you. It will be okay.
It wasn’t the biggest tank ever, and of course it held no water. If it had been fish, I’d have had to leave it and hope for the best. But the little snail? I was out the door and halfway down the stairs, struggling to maneuver in the tide of other tenants when it occurred to me, I could have simply put him in a smallbox or even Tupperware if I poked holes. Everyone was staring at me, probably thinking I’d lost my mind, but going back was no option, and so I struggled on downward, leaning right and left, trying to see the steps so I wouldn’t miss one and end up dropping Quirby, shattering his home, and I didn’t want to think beyond that.
Then, as I peered downward, something caught my eye. An animal or a toy? In the flashing lights—because whoever designed the system decided that would really help calm things in an emergency—I couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but I juggled the terrarium into one arm long enough to reach down and grab it. The flood of people behind me nearly sent me toppling downward, but I managed to straighten up and regain my balance. The doors to the courtyard loomed ahead, people shoving and squeezing through, and I had to hold on tight to get myself and the snail’s habitat out the door intact.
Not until I got outside did I have a chance to take a deep breath and look around. Nobody was trying to get outside to the street, rather they were all milling around and grumbling. Pajamas, sweats, even a few nightgowns adorned some of the tenants, while others had obviously still been dressed, but all of them looked angry. Not scared. Mad. Huh.
And I smelled no smoke.
The flashing lights and alarm were still going strong when a single fire truck pulled up and stopped outside the gates.
“Can’t you do something about this?” A woman with curlers in her hair demanded. She wore a fluffy bathrobe and fluffier slippers and was eighty if she was a day. Which explained the hair thing. I hadn’t known anyone since my great-grandma to sleep in the things. “How are we supposed to get any sleep. I’m just going to ignore it next time.”
“Now, Mrs. Craig,” the fire captain said. “You know we have to go through the motions whether it’s a false alarm or not. Oneday, it might not be. So, if you don’t come out, someone has to go in and look for you, and what if it’s a real fire?”
I was starting to get the impression that this wasn’t the first time they’d all been dragged out of bed when nothing was ablaze. The captain was joined by a representative of the building who swore up and down that the system would be repaired in a week.
“I’ve heard this before, Harvey,” the captain said. “This time, the inspector will cite the building, and I doubt the owners will be happy with you.”
“Can’t you just give me a break? I’m doing my best.”
“Explain that to all these people out here.”
Their conversation went on, and I wondered if I could just go back up, since there was clearly no emergency. Another firefighter went inside and the noise and lights stopped. As if they knew the drill, the tenants all turned to face the captain.
“Folks, you know we have to check for any actual problems, so we ask your patience.” He gave a rueful nod. “As usual.”
I set the terrarium down and leaned against the wall to wait.
Over an hour passed before we got the all clear, and as everyone began to file back inside, their moods no better than when we got there, I felt like someone was watching me and turned to see a man wearing a white T-shirt and flannel pajama pants staring at me but not at my face. His attention was fixed on my arm, and I followed his gaze to see the toy I’d picked up still tucked under it. I didn’t know how I hadn’t dropped it, but I pulled it free and found myself holding a cute pink octopus stuffie with some loose threads and some stuffing peeking out. The man took a couple of steps toward me, hand extended, then stopped. A little, I had no doubt, despite the fact that he had no obvious clothing. The stuffie could belong to his child except that I knew it didn’t. The hunger in his eyes when he watched me with it told me otherwise.
