Lily and the Octopus(57)

The hairs stand up on the back of my neck and we both reach for our tipple. My gut was correct.

We are close.

I notice the man has a Magic 8 Ball on the shelf beside the table. The kind I had as a kid. I reach for it.

“Do you mind?”

The man nods his permission. I cup the black ball with two hands and ask my question aloud. “Will I ever catch up with the octopus?” I give the ball a good shake before turning it over.

Signs point to yes.

“There you have it,” the man says as he smiles a crooked smile. “The 8 Ball never lies.” He clears his dish and reaches for mine. “More?”

Before I can say yes, Lily starts to growl. I look up, afraid that her love of chicken and rice has emboldened Lily to challenge Goldie for the bigger dog’s share. But their dishes are empty, and Goldie is nowhere to be seen.

Lily is growling at the man.

“Lily! That’s not nice. He made you chicken and rice! Where’s Goldie? Say thank you to our hosts.”

GOLDIE! IS! A! FISH!

“What? What are you talking about? Goldie is a dog, like you.”

Her growling continues, low and guttural. It’s a noise I’ve only heard her make once before, when we were on a walk back home in Los Angeles one night and a coyote ambled across our path.

I’m becoming increasingly alarmed.

“Don’t worry,” the man says. “The storm has her on high alert. That’s a good dog you have there.” He sets the dishes near the sink. “Would be a shame if anything happened to her.”

His every word exacerbates the situation, and things escalate quickly. Lily is gnashing what teeth she has left in her old age, and she crouches low, ready to attack.

“Lily?” This time I don’t scold. This time I know better. This time I trust my dog.

I turn to the man. “How did you come to name the Owe Too?”

He answers without hesitation. “I owe too much on the title.”

Owe Too.

Lily’s barking is now out of control. Goldie is a fish? I look around for the retriever, but there is no sign of her. I can barely gather my thoughts over the racket, but I force myself to think fast.

Owe Too.

What do you see, Lily, that I do not?

Owe too.

Oh, to . . . Oh to what?

Oh two. It doesn’t mean anything!





O2?


Oxygen.

I can barely breathe and my heart beats fast. Think, goddammit. I can hardly hear my own thoughts over the yelp of Lily’s barking. I look down at my feet for bearings. Oxygen. Breath. Life.

And then it hits.

The atomic number of oxygen is eight. Oxygen is the eighth element on the periodic table of elements.

Eight.

The Magic 8 Ball.

I lift my head slowly and look up at our rescuer with growing scorn. His eyes are fixed on Lily.

“She has a hurricane inside of her.” The man winks at me slowly, deliberately. “Doesn’t she.”

Bile rises in my throat. Only three people know about the hurricane.

Myself.

Lily.

And the octopus.





The Hunt


I pivot quickly, positioning myself between Lily and the octopus. Reflexively, I grab the empty scotch bottle and whack it against the table. It doesn’t break. I whack it again—nothing. Why is it so easy to make a jagged weapon in movies and I can’t get this scotch bottle to so much as crack? The octopus stands between us and the exit and Goldie is still nowhere to be seen.

“It’s you, isn’t it.”

“Who?”

“The one we hunt.” There’s another bottle, a second bottle, on the counter. I grab this one instead and bring it down on the table with all my might and this bottle breaks and out comes my scribbled warning: I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE. He found the bottle. My bottle.

The octopus wipes a string of drool from his human mouth. “I wondered when you would recognize me.”

“Your ugly, fleshy head should have been a dead giveaway.” I’m mad at myself for being so easily seduced by the idea of companionship and food. I should have known. He wasn’t blue from the cold, he was purple from being a cephalopod. Twenty-four days at sea have weakened me, and I have failed at protecting Lily.

I lunge at the octopus with the jagged scotch bottle, but he grabs a single-flue harpoon that’s leaning in the corner. We’re both armed, him with a longer reach and with seven more limbs to take up arms should he decide to take octopus form again.

I grab a kerosene lantern hanging off the wall. “I swear I will burn this boat to the ground.”

“To the ocean,” he corrects. “Do it. Of the three of us, who is the strongest swimmer?” I’m keenly aware of Lily’s life jacket crumpled uselessly in the corner. He’s right, of course, as always. It’s the most maddening thing about him.

“Monkey,” I say calmly to Lily without breaking eye contact with the octopus. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her ears perk up. “Run!”

Lily bolts through his legs as he brings down the spear. I cringe, but my baby is fast and clears the sharp tip with hundredths of a second to spare. The harpoon buries itself in the cabin floor, and as he lunges to free it, I strike. I sink the toothy bottle in his shoulder with every one of my two hundred pounds. Immediately there is blood and I twist the bottle to extract even more.