The Merry Spinster: Tales of Everyday Horror(47)

“I have been to see the flounder for you,” the fisherman said. “It died.” Then he went inside the house and took a shower.

After he went to bed, he heard a loud banging sound through the wall, and he got up.

“Why are you banging your head against the wall?” asked the fisherman.

“I hope that if I bang my head against the wall hard enough, it will help me to think of a story for you, because you are sick and I want you to feel better,” said his friend.

“I am feeling much better now,” said the fisherman. “I do not think I need a story anymore. I do not need anything now, I promise.”

“Then get out of your bed and let me get into it,” said his friend, “because now I feel terrible. Helping you has made me sick.”

So the fisherman got out of his bed and his friend got in. The fisherman leaned against the wall for a minute, and his friend said, “Please get me a cup of tea. I got one for you. I shouldn’t have to ask.”

The fisherman said, “I’m sorry,” and he went to the kitchen and fixed his friend a cup of tea.

His friend said, “You never want to help me. Why is it that you want to live with me, when I know you hate me?”

The fisherman said, “I don’t hate you.”

His friend said, “Don’t sulk. You’re so unpleasant when you sulk. Everybody says so.”

The fisherman said, “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

“Yes,” said his friend, “if you know one.”

“Once upon a time,” said the fisherman, “there were two good friends, one of whom was a fisherman. Two very good friends.” He swayed a little, and then fell into a little heap on the hardwood floor.

“Please,” his friend said from the bed, “stop being so dramatic. My tea has gotten cold.”

“I don’t think I’m very much better after all,” the fisherman said.

His friend sighed. “Is it really that hard for you to care for me just a little, just once, when I’ve worn myself out caring for you? If it is, tell me and I’ll go.”

“I’m sorry,” said the fisherman.

“You are always sorry,” his friend said.

The fisherman got up and walked back to the kitchen, and accidentally banged his head against the doorway. “And don’t just heat up the old tea,” his friend said after him. “Bring me a fresh cup. My head aches from beating it against the wall for you.”

“How’s this, my darling?” the fisherman asked, carrying the steaming cup back into the room cupped between his hands.

But his friend did not answer.

His friend had fallen asleep.