Fishmonger - The Three-Eyed Aberration

A Three-eyed Aberration

Writer's Note: English is not my native language, so I welcome any feedback to improve the text.

The fish's three eyes begged for forgiveness, they were disturbingly human, making Wagner uneasy. The fisherman had mentioned going to a more distant fishing spot, but he'd never mentioned bringing back an abomination like this. How could something like this go unnoticed? Yet here it was, with its damned three eyes staring at Wagner, its rotten stench already seeping into the kitchen. Wagner, a burly man with a thick mustache, figured that even the regular fish might be tainted by now; perhaps nothing could be salvaged. With a sigh, he pushed the creature toward the trash bin with his machete.

He looked at the bills taped to the wooden wall above the cutting board; they were starting to pile up — first the hospital, and now his own house was falling behind. Wagner stared at the fish in the trash for a long moment. With a proper cleaning and the right cut, perhaps no one would notice, he thought.

He placed the fish back on the board, wedged the knife between its gills, and tore off the head before it could plead again. He scraped off the scales, slit open its belly, and pulled out the organs. Instead of blood, black sludge spilled over his once pristine cutting board, and within the mess, he could swear he saw three hearts. He dismissed the thought and tossed the remains into the trash.

He grabbed the hose and rinsed out the creature, more dark matter pouring out endlessly, as though its very flesh was soaked with it. The thought turned his stomach.

Wagner spent the entire morning slicing and cleaning the fish, then raised the metal door at the front of the shop and laid the fish out on ice, ready for customers. He watched as other market stalls opened, staffed by experienced cutters, and wondered if anyone would notice what he had done. If anyone would detect the dubious meat he'd put on display.

As usual, the flies were the first to arrive, though there was something different. They gathered on the fish that once had three eyes, circling in a spiral, buzzing furiously with a sound that was almost mournful and desperate. Wagner swatted at them with a newspaper, only to make them angrier.

The flies lunged at him, crawling toward his ears. He swatted and felt one crawl up his nose, its dirty little legs brushing against his nostril hairs. He exhaled hard, pinched his nose, and could hear a buzzing in his head as the smell of that cursed fish filled his throat. He coughed, gagged, and felt something go down. In a panic, he spit several times until something finally came out. He looked at his hand, and there in his palm, lay a tooth.

"Are you alright?" asked Mrs. Clô, a woman with bottle-thick glasses and a purple shawl, from the other side of the fish counter. Startled, Wagner threw the tooth away, wiped the blood on his pants, and straightened up. After all, Mrs. Clô was one of the town's most prominent figures; the year was 1968, and the institutional act number five had just been enacted in Brazil by the military dictatorship. She was the wife of an influential general in the regime. Everyone would love a favor from the military, and no one wanted to cross them. In every sense, it was as if God was in heaven, and Mrs. Clô reigned on earth.

Wagner was just a small-time vendor, and they'd never met before, but there she was, accompanied by her maid carrying her shopping bags. He took a deep breath, snapping out of his daze, noticing the bustling market around him. Had he dozed off? He nodded to the customer. "Feel free to look around," he said. Then he scanned for those cursed flies. He couldn't risk them going after Mrs. Clô, but they were gone, like they were never there.

She looked, and Wagner found himself praying when she finally said, "I'll take this one." Of course, she pointed to the damned fish.

Wagner swallowed hard, forced a strained smile, and sold her the abomination.