Her life was like clockwork. Every morning, she heads to their carinderia, and she cleans the fish.
She starts by making sure her knife is sharp. And then she meets the errand boy she tasks to choose and buy the freshest fish at the wet market. She pays him well. She offers him breakfast. He always declines. She takes the styrofoam container from him, Unconsciously guessing the number of fish inside by its weight. The ice inside has melted into cold water.
She brings it out to the back. To her station. Waiting for her are two basins, one full of water and the other empty, and a tree stump fashioned into a chopping block. A gift from her parents, on her third wedding anniversary. The rings on the varnished surface of the stump has been marked by years of chopping.
The styrofoam container is placed beside the stump. She adjusts the low chair near it and takes her seat. A well-practiced maneuver perfected by daily repetition. From the kitchen, her husband comes out. Following him are three stray cats who managed to enter the carinderia over night. Again. Silently, they watch her.
She begins to work.
A quick flick of the left hand uncovers the container. Using the same hand, she takes a fish and brings it to the stump. Resting it on the surface. Her right hand moves automatically, running the blade of her knife down the sides of the fish. Removing the scales. Once done, she then inserts the tip of the knife it is holding into the fish's belly. Near the anal opening.
Slice. The blade moves up along the belly, straight to the head.
It's a shallow cut. She takes care not to puncture anything inside the fish. She spreads the fish open and, quickly but meticulously, she removes all its internal organs. Utilizing her thumbnail to scrape out anything that sticks where it shouldn't.
With the entrails gone, she dips the fish into one of the basins of water. Rinsing it. But also letting the water help her locate the dark tissue that needs to be scraped off. Which she does with clinical precision.
Once she's satisfied that the fish is clean, she lets it drop to the basin without water. She uses the back of her knife to push the fish's remains from the stump to the ground beyond her.
And then she starts again, as her husband continues to just watch. Fish after fish. Over and over. Every day.
He scratches his chin. The scratching sound throws her off. The fish she had just finished cleaning drops to the ground instead of the basin.
He tuts.
She grimaces.
Before she could pick the fallen fish off the ground, he's there. Taking it. Inspecting. She makes a noise to let him know that the fish is still okay. To let her be.
The cats watches in anticipation.
He looks at his wife and makes the decision that the fish is no longer worth anything.
He throws it in the trash bin.
The cats pounce. Diving in for their prize. They yowl and hiss at each other. Only one of them wins. The other two will have to settle for the entrails, so they quickly jump out for it--
Only to find there's more entrails than normal.
The basins are gone. The styrofoam container is gone. The fish cleaner is gone.
The stump remains.
And sprawled on top of it, the husband also remains.
At least...his remains.
#
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Filipino Scares: a Collection of Short Stories
TerrorA man with survivor's guilt tries to make peace with his friend's death. A former actress gets more than what she bargained for when she makes a video scandal. A teenaged boy has a fatal meeting with adulthood. And a young woman's choice to save a c...
