Free Aquarium by David Vann Page A

submerged. Would he live with us? Would we go somewhere to live with him?
    Did he make you touch him? Did he open his pants?
    I closed my eyes for a while and just clung to the glass with my lips and hands. I thought of the handfish and their red painted lips, guarding their golden eggs. A garden of purple seagrass, my own small cave in the rock.
    The glass was warm. A faint vibration, a humming, and this policewoman lost, floating away.
    My mother arrived finally, her hand on my back. I let go of the glass and collapsed into her.
    I’m sorry, Caitlin, she said.
    I looked for my grandfather as we entered the lobby. Where is he? I asked.
    Shh, she said.
    I collapsed down to the floor. No, I said. I’m not leaving without him.
    Caitlin!
    Are you going to hit me?
    Evelyn was not far away, near the doors. The police, also. My voice not loud, but perhaps loud enough. My mother knelt close and whispered. Caitlin, we have to be careful. I’ll never hit you again, okay? But we have to be careful. And you don’t know about your grandfather. You don’t know what he did to me and my mother.
    I’m not leaving without him.
    You’re never going to see him again, Caitlin. I’m sorry.
    I hate you.
    My mother broke then. It was very strange, something I’d never seen before. She broke completely, curling onto the carpet beside me, her arms around me, sobbing. Her entire body convulsing. The police came near, tried to speak with her, but she didn’t stop, and she wouldn’t let go of me. I was drowning in her, my arm trapped against her face and slick with tears. Her breath shaking, as if she were being crushed. All sound pinched and frightened.
    Ms. Thompson. It was the uniformed cop. He kept trying to talk with her.
    I was being pulled back into her, convulsions of a reverse birth, her mouth strained open. I was scared of her. The desperate way she clung, her shaking.
    Ms. Thompson, we have to talk with you. You have to calm down. We can’t hold your father. There’s no evidence he had any plan to take your daughter to Mexico. It was only one comment about manta rays, about a nice place to go someday. He says he was thinking of you. A family vacation. The three of you, and he would pay. He said he asked to meet you today, that you’ve been estranged for many years. This is not police business. This is something you have to work out in your family. He also says he touched your daughter’s chest only once, because she was panicking and he was worried, and this matches the description your daughter gave.
    My mother shaking her head, rubbing in hard against me. No words but only these terrible sobs that came fast and hard, almost like hiccups.
    We aren’t going to hold him. Can you hear me? I’m not going to bother you anymore today. You’ve wasted enough of our time. Don’t drive your car until you can pull it together, okay?
    My mother kept crying, until long after they left. It was just the two of us on that carpet in the middle of the lobby. The people at the aquarium too afraid to come closer, my grandfather nowhere, though I kept looking for him. The most terrifying time of my life, seeing my mother broken like that, and we needed him then.

I didn’t sleep that night. Lost in darkness, aircraft overhead above the surface. Sound of them like missiles coming closer. Faint liquid light on the ceiling, underside of waves. An ocean empty, cold and without texture, unable even to mute sound. All smaller lights gone, bioluminescence a memory only, no constellations.
    My grandfather. We weren’t alone. What if there were other family out there too? My father, an aunt or an uncle, cousins, all hidden away by my mother, kept from me. She was still sobbing. I listened all night, and her grief came in tides. I’d think she had fallen away into sleep and then she’d begin again. She said things, small cries in anger and pain, but I never understood. I was too young for any of it. What I remember most is the fear. Everything too