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A Novel
by Shelby Van Pelt
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She's but a foot away. He seems to be shrinking, and his color has become pale. Does an octopus have teeth?
"My friend," she says softly. "I'm going to reach around you and unplug the cord." She peers around and sees exactly which cord is the source of his predicament. Within reach.
The octopus's eye follows her every movement.
"I won't hurt you, dear."
One of its free arms taps on the floor like a house cat's tail.
As she yanks the plug, the octopus flinches backward. Tova flinches, too. She expects him to slink out along the wall toward the door, in the direction he'd been straining.
But instead, he slides closer.
Like a tawny snake, one of his arms slithers toward her. In seconds, it winds around her forearm, then twists around her elbow and bicep like a maypole ribbon. She can feel each individual sucker clinging to her. Reflexively, she tries to yank her arm away, but the octopus tightens his grip to the point where it's almost uncomfortable. But his strange eye glints playfully, like a naughty child's.
Empty takeout cartons. Misplaced trash can. Now it makes sense.
Then, in an instant, he releases her. Tova watches, incredulous, as he stalks out the break room door, suckering along on the thickest part of each of his eight legs. His mantle seems to drag behind him and he looks even paler now; he's moving with effort. She hurries after him, but by the time she reaches the hallway, the octopus is nowhere to be seen.
Tova drags a hand down her face. She's losing her faculties. Yes, that's it. This is how it begins, isn't it? With hallucinations about an octopus?
Years ago, she had watched her late mother's mind slip away. It started with occasional forgetfulness, familiar names and dates elusive. But Tova does not forget phone numbers or find herself searching the back of her mind for names. She looks down at her arm, which is covered in tiny circles. Sucker marks.
Half-dazed, she finishes the evening's tasks, then makes her usual last round of the building to say good night.
Good night, bluegills, eels, Japanese crabs, sharp-nosed sculpin. Good night, anemones, seahorses, starfish.
Around the bend she continues. Good night, tuna and flounder and stingrays. Good night, jellies, sea cucumbers. Good night, sharks, you poor things. Tova has always felt more than a bit of empathy for the sharks, with their never-ending laps around the tank. She understands what it means to never be able to stop moving, lest you find yourself unable to breathe.
There's the octopus, once again hidden behind his rock. A puff of flesh sticks out. His orange is more vivid now, compared to how he looked in the break room, but he's still paler than usual. Well, perhaps it serves him right. He ought to stay put. How on earth did he get out? She peers through the rippling water, scanning up under the rim, but nothing seems amiss.
"Troublemaker," she says, shaking her head. She hovers for an extra moment in front of his tank before leaving for the night.
TOVA'S YELLOW HATCHBACK chirps and blinks its sidelights as she presses the key fob, a feature she's still not accustomed to. Her friends, the group of lunching ladies who affectionately call themselves the Knit-Wits, convinced her she needed a new car when she started her job. A safety issue, they argued, to drive at night in an older vehicle. They badgered her about it for weeks.
Sometimes it's easier to simply give in.
After depositing her jug of vinegar and bottle of lemon oil in the trunk, as always, because no matter how many times Terry has told her she's welcome to store them in the supply closet, one never knows when a bit of lemon and vinegar might come in handy, she casts a glance down the pier. It's empty at this late hour, the evening fishermen long gone. The old ferry dock sits across from the aquarium like some ancient rotting machine. Barnacles cover its crumbling pilings. At high tide, the barnacles snag strands of seaweed, which dry into green-black plaque when the seawater ebbs.
Excerpted from Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt. Copyright © 2022 by Shelby Van Pelt. Excerpted by permission of Ecco. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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