The Categorical Universe of Candice Phee (15 page)

“Ignore her, Candice,” said Douglas Benson from Another Dimension. “She's jealous.”

That stopped Jen Marshall's rolling.

“Jealous?” she screamed. “Jealous? Of what, you . . . you . . .” She's good on drama. Not so good on vocabulary. “Retard!” she finished. I might have pointed out her unnecessary repetition, but I was worried about that gum.

“Jen?” I said. “If you are going to shout, it might be an idea to dispose of your gum. Accidents have been known to happen, you know . . .”

“Shut up, moron,” she yelled. If I have a criticism of Jen, it's that she doesn't vary her vocal volume. “Shut the hell up.”

“What is going on here?”

The bellow made Jen's screams seem like a delicate whisper. Twenty-five heads snapped around to the front of the classroom. Forty-nine ears rang (Alex McLean, missing one eardrum). We froze in various poses. We were expecting Miss Bamford. We didn't get her.

The woman at the front of the class was tall and stick-thin, as if she'd been left to dry in the sun for a long time. Her eyes swept the room and might have turned us all to statues, if we weren't already turned to statues. Now, I have met many forbidding people, teachers in particular, and I have never failed to spot some sign of kindness in them. The glint of an eye. The relaxed cast of an arm. The hint of a smile. This woman gave no sign of friendliness. I felt that in a battle between her and a saltwater crocodile, the smart money would be on her.

I liked her. Immediately.

“Sit down! This instant!”

We sat. Even Jen Marshall hurried to get to her chair, and Jen Marshall hurries for nothing and no one. The stick insect (crossed with a saltwater crocodile) waited
for a moment and then sat at the teacher's desk. She treated us to another sweep of steely intent, which we received in silence. She placed her hands, palms down, on the desk.

“My name is Miss Cowie and I am a substitute teacher. This does not mean I have an invisible target between my eyes, or that you should confuse me with a human being.”

Judging by the expressions on my classmates' faces, there was little chance of that.

“Miss Bamford is unfortunately ill and will be away for a few days. In the meantime, I am in charge. She has left instructions that you are to prepare for the end-of-term exam. I will hand out a practice paper, involving close reading. You have this period to finish it. You will work in silence.”

The examination was fairly easy. I opened my pencil box, selected my favorite pencils, and started to work. Even Jen Marshall worked in silence.

Miss Cowie sat at the front of the class, but she didn't read or open a laptop. This was unusual. In my experience, substitute teachers generally read the newspaper or knitted or surfed the Internet or (in one memorable instance) built a small fighter jet from tiny plastic parts. Miss Cowie sat as if she had a steel rod inserted in her spine. She watched us. She did not flinch. Her eyes never rested.

I worried about Miss Bamford, though. After all, she was my favorite teacher in the whole world.

When I got home, things were different. Mum was up and bustling around the kitchen. Dad was slicing onions. No computer parts hung from his extremities, which was a surprise. I checked twice. He was, however, sporting a large bruise on his left cheekbone where Rich Uncle Brian's knee had presumably made contact.

“Hello,” I said. The greeting wasn't exciting, but it rarely failed.

“Hello, Pumpkin,” said Mum. She gave me a huge smile. Dad put his knife down and tousled my hair. I was glad he'd remembered to put down the knife. “Hi, Candice,” he said. “How was school?”

My head was buzzing with questions, but it was polite to answer questions already asked before posing your own.

“Wonderful,” I said. “We had a substitute teacher today. It is not clear if she is human. She confessed to being unsure herself. She ruled the class with an iron fist and steely eyes and possibly other metallic body parts. Jen Marshall wrote something. No one knew she could. I believe she shocked herself.”

“Lovely,” said Mum, which struck me as a strange response.

“What's happening?” I asked.

“I'm making dinner,” said Mum. Her bright smile was unnerving.

“And I'm helping,” added Dad.

“What's happening?” I said.

“I thought we'd have a family dinner and a nice chat,” said Mum. She spread her arms in a gesture of appeal. “Is that so unusual?”

“Yes,” I said.

I felt no one could argue with that statement, and no one did. Dad took up the knife again and continued dicing onions. Mum scrutinized a recipe book. Had I wandered into the wrong family by mistake? I thought about checking the number on the front door, but decided against it.

“Douglas Benson from Another Dimension is coming round in a few minutes,” I said. “He has a solution to the Earth-Pig Fish problem. Can he stay for dinner?”

Mum glanced at Dad. Dad glanced at Mum. Both of them glanced at me. I'd never experienced so much glancing in the Phee household. Then they glanced at each other again. Dad broke the sequence.

“Sorry, Candice,” he said. “Nothing against Douglas, you understand, but we need to have . . . a private chat. In fact, your mum suggested I take you to the park while she finishes dinner. Maybe Douglas could eat with us some other time.”

“A chat?” I said.

“Yes,” said Mum. “It's long overdue.”

“Like a library book?” I asked.

Mum and Dad did the glancing thing again, but I never found out what they might have said because there was
a knock on the front door. I was the obvious choice to answer it, so I did.

“Hello, Douglas Benson from Another Dimension,” I said.

“Hi, Candice.” He had his hands behind his back and a broad smile on his face. I was anxious to know what was behind that smile and that back. “No peeking,” he added. “Close your eyes.”

I did, because I like darkness. Some people are afraid of the dark. If anything, I am afraid of the light.

Douglas took me by the hand and led me down the hallway to my bedroom. I assumed it was my bedroom, but I couldn't see because my eyes were closed. He sat me down on my bed (I assumed) and there was general rustling, punctuated by an abrupt splash.

“Open your eyes, now, Candice,” he said. I did. His smile was still there but his hands were empty. In the goldfish bowl there were two fish. One was Earth-Pig Fish, obviously. The other was an intruder. They swam round each other—one clockwise, the other counterclockwise. The chances of crashing appeared high.

I tore my eyes away and turned to Douglas Benson from Another Dimension.

“Why?” I asked.

Douglas sat next to me on the bed. He was excited.

“It's logical, Candice,” he said. “You worried your fish might think of you as God. That was why you wanted an automatic feeding system. But I got to thinking. If you had
one of those, the fish might find that was even more mysterious. Food would appear like magic. And I hypothesized that such a miracle might make things worse. Maybe the fish would worship the feeding machine and that would be more alarming than worshipping you. It would be a false idol.”

Douglas is
so
smart. He had obviously earned every one of those knobbly bits on his head. I wanted to tell him that, but didn't want to interrupt his flow.

“The solution was obvious. Another fish. This way they keep each other company, they will each find things in the other to fascinate. This should prevent religious thoughts. They might even fall in love.” He turned his eyes to my quilt. “Like you and me,” he added.

Was Earth-Pig Fish ready for romance? I had no way of knowing, but I liked the way Douglas Benson from Another Dimension was thinking.

I stood and approached the bowl. The new fish was smaller than Earth-Pig Fish and had a tiny black blotch on his head. Was it my imagination or was Earth-Pig Fish moving with more purpose? Was this the dawning of love? It occurred to me that if she kissed the new fish at least she would be well prepared for the wetness, on account of the fact that was her normal medium.

“What will you call him?” asked Douglas.

“That's easy,” I said. “His name will be Skullcap Fish.”

“Because of that black spot?”

“In part,” I replied. “But mainly because one of the last proper words in the dictionary is
zucchetto
, a small cap
worn by members of the clergy. Aardvark and zucchetto. They are alpha and omega. They complete a circle.”

Douglas bent his head close to mine and we watched the fish pirouette around each other. For a moment I thought he was going to broach the subject of kissing, but he didn't.

“Thank you, Douglas,” I said. “You are the most brilliant person from another dimension I have ever known. But I've thought of a problem.”

“Yes?”

“What if Earth-Pig Fish thinks Skullcap Fish has been created especially for her? What if she thinks they are Eve and Adam and the bowl is a Garden of Eden? That plastic frond on the bottom could be their Tree of Knowledge.”

“Oh, shut up, Candice,” said Douglas Benson from Another Dimension. “You think too much.”

And he kissed me for the third time.

It was just as messy as the previous two, but it gave me time to think. Douglas was right. It was likely that Earth-Pig and Skullcap would develop a relationship, have arguments, refuse to talk to each other, and become miserable. They would be a normal family.

Dad and I walked to the park. It was a beautiful day and the sky was dusted with delicate wisps of cloud. I carried his remote-controlled plane. It was surprisingly light and the wingspan was broad. Up there in the sky it didn't
appear so big, but that was all about perspective, I supposed. I didn't want to think about perspective. I wanted to know what Dad was going to say. My family had never really gone in for chats, and part of me welcomed the opportunity.

The main part of me worried.

When we got to the park, Dad started the remote-controlled plane's engine. In moments it was sweeping and swooping through the sky. It looked like a bird. I sat on the grass and watched Dad. His shoulders were relaxed, his eyes fixed on the plane.

“We had a phone call earlier,” he said. “From a Mr. Dawson.”

“Ah,” I said.

“That's nice,” I added after a considerable pause.

“Not really,” said Dad. “He said you wanted to divorce us. Apparently, the only thing that stopped him from taking the case was because he is a real estate lawyer.”

“Ah,” I said again. I felt this wasn't very forthcoming under the circumstances, so I added: “Hmmm. Real estate.”

“Do you want to tell me what that was all about?”

“No thanks,” I said. “But I think you should know that Douglas Benson from Another Dimension has solved the Earth-Pig Fish problem.”

“Do you really want to divorce us?“ It was irritating that Dad wouldn't look at me. His head was tilted toward the plane. It buzzed and whined. It banked behind a tree and for a moment was lost to view. Then it reappeared and Dad's fingers danced over the controls.

“Yes,” I said. “No,” I added. Then, just to make sure I had covered all the bases, “I don't know.” Actually, all of those replies were true.

“I don't understand.”

“Douglas bought me another fish,” I said. “To keep Earth-Pig Fish company. But there is a possibility that we might be creating a Garden of Eden scenario, which would put me back to square one as far as religion is concerned.”

“I'm not talking about your fish, Candice. As you well know.”

“Oh,” I said. “Are you sure you don't want to?” I added. “It's a fascinating subject.”

“What are you doing?”

“Dad?” I said. “Why do you have to watch your plane all the time?”

He sighed.

“I would have thought that was obvious, Candice. If I don't, I will lose control and it will crash.”

“Isn't that the same with families?” I asked.

He looked at me when I said that. The plane made a strange whining noise. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it catch a branch of a tree. There was a distant
crump
and small pieces of plastic and leaves floated, gently, delicately, to the ground.