Old Chinese story: Once a philosopher asked a young goldfish: “How is the water in there, young goldfish?”

“Water?” replied the young goldfish, “What water?”

Moral: When you are completely surrounded by something, so much so that your very existence depends upon it, it is a curious fact that you may not even see it.   Deshikawordpress.com

Two goldfish live in our house, Bob and Don. They are graceful, glittering silent creatures in a small glass globe who thrive on neglect and are virtually indestructible.  Of course, they could be disposed of if it was our intent: dried out, flushed away, or perhaps left too long in dirty water.  But these two are survivors, up for any challenge from oppressive heat, to bone cold, soapy water, and a week or more of no food when we’re away.  Doesn’t seem to bother them at all:  chipper as ever on our return, no sulking, always forgiving of our thoughtless abandonment. We’ve never bothered with a filter; there’s nothing but a few colored pebbles at the bottom of the bowl, and the glass is sometimes disgracefully dirty. Still, they swim on.

We got the fellows (or gals) some four, five years ago, brought home in water-filled plastic bags as prizes from a kids game at the annual Town Fair.  Tiny tots they were, but sturdy, and have grown to handsome, mature fellows of good size with long, elegant fins.  There have been other fish, from time to time, that didn’t last more than a day or two. Once, the water level was too high, and the newcomer leaped out of the bowl to the carpet below to dry up like a raisin before he was discovered the next morning.  In another case, we suspect foul play, and the mystery has never been solved.  It was a new guy from the Fair, Gandolph, and he joined Bob and Don in the bowl, back when they were half-grown, not the hulks they are today. We went away for the weekend, and came back to find Gandolph floating on the surface of the water, quite dead.  People have suggested a toxic reaction to the water. It could be, or disease, or bad lungs. But we detected an air of guilt in the two survivors.

My son informed us that researchers say goldfish have a memory span of 30 seconds.  But my experience has shown that our fish appear excited to see me, the principal caregiver, early mornings as I pour my cereal and give them a pinch of their own flakes. It is clear as day to me that they are not the same, that they have their own personalities, and that they are responsive creatures. This, in spite of the fact I don’t know which is Bob and which is Don. Early on, one of the two turned a translucent white color. It may have been hormones, something he was programmed to do as a teenfish.  On the other hand, it happened while I was away for an extended period. Coincidence?  Or some manifestation of worry and grief? One is extremely quick and snappy going for his first bite of food. The other hangs back until the coast is clear.  Occasionally, the orange one will nag at the white one, chasing him in circles around the bottom of the bowl.  Fun? Maybe for orange, but I don’t think white likes it much.

 I wonder why these two fish hang on as they do, day after day, year after year, with the most minimal care or attention?  Mainly, I think, it’s location, in the very heart of family life. Their bowl is on the kitchen island near to the water supply and to the fish food. This is the hub of our universe, where most of the action takes place.  There may be cooking, yelling, ball throwing, or horseplay between two teen boys at any given time of day.  Who wouldn’t enjoy the free entertainment?  There is an element of danger, even, when a flying grape lands in the bowl, or a tossed pen. On the rare day when someone other than me cleans the bowl, it must be a spine-tingling adventure for the two of them –something to talk about back in the bowl: “...awfully close to the drain, I tell you.”

Bob and Don are princes among goldfish, I feel, and yet it’s not their size, good looks, personalities, monetary value or any usefulness at all that keeps them going. It’s just them:their strong constitutions and will to survive. We all just live together; it’s what we do. All and all, not so bad from a fishes’ point of view, I like to think.