Finger Food

The moray darted out of a crevice with its menacing stalactite teeth. Its serpentine body undulated along the colorful reef, threatening but not approaching.

Growing up in the Midwest, marine life was something Jack had dreamed about. He’d appreciated Minnesota’s lakes, rivers and streams, but desired something more dramatic. His friend Mark liked the ocean, too. They’d been buddies since middle school, competing on the same swim team. Together, they’d moved to Florida after university. He had a marine biology degree and Mark’s was in engineering.

As they swam in the warm Gulf waters, bubbles emerged from their scuba equipment. Attired in wetsuits, he and Mark were particularly interested in filming octopuses and checking out the health of the coral reef. Given the concern about global warming, they feared the kind of bleaching event that was devastating Australia’s Great Barrier Reef.

Growing up, he’d been a big fan of Jacques Cousteau. After moving to Florida, underwater photography and videotaping had captured his interest, and he was hoping for some photos he could freelance. He was especially smitten with cephalopods and found it amusing that Germany’s “oracle octopus” had picked some World Cup winners. The eight-armed buggers were the most evolved of all mollusks, and had a rep for being intelligent and clever. Unfortunately, they had extremely short lifespans, a fact that made him feel less guilty when eating them in Greek restaurants.

As he swam, he remembered chuckling over some recent sea creature memes. One resorted to punning with: “Eel specialist receives funding to study sexual mores.” Another showed an ugly specimen with the caption: “If an eel has an eye like a small pizza pie, it’s a moray!” His girlfriend Katia liked to share this type of humor on Facebook. At the moment, she was topside on the boat, decked out in sunscreen and a straw hat, reading a book.

Katia’s mom was of Russian descent and her dad came from the former East Germany. They’d managed to emigrate after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Katia herself had been raised in the States, a newly minted first generation American. They’d met through mutual friends, who knew they were both animal lovers. After dating for several months, they’d decided to move in together and Jack, who was more of a dog person, finally had a Kat.

***

Turning his attention back to the quest, Jack kept one eye on the eel, while scoping out the reef with all its nooks and crannies, undulating seaweed, and striped fish. The noise of his oxygen tank breathing supplied a rhythmic soundtrack. Suddenly, near the sunken hull of an old ship, he spotted a protruding tentacle. 

“Ahoy there, matey,” he breathed, but the occupant remained coy, or “koi” as one of those Internet memes might jest.

Just then the moray came out of the shadows and slithered past the multi-shaped, many-hued corals. Jack captured its sinewy movements on camera as it stealthily inched toward the octopus’s hideout. Suddenly there was a brawl. The eel bit off one of the octopus’s appendages, as the victim released a cloud of ink and jetted away. 

Using a bit of squid as enticement, he tried to capture the moray’s attention. He handed the camera to his partner as he dangled the bait from his right hand. Unfortunately for him, he’d forgotten that eels have bad eyesight.

Snip. Snap.

His pinky finger was gone, leaving a bloody cloud in the water.

Ascending to the surface, his dive buddy Mark, aided by Katia, pulled him aboard the catamaran, where they improvised a tee-shirt bandage for his hand and headed for shore. They rushed him to the hospital where emergency docs stitched up his hand and advised him about wound care and possible plastic surgery. 

***

Returning home from the hospital, they were met at the front door by their miniature mixed-breed, Gizmo. It was Katia who’d adopted Gizmo from a local shelter, but the little dog had quickly won over Jack’s heart as well. Gizmo seemed to sense that there’d been some kind of adverse event and looked at him with sad puppy eyes.

While Katia put on Gizmo’s leash for a walk, Jack went into the lanai that overlooked their patio and yard. He loved the palm trees and luxuriant tropical vegetation, especially the flamboyant hibiscus and bougainvillea. It was all so different from the landscapes he’d grown up with in the Twin Cities. He gazed at the wooden pier jutting out into the inlet waters that led to the Gulf. Then, walking over to a large Art Deco birdcage, he opened the door and freed its inmate.

“What’s up?” said Jack, as the parakeet perched on his uninjured hand.

“What’s up?” repeated the bird. “My name’s Kiwi.”

And with a head shake, "It’s not easy being green!”

“It’s not easy having a missing finger either,” replied Jack.

Later, when Katia returned from walking Gizmo, the bird flew over and landed on her shoulder.

“Kat’s a cutie!” he said, moving his head up and down.

The irony of that remark coming from an avian never failed to amuse Jack.

“Kiss me Kat!” said the bird and Katia complied, gently placing her lips on Kiwi’s crown.

“Kiss me, too, Kat!” said Jack and, once again, she complied.

***

Jack regretted his lack of caution and missing digit, but as time passed, he was only disappointed that he didn’t have the regenerative powers of an octopus. At least it was his right hand and he was a lefty.

“What’s your next project going to be?” asked Katia several months later, when he’d had time to both heal and mourn his lost finger.

“Thought I’d tackle stingrays,” he responded facetiously.

“Ah, a Steve Irwin wannabe!” came her barbed reply.

When an article with his photos was accepted for publication, he and Katia decided to celebrate at an upscale Japanese restaurant. Thinking about dinner, he decided he’d definitely have some unagi. A symbolic though ultimately pointless, gesture, he knew.

At the bar, he ordered a Sake Mojito and Katia chose a Plum Sake Spritz, complete with orchid blossom garnish. While sipping their drinks, they studied the menu. He noted with amusement that several of the male patrons were studying Katia as if she, too, were a delicacy to be savored. 

When the sushi platter was set before them, Katia dexterously brought a morsel of eel roll to his lips. Smiling, Jack reflected on this seafood delicacy. What was that saying? “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” His finger might be fish food, but if the folklore about aphrodisiac powers held true, retribution would be sweet.

And you can’t do better than a Kat.