The intermediate fish Andy Breckenridge

Andy Breckenridge

The Intermediate Fish

We manoeuvred the tank up the stairs to our student flat, set up the pump added water, gravel, a light then the cast. Action. The Siamese fighting fish was

a billow of blood. A slew of tetras, transparent extras but for the red and blue neon strips borrowed from the kebab shop’s ‘Open’ sign. A gourami, plain as a dud coin.

We called him ‘Intermediate’ and waited for him to develop into something sharper, more colourful, but he remained full of character. The pump whirred all night, the lit tank competed

with videos on the screen beside it; Rumble Fish, Betty Blue, Taxi Driver, The Duellists. In time, it was emptied, used to store books and photographs when you moved out.

Years later, I remembered the giant circular aquarium in the Sea Life Centre, and a shoal of silver herring spooling round and round, while I followed the direction of the arrows on the floor in IKEA.