LJ Idol '22 Entry 1 - "Black Rainbow"
We had all heard the stories, of course, of the black rainbow fish who lived in the lake outside of town. Our abuelas exchanged tales in hushed voices over their afternoon canelas and cafecitos, just loud enough for us to hear, although they told our exhausted parents that we had spent that hour asleep in the little cot next to the couch. By we, I mean my sister Victoria and I. I can remember how she would look up at me through eyelashes curled by humidity, her mouth puckering just enough to let me know she was listening too. Did you hear that? Her eyebrow would quirk upwards, asking silently. I always gave the most imperceptible nod, and then roll over in my cot, sometimes letting out a snort for good measure. Just to make sure and cover the charade. But they knew we were listening. How could they not? Surely they didn’t keep their voices down. Abuela Rosita and Tias Estella and Sofia. Those three were thick as thieves and just as sneaky. They could piss in your mouth and tell you it was beer, and you’d believe them.
When Vic and I were eight, we decided to undertake this very dangerous journey, that we would go and capture the black rainbow fish, and bring it home, and be big damn heroes. Even though none of the men in our village had caught it, and even though we had never fished a day in our lives. Had never even held a fishing net or a pole, had no idea you even needed bait. But the black rainbow fish wasn’t like other fish, or so the old ladies always said. They said he’d come right up to you, his black scales gleaming iridescent in the moonlight, and screech at you with rows upon rows of gnashing teeth. Of course, the stories always ended with how he’d eaten somebody’s second cousin twice removed, or how nobody had ever dared to go near the lake at midnight since, but we didn’t care. To tell the truth, by that time we weren’t even actually awake, drifting off to dreamland filled with the kind of delighted fear that little kids live on. It churned in our bellies and made us brave, or stupid.
So we packed up snacks - half a sausage, a hunk of cheese, a few crusts of bread, stolen little by little over three or four nights, so that the cheese was sweaty and the sausage weirdly sweet. We made sure to pack two butter knives for protection. We didn’t dare touch the ones Mama kept in the butcher block, even sharper and more dangerous. The prospect of death by mysterious lake monster was preferable to her wrath. To bring home our catch, we stole one of the thick Mexican blankets from Papa’s donkey, the kind with the fringe on the ends. It was scratchy and worn but we figured it would do. Better than taking Mama’s fancy hand towels, at any rate. We set off under the light of a quarter moon, waving to us in the night sky like a dog’s tail. Victoria hummed as we walked out of town, the streets empty and quiet except for our footsteps and her tune.
“What do you think it’ll be like?” I asked, my voice echoing as we made our way past the last of the buildings in our little town, wind gusting through the trees. “Do you think we’ll survive?”
“Psh, of course we’ll survive,” Victoria said. “It’s the monster who should be worried.” Her bravado was always her shield, even as we got older and had families of our own. (I’ll spoil it, reader: of course we survived.) She brandished a stolen can of soda, swigging with relish. “We’ll bring that fish back in our blanket and then we’ll listen to Abuela tell stories of our triumph. And she’ll feed us extra pan dulce as a reward.” It didn’t occur to us for ask for money for our catch, not that she would have had any to spare. “I bet it won’t even take long. Back home and in bed by three o’clock.” That’s what they always say.
We moved through the small patch of woods that led to the lake, feet crashing against stones and upturned logs. It was then that I thought, perhaps this isn’t such a good idea. The woods were full of strange noises, hoots and cackles, and they made the hairs on my arms stand up. I exchanged a glance with Victoria, hoping to hint at my unease in my gaze, but she paid me no mind and tromped on ahead. “Hey,” I tried to call out, but my voice came out squeaky and blended in with the cacophony of noise in the background. We came out the other side, the lake shimmering in the moonlight, and suddenly all was quiet. The only sound was the soft shushing of the waves, and they were small. Victoria found a big rock near the water’s edge and sat down, tucking her legs underneath her primly. I joined her, putting my head on her shoulder. “Now we - wait. What was that?” she asked. The water had been broken ever so slightly by something a few dozen feet off shore. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, and my heart leapt in fear. But no, it was only a fish. Had to be. The splash had been too small to be the monster.
Despite my fear, it was very late, very dark, and past our bedtime. We waited, and watched, and finished our snacks. The rocking of the waves was so soothing that I found myself fighting to stay awake, even after several sips from the can of soda. I yawned, and Victoria cleared her throat. “Come on, can’t fall asleep now,” she muttered, but her voice was tired. Maybe there was a bigger splashing noise, but I faded into unconsciousness too quickly to take notice this time. Maybe we were asleep for ten minutes, or two hours - who’s to say? That is, at least, until we were both startled awake by what felt like a massive jet of water. Snapping my eyes open, shaking my head, I groaned, “What -?” I shook Victoria’s shoulder. “Hey!” It was only then that I looked around, and I saw it.
This time Victoria heard me, and she too wiped water droplets from her face, and followed my outstretched, shaking hand with her gaze. “Whoa!” she said. There was really nothing else to say, for standing there - floating there? - in the moonlight at the water’s edge was a woman, with jet black hair, and a naked torso, and a black tail that shown rainbow in the moonlight. “The black rainbow fish,” I whispered in awe. The woman thrashed her tail at us again, squealed in what seemed like laughter - revealing a hint of sharp green teeth - and threw herself back into the water. One last tail slap against the surface and the lake returned to the deep serenity in which we’d found it.
The next morning, after we had run home, panting and groaning, we got out of bed to find the Mexican blanket covered in a strange brown algae, and our mother yelled at us that we had gotten it dirty, and it smelled like the mud at the bottom of the lake forevermore. She made us take it with us to our Abuela’s, and Rosita knew, of course she knew. But she just winked, and fed us extra conche that day, and said we must be braver than we looked. And she managed to get the algae off, with her kitchen magic, and we never went back to the lake again.