Installment 8 (Chapter 3--Entertainment is Everywhere)

1

A car horn screamed past Arthur Vine as he stepped onto the hot concrete sidewalk outside his door. He held a beer stein, its top flipped up, chest high before him. “Now, my sudden friend, let us sketch in the backdrop of your existence.” Vine turned south, squinting in the noisy glare of the Manhattan morning. The smell of steaming sausages awoke a sensation within him, which he guessed was hunger. Behind him he heard a rhythmic metallic clicking noise and within a few seconds a small boy passed him pulling a small toy monkey on wheels. The monkey tapped on a little metal drum as it rolled. “Entertainment is everywhere, Jonah. Inescapable,” he mumbled to the fish in the beer mug.

A group of sailors bounced out of the huge arched doorway of the New York Aquarium as Arthur Vine began his slow ascent of the stairs. The sailors broke out in laughter as they raced one another down. A winded Vine reached the top of the stairs and stepped to the side to allow another group of sailors to pass. He placed the stein on a pedestal next to the bust of a 19th century woman. A plaque below the bust read, “On this spot, in the year of 1850, the “Swedish Nightingale, Jenny Lind, made her North American debut.” “Inescapable,” chuckled Vine as he grasped the stein by the handle and entered the great circular fortress.
The air inside the Aquarium was considerably cooler and it washed over Vine refreshingly. Two levels of glass ringed the building and large undersea murals covered the stone walls. “Surely, we must find some of your brethren in such a place, Jonah,” whispered Vine into the stein.

Through the reflection in his face, Vine watched the flowing fins of a fish just like Jonah in every way, except this one had a blue red sheen with not a trace of the green which dominated Jonah’s color scheme. “Betta Splendens”, he read, “Commonly referred to as the ‘Siamese Fighting Fish’. So, you are a fighter, Jonah. You certainly fought for your life on the New York City street.”
“I knew you liked ta drink, Mr. Vine, but you shouldn’t oughta bring beer into the Aquarium.” A big red haired man in a guard uniform looked down at Vine with a wide yellow smile.
“I assure you, Mr. Cornthwaite,” said Vine, returning the smile, “that the contents of this decanter are entirely appropriate to this establishment.”
“Watcha got there, anyway?” Asked Cornthwaite as he leaned down.
“Betta Splendens, it says here, Mr. Cornthwaite, the Siamese Fighting Fish. This particular edition bears the appellation Jonah.”
“Don’t you never say anything simple, Mr. Vine? I aint big on fancy talkers, but you're all right. You don't do it to show off.” Cornthwaite took the stein into his big red hand and, popping open the top, looked inside. “Colorful, ain’t they,” he said lowering his voice. “Where'd you pick this up, Mr. Vine?”
“I found this wayward child lying in the middle of the street as a matter of fact.”
“You don’t say. “He looked up at Vine. “What? Just lyin’ there?”
“Indeed. By all rights he should be dead,” said Vine taking back the stein. “It is a bond we share,” he said and snapped the lid shut.