The Life Cycle of the Common Octopus

by Emma Knight

This was one of the most fundamental differences between them, Alice thought: Pen had been trained to breathe less air than everyone else, whereas Alice had never once in her life felt the need to apologize for taking up space.

“Margot. Margot has this idea—I’m surprised she hasn’t cornered you to deliver it yet—that all men are jailers. She says women should have children, if that’s what they want, but that brides are lambs to the slaughter. Or something to that effect.”

“And they’re right. It was necessary for me to be selfish in order for both of us, George and me, to survive. But people don’t understand that. There is little room for a mother’s self-interest in the narrative. There is only the selfish monster and the octopus.”

“The mother who insists on keeping that inner self of hers alive is monstrous. No one blinks when a father continues devoting himself to whatever it is he most wants to accomplish in this world. But a wife and mother who has priorities of her own and refuses to put them last? Hers becomes a life of conflict, between who she is and what is expected of her. Society deems her selfish and unnatural. If she lets herself believe it, she’s doomed, and so are her children.” “I don’t think you’re right,” Pen said quietly. “Maybe that used to be the case, but no one

thinks it’s selfish or unnatural anymore. Things have changed.” “It would be lovely if that were true,” said Margot. She sounded almost sad, as if she had hoped Pen would understand and was disappointed that she did not. “I hope for your sake it is.” “And failing that, the best option is never to fall in love, and never to have children?” Pen asked, a bit defensively. “God, I hope not.” Margot’s voice was softer. “Well, what then?” Margot turned to her with a look that was nearly tender. “The only way is to make peace with yourself.” Pen looked back at the tank. Slowly, rhythmically, her supple body twisting and billowing like smoke, the octopus emerged from her hiding place. Her skin, which had taken on the color and pattern of the rocks, now turned a brilliant red. Her eight long, tapered arms with their gleaming rows of suckers looked strong and flexible enough to choke a person to death. Each arm moved with perfect grace, independent of the others. They watched her for a long time, as if hypnotized. “The octopus is quite intelligent, isn’t it?” Pen asked. Margot turned to meet Pen’s eyes. “The octopus is the most intelligent animal on the planet without a backbone.”

And marriage becomes like a three-legged race with a stranger. We stumbled along, out of balance, for years.”

Parents don’t become redundant right away. But we do become so, eventually, if we’ve done our jobs at all well.”