Remarkably Bright Creatures

by Shelby Van Pelt

It mentions my intellectual prowess and penchant for cleverness, which for some reason seems a surprise to humans: Octopuses are remarkably bright creatures, it says. It warns the humans of my camouflage, tells them to take extra care in looking for me in case I have disguised myself to match the sand.

But his strange eye glints playfully, like a naughty child’s.

How long will it linger there? Will it bruise? Bruises come so easily these days, and the mark is already turning maroon, like a blood blister. Perhaps it will remain permanently. A silver-dollar scar.

At first, Erik’s disappearance was considered a runaway case. The last person who saw him was one of the deckhands working the eleven-o’clock southbound ferry, the last boat of the night, and the deckhand reported nothing unusual.

Once I am out of my tank, I must resubmerge within eighteen minutes or I will experience The Consequences.

Stay and visit, hon. D’you want coffee? Tea? Whiskey?” “Whiskey? Seriously?”

Forty years since he chased a lass.

I remember each and every human face that pauses to gaze at my tank. Patterns come readily to me.

He reappears, drifting back upward. A small gray object is looped on the tip of one of his arms. He extends it to her. An offering. Her house key. The one she lost last year.

Fingers suddenly clammy, he zooms in. There’s a caption. Daphne Cassmore and Simon Brinks.

Simon Brinks is definitely not a movie star, but he might be a pirate. I don’t care either way. He can stay a mystery as long as he agrees to pay up for eighteen years of missed child support.”

Is this what passes for a pickup line in your thirties? Complaining about back pain?

Conscience does make cowards of us all, huh?” She freezes. “What did you say?” “Conscience does make cowards of us all.” He feels himself start to redden. How does he always manage to drop this nerdy shit into conversation? He starts to explain, “It’s just some dumb Shakespeare quote. It’s from—” “Hamlet,” she says softly. “It was one of my son’s favorites.”

the boy has no genetic relationship with the man. The father is a cuckold. One of my favorite human words, I must admit.

You know, as do I, that the woman has no surviving heir. You know her only child died thirty years ago.

But you would do well to believe me when I tell you this: the young male who has recently taken over sanitation duties is a direct descendant of the cleaning woman with the injured foot.

Oh my God. You like her.”

It’s okay. He’s fifteen. He’s allowed to be Oscar the Grouch, trash can and all.”

Decisions, you know. And every single person in my big obnoxious family had an opinion on the matter. Thought I’d be ruining my life, no matter what I did.”

Anyway, her name was Daphne, or so Adam said. He couldn’t remember her last name, but he did say she went to his high school.”

“She was seeing him,” Tova says quietly. “Your mother is the girl.”

Seattle is a dizzying maze of buildings and bypasses, tunnels and byways, skyscrapers that might be built right on top of the highway itself, like something from an impossible Lego set.

“Marcellus is . . . well, Tova, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but he’s very old for a giant Pacific octopus.”

At mile marker 780, he realizes why he couldn’t find his phone. He left it on the front bumper, right where it was when he was changing the belt. He can practically see it sitting there. Which means, by now, it’s an expensive piece of roadkill.

Humans. For the most part, you are dull and blundering. But occasionally, you can be remarkably bright creatures.