After lunch, he zipped Xandro into his jacket and carried him down to the river to wave at the boats. A sleepy Sunday afternoon. A crisp chill was in the air, and the green of the archipelago was slowly transforming to yellow, red and orange. Xandro’s cheeks turned rosy. His hair had grown in enough to lift and ripple in the cool breeze. His solid weight felt good in the crook of Kennet’s elbow, little butt perched on his forearm and one fat fist holding onto Kennet’s collar. The other hand reached for the gold chain on Kennet’s neck. The boy had recently discovered wonderful shiny things hung from it.

“Fee,” he said, pulling the chain.

“Fish,” Kennet said. “That’s right. Hey, not for eating.” He hooked the charms out of Xandro’s mouth. A futile task—the tyke was cutting more teeth and chewed on anything. Not a minute went by and he was gnawing on the Saint Birgitta medal again.

“You want some gold inside,” Kennet said. “Don’t we all? Look at me, I carry it everywhere. I’m becoming just like Old Nick.” He hitched Xandro to his other arm and dug in his trouser pocket, fingers sifting through loose change and a fish hook, looking for the gold tooth. “See?”

He held it up for Xandro to see. The boy stared, expression solemn, then he leaned toward Kennet’s pinched fingers, mouth open.

“No,” Kennet said, laughing. “You definitely don’t eat this. It belongs to another little Fish in the world.”

Not for the first time, his thoughts wandered to Fisha. Where was he? Was he alive? Safe? Sheltered? Did the gold teeth give him any kind of advantage? Did he find a pair of parental arms—blood or surrogate—to hold him?

Family isn’t blood, it’s who you bleed for.

Kennet thought about the Zippo lighter and prayed it and Fisha hadn’t been separated.

May you still keep the flame. May you be safe, fed and clothed. May your trousers have pockets and those pockets not have holes. Keep me within that pocket. Fish to fish. Flame to flame. Guard your gold but spend it to stay alive. Survive. You’re a fisherman and a pirate.

“Fee,” Xandro said.

“Yes,” Kennet said. He put the tooth in his pocket and came up with a penny. “Ready? Say Nick, Nick, needle in the water! Thou sink! I float!”

“Nee,” Xandro shrieked as Kennet made a pendulum of their clumped hands and flung the coin into the river.

“Molodets,” Kennet said. “Now say fuck Hitler. No, no, don’t. Cripes, your mother will kill me.”

I bet your father would laugh, though.