Over time, the aquarium went from ten fish to one, from lots of “stuff”—a deep-sea diver figurine, fake coral, rocks—to just one rock. The fish was a medium-sized bass-type fish. Slowly, the water got murky and the fish moved less and less. Soon enough, there wasn’t anything in there but the fish, and, then, not even the fish. Nothing. Just a tank full of bad, sad water. He never let us clean it or help, even though the fish began to weigh on us. When it disappeared, he told us he’d killed it because we’d made such a fuss over it.

I don’t know why that broke me worse than all the other things. I don’t know why Unitopia reminded me of that, but by the time I walked into the back room from the visitor center, I was already sad for something lost. Nothing I did now could change that.

Imagine Silvina after the end of Unitopia.

Imagine what it might’ve broken. What, in the broken places, healed as resistance.

Imagine how, growing up, I didn’t dare keep a salamander in the house although I wanted to, let alone a real pet. Just for a day or two, catch and release. Because all I could think of is Shot’s fish.

[58]

Standing behind a carved wooden counter with the outline of a stylized mermaid’s body across the front … was “Ronnie.” It said it right there on her name tag. Which was good because I realized that, in the background research, I hadn’t ever found a photo.

“Ronnie” was a slim white woman. In her mechanic’s-style overalls. Rows of antique appliances behind her. So that was the “organic mechanic” part. No oil smell or anything else you’d expect.

This last dome was divided in half by the wall that housed vintage appliances, and an open, round door carved with vines led to a space farther back that looked spartan. A bench, a couple old chairs, some tools, boxes, and cans. Maybe someone else was back there, but I doubted it.

Ronnie had a wary look stitched on, which I doubted helped with customers. But, then, she couldn’t have any idea who I was. I liked that her nails were ragged and torn and her hands smudged, as she cleaned them with a rag. So maybe she did fix things. I liked the openness of her face and the light blue of her eyes. In some vague way, I felt I’d seen her before. Otherwise, I didn’t have an opinion.

“Are we alone?” I asked.

“That’s a strange question, stranger, don’t you think?” she said, putting the rag on the counter. The countertop was solid, so I couldn’t see anything hidden behind it.

“I mean, I’m curious how many visitors you get, with the center closed.”