Oblomov was not the first fish we had in the house, but the third. Before him there were two others of the same color, which I did observe, and which became a fascinating object of study for me. They came one Saturday morning, two months before Lila was born. Pauline, a mutual friend, brought them to us in the same container in which their successor was to die. Vincent and I were very happy to accept the gift. A cat or dog would have been a third wheel in our relationship and a nuisance in our apartment, but we liked the idea of sharing our home with another couple. Plus we had heard that red fish bring luck and in those days we were seeking any kind of talisman, be it animal or object, to temper our anxiety about the pregnancy.

We first placed the fish on a small corner table in the living room where the afternoon sun fell. We thought they cheered up the room, which faced the patio behind our building, with the quick movements of their fins and tails. I don’t know how many hours I must have spent watching them. A month earlier I had requested maternity leave from the law office where I worked to prepare for the birth of my daughter. It wouldn’t be forever, and it wasn’t uncommon, but still it troubled me. I didn’t know what to do at home. The too-many empty hours filled me with questions about my future. Winter was at its worst and just the thought of getting dressed to face the icy wind was enough to dissuade me from going out for a walk. I preferred to stay home, reading the newspaper or getting things ready for Lila’s arrival, turning the tiny study into a bedroom for her. On the other hand Vincent was spending more time in the office than ever. He wanted to make the most of these last few months to get ahead on his projects before the baby was born. Reasonable enough, but I missed him, even when we were together. He felt distant, lost in his busy schedule and in his professional worries where there was no place for me. Often, waiting for him to come home from work, I sat and watched the fishes’ sometimes slow and measured, sometimes frantic or terrorized comings and goings. I learned to tell them apart, not just by the nearly imperceptible differences in the colors of their scales, but by their behavior and the way they moved, searched for food. There was nothing else in the fishbowl. No stone, no cavity in which to hide. The fish always saw each other, and every act by one, every rising to the surface and circling of the glass, inevitably affected the other. Hence the impression of dialogue watching them gave me.