Pop had this far-off sparkle in his eyes, and I knew it wasn’t any good interrupting him now, that even if I asked for an explanation it would be so long-winded and glassy-eyed I couldn’t make much sense of it. But then I thought of another question, one more practical, and I couldn’t help but ask it.

“Pop,” I said, “have you ever lost a Parsnit duel?”

Pop looked down at the table a minute and popped his knuckles.

“Never have,” he said. “And I can tell you right now that I never will.” He slapped the table. “You know what? I don’t think your mom will mind if we have a little fun here, will she?”

Mom didn’t move. She just kept reading, or at least acting like she was. But she wasn’t turning the pages anymore.

“Fine, fine,” said Pop. “Watch this.”

He picked up the Parsnit deck and began to shuffle the cards, which was always a sight. They were flying every which way like sparks shooting off his fingers, all landing like magic right back in Pop’s hands. You never seen cards fly so fast as when Pop shuffled a deck. You were afraid to stick your hand out lest the cards be moving too fast and you wind up losing a finger.

“Tell me when to stop,” said Pop.

“When!” I said.

Pop scooped all the cards together and slapped them down on the table, a tall flat deck, perfectly uniform, sitting there like a gold brick.

“Now put your hand on it right there, Buddy boy,” he said. “Touch the deck lightly, with just your fingertips.”

I did what Pop said.

“Clear your mind now. Make it absolutely blank and empty, like the night sky without any moon. Can you do that? Sure you can, sure you can. Now when your mind is absolutely clear, I want you to listen. Listen with your fingers now. What are the cards saying to you? What do they whisper?”

I couldn’t hear a word. I mean it. Not one tiny sound. Just maybe a little snicker coming from Mom in the corner.

“Now flip over the first card,” said Pop.

I did.

“What do you see?”

I did it now too, in this very moment, in the old lady’s shack. I flipped over the exact same card I had in my memory: the Fish Boy. There he was, looking all baffled and confused, that fish poking right out of the cup of water like it was wanting to whisper him a secret.

But tonight the Fish Boy had changed. A softening of his eyes. They had gone brown, a little green to them. His face wasn’t so round and red this time. No, it was skinny and pale, his chin sharp now, his eyebrows furrowed like he was wondering about something.

Yep, the Fish Boy looked like me.

I mean just like me. We could have been twin brothers. We could have been the exact same person.