Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [39]
Within seconds, it was a sea of bubbles. The fizzing continued unabated, the surface of the water a white cauldron with no way of seeing what effect it was having on the fish. Twenty minutes later, the water had calmed down. So had the orfe. Having succumbed to the initial explosion of carbon dioxide, it was very calm – too calm to my mind. On its side, gills scarcely moving, it looked half dead. Whatever, I had to fish it out. Rolling up my sleeves, I immersed my arms into the gently fizzing water and cupped my hands under the orfe’s belly, gradually raising it to the surface. But as soon as the surface of the water was broken, the fish slipped out of my fingers and flopped back in with a splash.
Mandy held up a square of muslin.
‘Crystal always used this,’ she said in a casual manner as if it was the most obvious thing to think of. So why hadn’t I thought of it?
I snatched the material from her and pushed it into the bucket and under the fish. I have to confess it did make it much easier. With the orfe netted, I was able to drag it out and carry it through to the operating theatre where I plopped it on the table, rivulets of water running across to drip on to the floor.
Mandy now held up a wet green drape. ‘Crystal always wraps this round the fish. Stops it drying out.’
‘Right!’ I plucked the drape from her and folded it round the orfe just leaving the damaged flank exposed. The wound was deeper than I’d suspected, extending from behind the tail to within a few inches of the dorsal fin. Now what? I saw Mandy open her mouth. ‘Crystal always uses …’ I expected her to say. But she didn’t say a word; she merely opened an emergency pack of instruments from which I extracted a sterile drape, spread it on the trolley and allowed her to tip the pack out.
Despite having the Venetian blinds closed to the glare and heat of the sun, the theatre was hot and I knew I’d have to work quickly before the fish dried out. I threaded a needle and jabbed it into one side of the wound. The needle bounced off the skin. I tried again. The same thing happened.
‘Needle must be blunt,’ I declared, throwing it to one side.
I threaded another one. That needle buckled and snapped in half as I tried forcing it through the fish’s flesh. ‘What’s wrong with these bloody needles?’ I said, feeling myself getting hot under the collar, a trickle of sweat running down my back. Though the fish wasn’t in a flap, I certainly was.
Mandy glowered at me, her cheeks a deeper shade of scarlet. ‘It’s not the needles,’ she said.
‘Really?’ My tone was sarcastic.
‘No. Fish have got tough skin. Crystal always uses one of those.’ She pointed to the largest needle at the end of the row. To my mind, it was more suitable for suturing a Great Dane than a fish but I wasn’t going to carp on about it. And if Mandy said …
I still had trouble pulling the wound together. Flakes of flesh kept breaking off, each one accompanied by a tut from the ever-watchful Mandy. The suture material snapped a couple of times, provoking more tuts. I began to feel more like a fish out of water than the wretched fish in front of me. The word ‘flounder’ sprang to mind several times. However, I eventually managed to draw the edges of the wound together and, once sewn up, the orfe was slid back into a bucket of fresh water.
‘Make sure it’s at room temperature,’ Mandy said.
Yes, Mandy, yes, I thought. Otherwise both me and the fish will end up in hot water. How orfe-ful. Yes … well. I jabbed my finger in the bucket. Testing times … testing times …
Now I had to wait while the fish swam back into consciousness. Only it didn’t appear to want to. It remained motionless, floating just under the surface of the water. No sign of life. Not a flicker of tail or fin. Nothing. A bubble of panic rose in my throat. Perhaps the fish had been out of the water too long? Maybe all my poking and prodding had been too much for it?
Mandy hovered into view. Here we go again, I thought. ‘Yes? What is it?’ I snapped.
Mandy pursed her lips and then said, ‘Crystal always bubbles some