The Categorical Universe of Candice Phee Read Online Free Page B

Rich Uncle Brian, pointing.
    The man shook his head.
    â€œNo can do, mate,” he replied. “That’s not a prize. That’s my pet. Time was, you could give away goldfish as prizes, but no more. Against the law. I could lose my license.”
    â€œYour pet?” asked Rich Uncle Brian. There was that cynicism in his voice again.
    â€œYup. Very attached to him. Very.” The man stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Then again, if the price was right . . . not against the law to sell your pet, is it?”
    Rich Uncle Brian sighed.
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œA hundred bucks.”
    â€œWHAT?”
    â€œVery attached to him, I am.”
    Rich Uncle Brian looked down at me and then at the fish and then at the man. He sagged a little and got out his wallet. Again.
    â€œTell you what,” he said to the man. “Fifty and you can have your stuffed prize back.”
    â€œDeal.”
    Rich Uncle Brian handed over the cash and the gnu/deformed camel and the man handed over the fish and the bowl.
    â€œTell you what, mate,” said the man. “Since you’ve just bought the world’s most expensive fish—about ten thousand dollars a kilo, I reckon—then I’ll throw in the bowl for free.”
    Rich Uncle Brian smiled, but it didn’t come out right. It was like one of those smiles when someone has pointed a camera at you for half an hour and neglected to press the shutter.
    Later, in the car as we drove home, he asked me what I was going to name it.
    â€œEarth-Pig,” I said. He sighed.
    â€œIt’s the translation of the Afrikaans word
aardvark
,” I continued. “It is an anteater and means ‘earth pig.’ ”
    â€œIs there any reason, Pumpkin, why you want to name a goldfish after an African anteater? I mean, I can’t think of too many similarities. Color, size, presence or absence of gills, that sort of thing.”
    â€œYou’re right, Rich Uncle Brian,” I said. “But it’s the first proper word in the dictionary.” The dictionary is my favorite book. I often read it at bedtime. It has thousands of different words and it doesn’t try to tell a story and fail. It just deals in words for their own sake. It is pure.
    The only other things I read are books by Charles Dickens. He has taken many of the trickiest words fromthe dictionary and put them in interesting orders. This is clever and admirable.
    â€œWon’t it be confused by being called a pig?”
    â€œMaybe,” I said. “It could suffer an identity crisis.” I thought for a few minutes. “I will call it Earth-Pig Fish. That is a good name.”
    We drove in silence for about twenty minutes.
    â€œDo you know what the best thing about you is, Pumpkin?” said Rich Uncle Brian finally.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou sing your own song, Pumpkin, and you dance your own dance. You see the world differently from the rest of us. And you know? Sometimes I think I wish everyone saw it the same way you do. I know the world would be a better place.”
    I didn’t say anything. But I must admit I was very surprised. He didn’t use one maritime metaphor.

    Douglas Benson told me his secret ten minutes into lunch. The librarians loaned him a chair, though they didn’t encourage him to eat. They didn’t forbid it either, though.
    â€œI am from another dimension,” he said.
    â€œThat’s nice,” I replied.
    â€œWell, not really,” he said. “You see, I like the dimension I came from, whereas this one sucks big-time.”
    I considered that for a while, but it didn’t do any good. I still had no idea what he was talking about.
    â€œI have no idea what you are talking about,” I said.
    Douglas Benson has an interesting face. His eyes crowd toward the middle, as if they are trying to merge together but are prevented from doing so by the barrier of his nose, which is larger than you’d