When I was six or seven years old, my f***ly moved east, where I grew up, eventually married and established my own f***ly. My wife and I opened a shop where we bred and sold exotic fish. The aquarium trade was then still in its infancy, and most of the fish were imported directly from Asia, Africa and South America. Few species sold for less than five dollars a pair.
One sunny afternoon a little girl came in apanied by he brother. They were perhaps five and six years old , I was busy cleaning the tanks. The two children stood with wide, round eyes, staring at the jeweled beauties swimming in the crystal-clear water. “Gosh,”exclaimed the boy, “Can we buy some?”
“Yes, ” I replied. “ If you can pay for them. ”
“ Oh, we have lots of money,”the little girl said confidently.
Something in the way she spoke gave me an odd feeling of f***liarity. After watching the fish for some time, they asked me for pairs of several different kinds, pointing them out as they walked down the row of tanks. Ited their choices into a traveling container and slipped it into an insulated bag for transport, handing it to the boy. “Carry it carefully.” I cautioned.
He nodded and turned to his sister. “You pay him,” he said. I held out my hand and, as ber clenched fist approached me, I suddenly knew exactly what the little girl was going to say. Her fist opened, and into my out-stretched palm she dumped two nickels and a dime.
At that instant I sensed the full impact of the leg