Interview with a Suicidal Philosopher
{A short story I write in 2023}
This story is the unabashed version with no edits or break in structure.
Firstly, you have to understand that for a writer starting out in this industry it’s exceptionally hard to find a gig, let alone one that is interesting enough to write about. So I hope you can forgive me when my first opportunity for an interview was with a goldfish.
Around last week I got my first work call, it was a strange conversations, although it didn’t start out as strange as you might think. A Mrs Bodeur had called asking if the papers I had left strewed around the city displaying my phone number was real. I said yes, somewhat surprised I had even gotten a call, though admittedly I had been waiting quite impatiently at my phone for no longer than a month.
She questioned me, rather immediately I might add, about what type of interviews I can do. I assured her that I can do any type with anyone. So she continued her inquiries and slowly I started to piece together that she wanted me to interview her son, but as our conversation carried on to it’s destination I further realised that it was more of a pet that she wanted me to interview.
“A goldfish?” I was astonished that anyone would ever dare call with such a fabricated story. “Yes, my dear goldfish,” she desperately pursued, not wanting to let me out of her now sympathetic grasp she had on me. Although, none such tactics were in need as I was more desperate than she could imagine. So I of course agree to meet both her and her husband at her house the following day.
The next day I found that surprisingly their address wasn’t too far from my very own house. Strange to think that people such as them may be closer than expected. Their greetings were welcoming, and if they hadn’t been waiting outside I would have assumed that I had stopped at someone’s grandparents. It was small and full of trinkets, a rather unassuming house inside and out.
I sat down and talked to Mrs & Mr Bodeur for half an hour, firstly to calm my nerves and secondly to check if they were insane. They were, in fact, not insane in the slightest. They were rather normal with dull jobs. Mrs Bodeur had worked for the government in taxes for around 23 years and kept it steady, Mr Bodeur had been in construction for around 25 years, 10 years ago he started and owned his own company and for the past 5 years had been its construction manager.
Although eased smoothly into this environment through warm tea and exquisite homemade biscuits, anticipation hung in the air and through our conversation, until finally I asked about the goldfish… Or more specifically where the goldfish was, so I could interview him.
“He’s right over there,” Mrs Boduer pointed to a large glass fish tank that had been sitting in the corner of the room the entire time, I just hadn’t been aware of its existence. Curiously, I got up and started to observe the rectangular glass tank. Sparse would be to kind a word to describe the environment of this tank. In the middle floated the goldfish, looking back at me with such curiosity that I still wouldn’t consider him a fish at all.
A black tablet had been stuck to the bottom left side of the tank, “That’s how he talks. He presses sensors that spell out letters or word on his side, while the tablet shows what he’s saying to us on this side,” Mr Boduer explained to me. They had also explained to me that he could in fact understand what I was saying as long as I was saying it loud enough. I thanked them for their hospitality and kindly asked them to leave us in peace as my fascination in this creature could only be explored between the two of us privately.
I sat there, in that room in front of that fish tank not saying a word, for god knows how long. yet the whole time he did not stop observing me. My life choices at this point started to pour in as I lost all hope, what was I doing. I think the goldfish could tell I was about ready to leave before he spoke.
“Aren’t you going to ask me any questions?”
Shocked yet composed I asked, a bit louder than I felt I should, how he can communicate and understand us. “I don’t know,” he answered rather simply. Quickly and with my own grace It got quite easy to talk to him, once you jump through the mental hoops that there is an existence of a fish that both understands and talks to people.
When asked about his empty tank, he agreed that it was sparse but he had his books to entertain him. “Philosophy books,” he answered when asked what kind he read. It was the only books he read. I of course asked him why and he said that they were the only one’s he was ever interested in.
He told me that he liked to study the classics of ‘Aristotle’ and ‘Plato’ and ‘Socrates’, those were his favourites. Sometimes dabbling in ‘Hannah Arendt’, ‘Friedrich Nietzsche’ and a little bit of ‘Karl Marx’, though the Boduers were hesitant to give him such books by a communist (His words, not mine, of course). He wanted to expand his readings but was limited by the amount of time the busy Boduers had and the amount their local library selection had on philosophy, hence such basic taste in philosophy, from what I’ve been told by other philosophy students.
He didn’t much want to talk about the Boduers, a dark cloud would pass over him when he would be reminded that they were his owners.
“They don’t necessarily own me, no they’re not my owners. I don’t even own myself. I’m simply stuck in their tank, lucky enough to be able to read and talk, though I’ve never seen the world besides when I was carried in a plastic bag full of water.”
From what I could tell, there was resistance of love for the Boduers, though understandable. Even so, I tried countering this feeling by suggesting that they were trying to get him in the papers or at least recognition so they must be proud of him in some respects. He disagreed and reveal that he was the one who wanted to be known, to be seen at least by someone else that wasn’t the Bodeurs and their friends they tried to impress. He was the one to convince them to call me.
When asked why, he became silents. For the first time in the entirety of the interview, he acted like any normal fish. Swimming around, not really looking at me. This ended up with him facing the far corner away from me, like he was inspecting one of the blue fake pebbles on the tanks floor. I waited, I knew he needed time to ponder and the last thing I wanted to do was disturb him. After a while he swam up to the tablet rather slow and incredibly sad.
Suicide was his plan. He wanted to be printed out and remembered, even if it was once, before he committed said suicide. There was some part of him that had love for the Boduers, they did feed him, home him in their house instead of being left at the fish stop to be taken by an immature kid, and when they realised that he had interest in reading they got him as many books as they could.
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I didn’t say anything. Instead I wheeled his tank to the living rooms window, only a few metres away and stopped it right near the front window. From his point of view he could watch any person, dog or car go by, he could see the weather changing and he could see when it was day and night time. I’m not sure I could change his mind about his plans, he’s a fish at the end of the day, but I could show him that the world did exist, even if he couldn’t be apart of it. I could show him that these people he read talking about life were talking about something that really existed.
He thanked me and said that it was a lovely view. I left the room with nothing more to say and thanked the Boduers with warm handshakes. They gifted me a few more of their biscuits and I urged them to keep him near the window, and maybe put some decorations inside the tank.
It’s been more than a week since I talked to him, but sometimes during my day and night walks, I find myself outside the Boduers. Every time I stay standing at the sidewalk, only for a few minutes, looking at the front window. I can see that the tank is still there, but I can never see if the goldfish is inside it or not. Nonetheless, I look at the tank hoping that I’m looking at him, just in case he might see me. It’s only now that I realised that I never asked his name, and feel a little too embarrassed at this point to call back the Boduers and ask, though I’m sure he would say that it doesn’t matter.
