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In the dining room there is a brown fish hanging on the wall who swims along in his frame while we are eating dinner. He swims in candlelight for all to see, as if he has been swimming forever, even in the darkness of the ink before someone thought to draw him and the thin reeds waving in his stream and the clear pebbles strewn upon the sand. No wonder he continues his swimming deep into the night, long after we have blown out the candles and gone upstairs to bed. No wonder I find him in the pale morning light, still swimming, still looking out at me with his one, small, spellbound eye.