The Cod God

Because Cod are difficult to distinguish between, being alike in shape and color and most intellectual respects, this cod will be referred to as Cod A. I realize that this places intrinsic limitations on character development and perhaps on the reader's ability to empathize with Cod A, but shouldn't escape your notice that Cod A is in fact a cod, therefore a fish, and sometimes I wonder or not whether we should really attempt emotional resonance with a fish. We might hit some sort of fin frequency and suddenly find ourselves mutating in our beds sprouting dorsal appendages while flopping on the box spring in a vain attempt to draw water through our newly formed gills.

So there was Cod A swimming in the stream that ran from the hill to the pond while thinking "bottom feed, bottom feed" or something like that in fish thought. Now, the stream from the hill, which will hearafter be referred to as hill 1 for the purpose of geographical distinction with hill 2 which is on the otherside of the fence, that runs to pond alpha, such designated because it likes to be such designated, was a nice stream as streams go, lush at the bottom with the water greens that sprouted between the rocks. Insects with broad leg spans liked to glide over the surface of the eddies. Mosquitos hatched their eggs among the reeds along the north shore right at the elbow bend. Crawdads darted from alcove to alcove along the bottom, swift despite the inflexibility of their armor.

And of course, there were plenty of Cod swimming up and down the current, cod named Cod C, Cod L, Cod X, and Cod P. Cod A was a young cod, not long ago hatched in pond alpha. From birth, Cod A found it was adept at the national past time of Cod across the world which was swimming up and down streams. The local team swam from Pond Alpha to Hill 1. Then they swam back. Since Cod have a poor sense of time and little to no rational thought or memory, there was no method of measurement between cods, just the knowledge that one cod was a good cod while another cod was a bad cod.

And of course, while they swam, all cod kept an eye out for the Cod God. The Cod God is not to be confused with the God Cod that rules over the Cod afterlife with an iron fin. Instead, the Cod God was a legend among Cod, appearing in the form of the most brilliant gleaming light. The Cod God transported cod to the Cod God. Most recently, it was Cod D who ascended to glory and righteousness from the pond. Cod L had an inkling that it might be next, but Cod X believed that honor to be its and it alone.

Not that the Cod actually communicated any of this to each other, or even really thought about it to themselves since, as already stated, Cod possess little to no capacity for thought. Most likely they think "water feels nice," and "BRIGHT THING!!!" And, of course, sometimes they vomit.

So Cod A swam from Hill 1 to Pond Alpha and was planning on swimming back to hill 1, when it realized that something was different about the water. Something was warmer. Brighter. A greater amount of silt than usual was kicked up by little creatures stirring at the bottom, and Cod A was overwhelmed with the impulse to bottom feed while thinking something resembling "water feeds nice."

Off among the rushes, Cod X swam in figure eights around its perspective egg laying site.

Cods C, L, and P were all on their way to Hill 1.

And Cod A snorfled among the green plants at the bottom of pond alpha, vaguely aware that something about the water was different. More electric, like the effervescence of opportunity healing the mysterious rift of the chaos of nature. Of course, we already know what Cod A couldn't comprehend which is that we have lowered the Cod God into the water and lie in wait on the slats of a rowboat to transport a cod by means of the Cod God to bask in the glory of the God Cod on the slats of our boat, the very slats upon which we are lying.

Of course, we, not being cods, really know nothing of the Cod God or the God Cod. We are here for dinner. For sport. You might be here for the moment you beat the Cod senseless with your oar to stop its insescent flapping. I don't know about you. We really don't know each other well being fishing buddies from work, catching a few minutes of chat over cigarettes on breakdown. Even then we talk mostly about Cod.

But you might say that we are the unknowing vessels for the Cod God, transmitting meaning into the water in the form of the purposeful touch of human presence. Thinking about frying up a nice juicy Cod.

And of course, though we know that cod are below us swimming in pond Alpha, we don't realize that Cod A is snorfling for bottom dregs among the greens, that the flap of cod A's tail against the water that sends microsurge currents through the depths. We don't know the frenzy those microsurges cause in the microscopic pond alpha dwellers.

"I can't wait to fry a fish," you say.

"Them fish will be good," I say.

Neither of us says anything about the undercurrents of our actions, let alone the microcurrents of Cod A's tail. We don't say anything about the disillusionment we will cause in Cod L and Cod X if we catch Cod A, nothing about the vacuum we will leave in the food chain balance vacuum the absence of such an important consumer will leave.

But of course, we don't catch Cod A. We go home empty handed and hungry, our lures wet and dripping and baitless. None of us, the fish included realize that Cod A will forever be unaware of a slight, barely cogniscent nagging that it missed the great chance of its youth to ascend to meet the God Cod on the hooks and barbs of the shiny and metallic Cod God.