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y
growing sound of the surf as the eye of the storm began to pass.
--
"You two are quite beautiful when you play," Doctor Eckert said the next
morning, interrupting our breakfast.
The day after the storm was a beautiful clear day, and Mary and I had
just finished a game of tag after a night on the bottom. I looked up at
her as Eiko Koike smiled at us from the edge of the water. "What do you want,"
I asked.
"I just thought I'd stop by to see how you survived the storm," Eiko Koike said.
"I see you're OK, and I see your gills are finishing their
metamorphosis."
"What?" I asked, looking down my stomach. There were tears in the skin
along my hipbone, right at the joint between my skin and the fish's. I
could see the tears open and close with the pulsation of my gills, and
there was another tear in the numb skin on the bottom of the fish's jaw.
Eiko Koike smiled. "Your new gills occupy a good chunk of the volume of your
pelvis and the old fish's skull. The six intake holes will form a vee
along the line w
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