The previous week, Van stole a mako shark. It was easy enough: he went to the local aquarium, jimmied some doors, and there it was. Kato, the mako shark. He sat in a holding tank, his body jerking like an idling car. A mere pup at four feet long, one hundred twenty pounds. Van reached in, grabbed him and ran. A quick, precise operation, just as he had learned from Gustav Richtmann, his mentor . Kato wiggled in his hands, his caudal fin wagging like a dog’s tail. Children and adults screamed and cleared a path as he ran across carpeted floors, past aquarium walls revealing underwater cities of coral, silvery schools of pointy-nosed fish, lumbering sharks, hang-gliding rays.
Security guards chased him, hightailing it with drawn billy clubs and guns. But he was just too fast.
Van didn’t have a job but rather was a trust fund baby. The morning of the theft, he had no plans to steal a shark, until he had learned that Gustav, his spiritual leader, had disappeared two days before and was presumed dead. On the east coast of Australia, Gustav taught the art of shark stealing during his six-week long, residential, non-degree program: the physical coordination necessary to carry a heavy fish while running at full-speed, the proper grabbing and holding techniques to avoid bites, the spiritual discipline to become one with the shark.
The Australian government had pegged him as a dangerous cult leader and seized his school with plans to turn it into an international shark sanctuary. Gustav, though, was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had finally transmuted as he had prophesied, Van thought. But wouldn’t I have felt something?
In his home, Van had a 1000-gallon salt-water aquarium tank, filled with mackerel and squid, that served as a holding tank for his acquisitions. A few days after stealing a shark, he would sell it. Buyers from the world over would come and browse. Swedish entrepreneurs, Saudi sheiks, Japanese eccentrics. Stolen sharks were a prize for the discriminating collector. He expected Kato to sell for $70,000.
But the money didn’t matter. As Van had learned from Gustav, stealing sharks was an art form worth suffering over, like music or painting. He had three missing fingers and many surgery scars to attest to such suffering.
Until he studied under Gustav, Van was just an average height, not so muscular, not so swift of foot slacker, possessing the miniscule resolve of someone raised in the MTV age while never working a day in his life. He had pale, smooth skin, lifeless blond hair, and, as the kids in school used to tease him, he somewhat resembled a Keebler elf. But Gustav had chiseled him into the man and shark-stealing artist he now claimed to be.
Kato the shark had tough, leathery bluish-gray skin. Black eyes, orbs like cursed jewels. Angry teeth sprouting from his mouth like weeds out of pavement cracks. Was he smiling or scowling? The shark is not angry or happy — something Gustav would say — instead, it lives in predatory bliss.
Every now and then, while sitting in front of the television watching rerun sitcoms, Van would hear the thwap of a tail hitting the tank, or a splash from Kato catching a fish or squid. He’s not unhappy, Van thought when he heard this.
Eventually, Van posted an ad. After one day, he received one inquiry, from Johann Diemand, a South African importer-exporter. South African — just like Gustav. On the phone, Van asked him, in a series of rapid-fire questions, what did he import and export, did he import and export the same thing, and how does one get started importing and exporting? Diemand responded with a snort, changed the subject to an appointment.
The day Diemand came, Van wore his ceremonial shark-stealing robe. It was satin, dark purple in color, decorated with gold shark heads reminiscent of Inca etchings. He wore the matching boxer shorts under his khakis.
He sat cross-legged on a recliner. This would be a posture where Gustav would encourage meditation on the vastness of the oceans, the primal nirvana of being an apex predator, but instead Van used it for eating popcorn, watching television. A loud splash came from the aquarium room. The doorbell rang.
Diemand had blond hair and rough, wrinkled skin, kind of like Kato. One day, Gustav once said, we, the chosen ones, will all become sharks. Van brushed crumbs from his robe, offered a four-fingered right hand for a shake.
He offered his guest coffee, wine, soda; caviar, coconut shrimp, chocolate chip cookies. Diemand declined. Just show me the shark, he said.
Diemand knelt and gazed through the glass at Kato. Shy Kato was at the tank’s opposite side.
Johann asked, what’s your price?
70,000 American dollars, Van said. He looked Diemand up and down, realized in a certain light he looked like Gustav.
Suddenly, Van heard a loud crashing sound. Glass from his bedroom skylight window. Diemand, now holding a walkie-talkie and speaking into it, rolled away from him. Two soldiers wearing helmets and camouflage appeared, grabbed Van’s wrists, bound them with cold metal cuffs.
Johann stood, said, you’re under arrest for grand larceny, reckless endangerment, and attempting to sell an exotic animal. His harsh accent had changed into a deep American voice. A set-up. Van wondered how he could be so gullible.
The two soldiers pushed Van into his bedroom. They both held onto him, grabbed a dangling rope, and all three ascended to a hovering helicopter, as Van said, bye bye Kato, his voice lost in the whirling blades, and wondered if he would see Gustav.
Christian Bell lives near Baltimore, Maryland. His fiction has appeared in JMWW Quarterly, Pindeldyboz, Skive Magazine, Tattoo Highway, Why Vandalism?, flashquake, Wigleaf, and SmokeLong Quarterly. Visit his blog, “I’m Not Emilio Estevez”, at imnotemilioestevez.blogspot.com.
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13 Responses to “THE ART OF STEALING SHARKS • by Christian Bell”
Comments
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November 9th, 2009 at 1:23 am
Hmmmmm. Interesting info about shark stealing and cults, but not sure why I should care. Let me think about this before committing to a rating.
November 9th, 2009 at 6:19 am
I think I get where you’re going with this – there sharks, and then there are Sharks; the whole circle-of-life thing.
Problem is, this story doesn’t seem to know what kind of story it wants to be. It starts out absurdist, with the Shark Thief sprinting through crowds carrying a 120-pound fish; after a slight divergence into exposition about a cult leader, we get back to the real story, the Shark-Stealer Stealers. By then, there’s been too much wandering about, and the story has lost its focus.
November 9th, 2009 at 7:08 am
Bob (2) has said it all for me, except for the “hmmmmm” part which Sharon (1) chipped in.
I was totally engaged in this story from the get go. What a wonderful, absurd set up and I couldn’t imagine where this was going. Then it started to bog a bit in the back story, not an unforgivable sin, as long as it got back on track again. But it never did. And even when you are writing something with a flavor of absurdest, I think you have to honor some continuity issues. Van tells about all this hard training he goes through to become a shark thief, but then everything else points to a rather idle lifestyle (the meditation/popcorn line springs to mind).
Still, some nice writing moments and this paragraph in particular:
“Kato the shark had tough, leathery bluish-gray skin. Black eyes, orbs like cursed jewels. Angry teeth sprouting from his mouth like weeds out of pavement cracks. Was he smiling or scowling? The shark is not angry or happy — something Gustav would say — instead, it lives in predatory bliss.”
–John
November 9th, 2009 at 7:22 am
And I should care because … ? A well-worn plot – “guy steals X, guy tries to sell stolen X, buyer is a narc and guy is arrested.” I agree with the previous comments about it wandering off through the cult stuff. And it has a few good points, like a guy running with a shark.
Question: how long was it going to take to get from the aquarium to the tank at his house, and would the shark survive being out of water for that long?
November 9th, 2009 at 7:43 am
Good writing strangled by a cliche’ story. To Jim’s point, it is a little overdone, however the “Shark Stealing” was a bit unique. It does go back to the why of it all. I never really connected with Van or his relationship with Gustav or why they stole sharks in the first place. If it was only for money, I have no reason to care about them at all.
November 9th, 2009 at 8:27 am
There is absolutely nothing I can add to what has already been said by others.
November 9th, 2009 at 8:51 am
I really didn’t understand this at all. I’m reading and wondering why should I read. How does this words in story affect me and what’s this it for me? This is a definite one-star. A low point for this month.
November 9th, 2009 at 8:58 am
Not exactly something I was interested in. Though, I did enjoy the list of the refreshments he offered his guests.
November 9th, 2009 at 10:53 am
Okay, thought it through. There was some rpretty good writing in this, i.e., the paragraph JC quoted. That earns some stars.
But then, the MC is all over the map, from criminal to New-Agey cultist to lazy, clown TV addict popcorn popper. I can’t believe he’d be dressed in shorts and robe for such an important appointment. How did he transport the shark to his house in the first place? Was there a getaway tank on wheels parked outside, and if so, wouldn’t someone have noticed it? Or did he just throw it into the back seat of his SUV? (Public transportation would have been entertaining.)
Missing fingers and missing pieces…this just leaves too much to be desired.
November 9th, 2009 at 12:41 pm
I was waiting for a surprise ending that never came.
November 9th, 2009 at 1:28 pm
And so?
November 9th, 2009 at 2:32 pm
I’m not one to over think these things. That said, I thoroughly enjoyed it with all its little nuances and barbs. I especially liked the menu of offerings to the potential shark buyer. He should have been clued in something was up when he turned down coconut shrimp and chocolate cake. You certainly succeed in taking the reader intro a realm outside the norm, that you have such wide disparity in opinions on your piece is also indicative to me of a well written piece – they are talking about it.
November 13th, 2009 at 8:51 pm
I’m with Michael, I enjoyed the boldness of the idea and the eye you have for quirky details. Maybe a tad overwritten in spots (“But Gustav had chiseled him into the man and shark-stealing artist he now claimed to be.” – the last phrase doesn’t feel right), but has good pace, if a slightly muddled structure.
The ending let me down on two counts: it didn’t feel adequately set up (the Gustav resemblance wasn’t enough), and I didn’t buy the aerial Swat-style takedown for such an offense.
But hey, it held my attention and I didn’t get picky until afterwards!