The biologist open a shark’s stomach and the first thing out was a small, longhaired man, who said, “Where’s my hat?” He had a hard time finding his footing because of the digestive solution that covered him.
Next out came a writhing consistency of bats that soon encrusted the tops of the lab cabinets with pools of ammonia; they wouldn’t leave through the windows. The day long they clustered into corners and shook and chittered in their slumber.
A vanity plate came out next. It said EATME.
They went deeper and found a rock that glowed blue under florescent lamps. They took a chisel to the stone and inside the stone they found evidence of life.
In those deeper places they hauled out a lightness of helium balloons and the small girl who’d been clutching them. She passed through the doors out with her balloons, skipping. In the hall they heard, “There she is.”
Next out came a group of card players who asked for more beer and “does any body here have a light” and “by the way, who the hell are you.”
Then a chainsaw, a bucket of pennies, a troupe of sightseers who’d lost their way.
They reached deeper and extricated a man with a beard who was instructing his apprentice in the art of shape shifting. The teacher was in the middle of his instructions: “. . . think deeply of the ways of shark . . . close your eyes . . . you can breathe deep of the bubbles.” And the apprentice answered, “I know of the ways of elephants.”
They drew out a Ford Pinto, bicycle, and a family of hamsters, car keys, a wayfarer who’s eyes had been force shut with pins.
The floor of the lab was full. “This shark’s been places,” said one of the researchers. “Suitcases with marks of Italy, the Azores, San Diego. And in those cameras, wardrobes, and shoes.”
“Here’s a nitrogen canister and a bellyful of laughter. Fandangos and suites for playing on the stage,” a biologist said.
Lastly, they drew out a note, something written and long lost. It said, “I’m here. Please come for me as I’m cold, lonely, and bereaved. This shark is great traveler. Come for me, please,” so many years old the date had fallen from the paper.
One of the researchers took the note and put in brine for saving.
The bats in the corners shook to life. The lights were turned off in the lab. Water dripped. The shark lay emptied on the steel table. There was a soft cry for help. Someone would soon be in to clean it all up.
