“One,” said the first fish.
“Zero”, argued the second.
“One,” insisted the first.
The third fish, which had a blue stripe, finally said “one.”
“One”, agreed the second fish immediately.
Then all three said “one”, and darted away into the deep water of the lake.
“Does it seem creepy to you that they never blink?” said Coriolus, standing with his webbed feet in the shallow water.
“Nah,” said Spruce. “You’re thinking of fish as more like us. They’re not. That ‘one, zero’ stuff? That’s all there is to a fish.”
“How do you know that?” asked Lucky. “I mean, do you spend a lot of time around fish? Or is it ‘fishes’? I’m never sure.”
“Our friend Parver told us, way before we met up with you guys,” said Bruce. Spruce and Bruce were brothers — identical twins, in fact. “Parver’s a Grebe; he spends a bunch of his time underwater. He knows a lot about fish. It’s ‘fish’, not ‘fishes’, by the way.”
“A ‘grebe’?” said Coriolus. “I never heard of such a thing. What is a ‘grebe’?”
“A grebe is a kind of bird,” said Spruce. “They can fly like us, and they can also swim underwater.”
“With the fish,” said Bruce.
“Only faster,” said Spruce.
“And trickier,” said Bruce, “so they can catch the fish.”
“That’s what grebes eat,” said Spruce.
“And they don’t even like grass or seeds or fruit or even bread crumbs,” said Bruce.
“Why do you two always do that?” asked Lucky.
“Do” asked Spruce,
“What?” asked Bruce.
“Talk like you’re just one goose instead of two,” said Spruce.
“It’s because,” said Bruce, “we’re twins,” finished Spruce.
“I would have thought that was obvious. In fact all four of you look identical,” said Mortis. He lived at the lake and was wondering when the geese might be leaving.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lucky, “Coriolus and I don’t look anything like Spruce and Bruce.”
“Maybe another goose can tell the difference,” said Mortis, “but to somebody like me, you all look the same. So maybe you ought to be flying off to someplace where there are more geese? Just an idea…”
“What do you mean ‘somebody like you’?” asked Coriolus. “Is there something wrong with your eyes?”
“I have perfect vision,” said Mortis, “for a tortoise. That’s what I meant by ‘somebody like me.’ I meant anybody who isn’t a goose.”
“Like fish, you mean?” asked Lucky.
“Oh, no, not fish,” said Spruce.
“The fish are all about ones and zeroes, remember?” said Bruce.
“And that’s about it with fish,” said Spruce.
“To a fish, you’re either a one or a zero,” said Bruce.
“You know, to be honest, I can’t recall ever hearing a fish say anything else,” said Mortis thoughtfully.
“That’s because they can’t,” said Spruce.
“Fish are not really people like we are,” said Bruce.
“That’s rather species-ist, don’t you think?” said Coriolus.
“It’s just an observation,” said Bruce. “The only reason fish seem like they might be like us is because they’re all connected somehow. They exchange simple signals.”
“Just more ones and zeroes though,” said Spruce.
“How are they connected?” asked Lucky.
“Beats me,” said Bruce. “It’s some kind of invisible, I dunno, call it a ‘network’ I guess. Except there aren’t any strings or ropes.”
“Or wires?” suggested Coriolus.
“Exactly,” said Spruce, “or wires.”
“So when one fish says ‘zero’,” said Bruce, “that ‘zero’ goes to the other fish nearby, and they either say ‘one’ or ‘zero’ back, and all the other fish hear that too, and respond. It’s a simple system, but when you have a lot of fish making those signals back and forth, you’d be surprised how complicated it can get. But it’s really nothing but ones and zeroes.”
“And fish,” said Spruce.
“Are you trying to tell us,” said Coriolus skeptically, “that you know all this because you have a grebe friend who catches fish by swimming?”
“Oh not just that,” said Bruce. “We’ve read up on the subject. It’s studied in the best rookeries, you know.
“It’s called ‘seince’,” explained Spruce.
“Seince??” asked Coriolus.
“I’ve heard of that,” said Lucky, “it’s a new word somebody came up with because a ‘seine’ is a kind of a net for fish.”
Coriolus rolled his eyes (which is quite a trick when you’re a goose). “Well I have another word for you,” he said. “Migration. We really ought to get back in the air.”
“You say that everywhere we land,” said Lucky, “but we never seem to get where we’re going.”
“Yeah, where ARE we going?” asked Bruce.
“We are migrating,” said Coriolus stiffly. “It’s not about where you’re going. The journey is the important thing.”
“I’m not sure he’s right about that,” whispered Bruce to Spruce. “I always thought it was about getting to the place.”
“What place?” asked Lucky, who had overheard them.
“The place where we spend the winter. Or the summer, as the case may be,” said Bruce.
“A common misconception,” said Coriolus.
“I have a question before you leave,” said Mortis. “Why are there only four of you? I thought geese traveled in flocks. Big flocks.”
“I think the word you’re searching for is ‘gaggles’,” said Coriolus, “and for your information, four is a perfectly acceptable number for a gaggle.”
“I wasn’t searching for a word,” said Mortis. “Why can’t I say ‘flock’ when it comes to geese?”
“You just can’t,” said Coriolus. “It’s a rule.”
Mortis rolled his eyes (which is not so much of a trick when you’re a tortoise).
“Regardless of all this,” said Coriolus in his “making an announcement” voice, “it’s time for us to depart. Farewell, Mortis.”
“Seeya,” said Mortis. “Don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.”
“We shall avoid any such doors,” said Coriolus.
“No, there isn’t a real door,” said Mortis. “It’s an expression…oh never mind.”
The geese took a running start and launched themselves into the air, flapping mightily and gaining altitude fast.
Mortis watched them go; they’d been bothersome, but at the same time their visit had been interesting. Then he had a thought.
“Hey wait a minute,” he said. “I thought geese migrated north in the summer and south in the winter. Those guys are heading due east. That’s weird.”
From the shallow water near the reeds, Mortis heard a fish say “Zero.”
“Huh,” said Mortis to himself. “I think ‘goose egg’ is another word for zero.”
