And sometimes it’s not? I have tried to ignore the pond, put it out of my mind entirely, just give up and leave it to Rohemon. I had nearly succeeded too.

Many people who have outdoor water features don’t feed their fish. The idea is for the fish to eat what fish in the wild do. In fact, many people in Jakarta keep water plants in pots with fish, or ponds especially as mosquito deterrents. As is their way, the mosquitoes lay their eggs on the water, and as is their nature, the fish eat the insect eggs.  This easy care mosquito reduction system which works great as long as you don’t care whether your fish are happy or starving.

We like fat, happy fish, so we feed them. Every day. We go through about a bag of fish pellets a month. Monday-Saturday Rohemon feeds the fish. And I feed them on Sundays—or did when I liked the pond fish. But ever since Rohemon stocked it with those pretty fish murdering monster lele, I have been trying to ignore the pond all together. Sunday before last, I lapsed.  I was out back pruning as I do many Sundays, and took pity on the pond fish—even though I detest the rotten, slimy ugly monsters. I sprinkled food pellets over the water and watched.

A few lazy algae eaters drifted up to investigate–even took a few listless bites.  But that was it.  Where was the sudden flash of orange splotched monster fish? Where were the Ikan Lele? Thinking the lele might be too scared to surface; I took a giant step back and watched from a distance. Nothing.

The lele were gone—all of them, even the babies. I must admit, I was little disappointed and a lot put out. Rusnati tells me everything—or I thought she did—she had certainly made a point of telling tell me about the babies. And the high price of fish food. And how the thatch from my sun shelter clogs the filter. And when I discussed my idea about turning the pond into a fish spa by stocking it with those tiny fishlets that nibble the dead skin off ones’ feet at the price of 200,000 for 20 minutes, a dollar a minute, at specialized fish spas, she spent about 5 dollars worth of spa time sharing how when she was young and her mother would go to the garden, Rusnati used to sit with her feet in the pond and a fish net handy, enjoying a book or snack while the fish nibbled her feet. And if a large enough fish happened to come close, she’d swoop in with the net and catch it to cook and eat with rice.  Why hadn’t she told me the lele were gone?

Had Rohemon finally fattened them up enough to eat? Or had Warjo, the pool man, poisoned them like he had other fish in the past? Or had they been sold off to the highest bidder?–would I ever know? Did I really care?–was it worth launching an investigation?

“Well, I’ll fix this,” I decided, determined to show everyone who was boss. Before leaving town last weekend, I gave Aan 100,000 Rp, about ten dollars, and instructed him to buy me 10 lovely, big, fluffy new golden pond fish.

First thing Sunday evening, I rushed outside to the pond, expecting to see graceful golden fish fluttering about beneath the surface.

Nothing.

I know, I know:  There is more to life than a fish pond. And there is way more to think about, to worry about, to spend my days agonizing over than the state of my backyard pond. But….but…

I was reminded of a children’s book yesterday. Can’t remember the title, or much of the story, but it’s the one about the bird who sits and sits and sits on an egg, expecting a chick to hatch one day. Instead, what pops out is an elephant or dinosaur, or something equally outrageous. Remember it?

That’s sort of what has happened with my—THE—pond. (It began as my pond, but it’s not any longer. Yesterday’s revelation cinched it.) As you may recall from previous pond reports, after a difficult couple of years, which read very much like the pond world version of Russian history—poisoning, eye gouging, vivisection, deception, death and rulers being overthrown—the pond is now dominated by a school of slimy, white-black-orange splotched eel-like fish with beady eyes and whiskers. Not only are they ugly,  they skulk in the dark recesses of the pond and only dart out to gobble food. The only creatures who have managed to evade their wrath are algae eaters, sapu-sapu, “sweeper fish” as we call them. They must taste really foul.

Rohemon introduced the lele into the pond about a year ago—and the evil monsters promptly killed off  every specimen other than the aforementioned sapu-sapu. The only reason I could fathom for Rohemon wanting them is for eating. Ikan Lele is a popular Indonesian fish dish. Assuming he was raising them for future dinners—not a stretch as we have raised other fish that turned into dinner—and as the pond was bubbling along nicely as a stock pond, I decided to let the lele be. And came up with a plan…

The Plan was simple: As soon as the lele were fattened up, we’d slaughter them all, pop their nasty carcasses in the deep freeze and restock the pond with friendly little spa fish. All that would be left to do is edge the pond with colorful pillows, turn on soothing music, pour some wine and sip away with our feet dangling in the water, watching the spa fish nibble the dead skin off our toes.

Ever since hatching the plan, I have been monitoring the lele, watching them grow, waiting for the day they would be big enough to eat. Soon, I told myself, a few days back, they look dinner size. Maybe sooner…

Then, yesterday, Rusnati shared news that blew my lovely fish spa dream to smithereens. The pond is suddenly swarming with weensy, slimy, vile, skittish, bewhiskered baby monster lele. And so it goes with eggs and plans.

Pond, bahhhh. Rohemon can have it!

Languages are not Curtis’s strong suit. But usually, by using a combination of gestures, hand signals, other words and by rephrasing he can make himself understood. Over the phone, names, especially his name, seem to be extremely difficult to get across. In Indonesian, the letter “C” is pronounced “Ch” and the hard “C” sound is indicated by using the letter “K.” If it were me, I would probably settle for having my name spelled “Kurtes” and pronounced correctly. But Curtis, being Curtis–the same Curtis who once told me “no, no one does call him or has called him ‘Curt,’ except for this father, that is, and his father is dead”–is very particular about his name.  So, in his ongoing battle to be understood, and correctly understood, Curtis has copied down the International Letter Code—two versions—and uses them when spelling out names.

The other afternoon, thinking himself very clever, Curtis pulled out his International Letter Code to make a dinner reservation. “The name is Curtis. Curtis, as in Charlie-Uncle-Roger… and Bennett, spelled Bravo-Echo…”

When we arrived at the restaurant later, the maître de asked if we had a reservation. “Yes,” Curtis replied. Before he could begin to give his name, the maître de smiled:

“Oh, yes. Mr. Charlie, right this way…”

The International Letter Code worked so well, Curtis plans to use it when making all future reservations. From now on he’s going as Charlie Bravo.