"I'm working on something new. It's something that could
make a lot of money, if it works. The problem is, I haven't gotten
it to work yet," Luther said. He paused for a moment, considering
wether to let me into his confidence.
"Do you know what black light's are?" he asked. "Those purple
flourescent lights that make things glow in the dark? Well, you know,
a lot of bars have fish tanks illuminated with black lights. The
Purple Tree down in Johnson Square does. I got to thinking what a
shame it was that goldfish didn't glow in the dark. So, I'm trying
to find a way to make them glow. If they did glow, they'd look as if
they were floating in air like giant fireflies--just the kind of wierd
vision a guy getting drunk at a bar could spend hours looking at.
I know I would. Every bar in America would have to have them. That's
why I want to find a way to make them glow."
"Do you think you can."
"I'm experimenting with flourescent dye," he said. "The first thing I
did was dip the goldfish direstly into the dye, and it killed them.
Then I took a slower approach and poured a teaspoon of dye into the
fishtank and waited. After a week, a faint glow appeared on the gills
and the tips of the fins, but the fish didn't glow any brighter and
the glow didn't spread to any other parts of the fish. All that
happened was th pH factor of the water increased, and in a couple of
days the fish were dead. That's where I'm at right now."
The fly had alighted on Luther's eyebrow. The green thread dangled
down his cheek as if it were attached to a monocle.
Drigger's Golden Glowfish. Sure, why not? Fortunes had been built
on less. "I like it," I said. "I hope you can make it happen."
"I'll let you know," said Luther.
**************************************************
One morning, when I came into Clary's, he waved me over. "I'm trying
a new approach," he said. "I'm mixing the flourescent dye with fish
food, and I'm beginning to see results. The gills and the fin tips
are glowing pretty good, and there's even some flourescence in the
eyes and around the mouth."
Luther told me he planned to go to the Purple Tree later that evening
for the first public tryout. I was welcome to join him if I liked.
***************************************************
Luther, none too steady on his feet by this time, stepped behind the
bar. "Well, here goes," he said, and without further ceremony he
poured the goldfish into the tank. They plunged into the water in a
burst of bright green bubbles. Luther held his breath as the bubbles
rose and the water cleared. There, swimming in the tank--brighter
than the gills or the mouths or the eyes or the fins--were the glowing
intestines of his six goldfish. Looping, coiled, knotty cores of
light at the center of each of his fish. Luther could not beleive
it. Months of his work had come to this. Glowing goldfish guts.
He had overfed the fish.
A silence came over the patrons at the bar.
(
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