Several types of salmon

‘Mum, I don’t want to cook anything, especially not salmon.’ My mother was in no mood for arguing. ‘I’m in no mood for arguing, Serena. Just do it.’ I quickly piled on some mustard to the glistening skin, threw on some foil and slid it into the oven. ‘Done Mum. I’m off.’

‘Did you set the timer, make the sauce, season?’

‘Yep,’ I lied. ‘All done. Gotta go — Tim is waiting.’ Tim was the kid next door, a whole year younger than me but into cool things like comics, videos and bugs.

*

The salmon sat on the plate, pink, engorged. Its flaccid skin glistened on its underside, while its back was coated black like a surfer’s neoprene. The oven was waiting. After smearing with mustard, sprinkling it with thyme and adding foil, I slid the dish into 200 degrees.

‘Make sure it’s only cooked for 10 minutes,’ she said.

*

The salmon was waiting for us. He loved it moist, not too well done, surprisingly light, disappearing on the tongue and succulent. As he walked into the room, I had the dish in my hands. He reached across me brushing my hand, as he opened the oven door, and I slid the dish into the small aperture between the racks. As I went to close the oven door, he did too, our hands meeting, and blending with the warmth from within.

*

The cabin did not hold heat well and now the winter was upon us, it was only going to get worse. I had managed to buy a full salmon from a fisher tracker who was travelling between farms. It was fresh, or as fresh as it could be in these parts. I knew my husband would devour it on his return. He’d been away on a cattle drive for many months. The food had to be good on his return. I didn’t have much to accompany the fish so I covered it in a little butter and tossed it on the stove top ready for frying.

*

I looked at the salmon, seething in its dish. It seemed to be staring back at me, its eye blank, deep but somehow knowing. It wasn’t my fault the thing had to die to keep me alive. I carefully coated its glowing skin in mustard, folded over foil and placed the whole dish on the oven rack. I closed the door and turned up the heat. As I walked away, I heard a sound that shook my being. The sound of pain, the scream shattering through the silence of the house.

*

The salmon was in a vacuum sealed sleeve, as it hurtled through the shoot to my kitchen zone. The beeper went off as it landed in the hub. It was par cooked by the executives who passed all food for tasting. I had to be on standby ready to finish the cooking instantly to avoid possible contamination from bacteria. My AI assistant carefully removed the salmon from its pack and repackaged it for my domestic appliance ready for the final cook.

*

The holy salmon was within reach. I could smell it even though I couldn’t see it. I was standing on the edge of a magical river, blue and green merged with orange sliding underneath. Many creatures lived below the orange waters, but where was the salmon that was to be my spiritual teacher?

*

The salmon was ready to go into the oven which had been warming for an hour. I carefully picked up the dish, opened the oven and placed the dish on the rack. There was no warmth coming from the oven. It wasn’t switched on but I remember pushing the button. I turned back to the bench and there was the salmon dish on the counter. How could that be? I knew I had put it in the oven. Something in my peripheral vision moved — a shadow, nothing more. I flicked my head to the left to see a dark figure flash across the garden and disappear into the shrubbery.