When Soraya Spence looked up from rinsing glasses behind the bar, she saw a fez. Red, with a golden tassel. As she stood up, she saw that underneath the fez was a simian face with eyes set far apart, a furry chin, ears shaped like gills, and an elongated, smiling mouth.
       She said, "Sorry, but . . ."
       "Don't be frightened," said the short figure, who, with what seemed to be a prehensile fin, doffed his fez and placed it on the bar. "To answer your question: I am a monkeyfish."
       "Nah, it's not that," she said. "It's Brooklyn. I just roll with that. Thing is, I have to card you."
       Frizzy-haired and freckle-faced, Soraya wiped the surface of the bar in quick circles, as always trying to ignore her hands. She hated them, felt they were gnarled, graceless. She had been having a regular Tuesday afternoon at the Hollywood East bar, serving the customers, who kept their gazes fixed on their smartphones or their drinks. At the same time, TV screens around her yammered on about coups, pandemics, celebrity folderol. Then there were all the car insurance ads. So many car insurance ads. The monkeyfish was a welcome new element.
       "Of course!" The monkeyfish produced an ID that said it was 136 years old. And that its name was "Eugene."
       "Hello, Eugene," she said. "I'm Soraya."
       "It is a pleasure to meet you," the monkeyfish said.
       "So, what are we drinking today?"
       "Orange juice. With a straw, please," he said. Then he added: "I am here looking for my paw."
       "Well, I doubt your daddy's here," she said. "Nothing like you's ever walked through those doors before, far as I know."
       The monkeyfish blinked, then understood. "Ah! Excuse my accent. Not my pa." He placed his other appendage on the counter with a thud. This one was more like an arm, and at the end of it was a golden prosthetic monkey's hand. "My paw. I've traced it to this area. It would be rather dry and shriveled by now."
       "Holy cow. Wait up. There's a writer-type guy who's been here all day. They always know about a lot of weird stuff. He's--"
       Out of a dark booth emerged a broom-thin man in glasses, with a purple beret pulled low on his forehead, a jacket pocket lined with pens, and an air of intelligence and nicotine. "I am here!" he said. "Another house red, s'il vous plait. It's rotgut. But what else should I expect in such a place?"
       Rude, thought Soraya, but par for the course. Besides, if he could help the cute monkeyfish, she needed to be nice to him. "Coming right up," she said.
       The writer man introduced himself as "Gerald" and said to the monkeyfish, "Couldn't help overhearing. Perhaps I can help. Allow me to ask: How did you come to lose your paw in the first place?"
       "I was born in the waters off Puerto Rico. Alone," the monkeyfish began. "No mother, no father. When my eyes first opened, all I saw were tiny creatures glowing all around me. They lit the darkness under the water and became my first friends. Among them, I grew and lived a good life, swimming in the narrow inlet, sleeping on and nibbling seagrass, chasing crabs onto land. That is where I first saw humans, but their size and strange ways scared me. Instead, I made friends with lobsters, sea stars, eels, sea horses.
       "Still, each day I swam further out, each night I ventured deeper inland, all in the hopes of finding someone who looked like me. One night, too impatient, too curious, I swam too close to a boat--and a fisherman caught me. His net ripped me from the water and dumped me onto the deck. Unable to speak the fisherman's language, I could not even beg him to let me go. But he did not slaughter and devour me, as I had feared. Although that might have been a better fate.
       "He sold me to a man who claimed to be a healer. This doctor took me to his home and tossed me in a tank of fetid, dirty water. He drained my blood, starved me, shocked me. Every day was misery, every night pain and loneliness.
       "I missed the sea. I missed my friends.
       "But there came into my life a new light: the doctor's wife, Angelica. She had been instructed to feed me only dried insects. But she took pity on me and instead smuggled in mangoes, pineapples and, on rare occasions, hot pretzels with mustard, which were her favorite. The doctor napped every afternoon, and in that space of time Angelica taught me her language, taught me to read. She was unhappy, she said, for the doctor ignored and belittled her. We found salvation in each other. We fell in love.
       "But then . . . ." The monkeyfish paused to look directly at Soraya, who felt tears welling in her eyes. "Tell me: Have you ever heard the story of the monkey's paw?"
       Before she could answer, Gerald interjected. "Yes, yes. By W.W. Jacobs. Old couple wishes their son back from the dead. Horror ensues. A fiction."
       "So many say," said the monkeyfish. "But the doctor, for one, believed it to be true. He reasoned that my paw, severed from my arm, could impart strange magic, and that with it all he desired would be his. So, one night, he numbed me with an anesthetic. I remember how dark it was in that lab that night and that only a single lantern was lit as he began to saw."
       "That bastard!" Soraya said.
       "Agreed. Meanwhile, hidden behind a column, Angelica cried out. As he turned, she struck him with a shovel.
       "The doctor lay unconscious. Angelica picked up my now-severed paw. Like her husband, she believed the paw to be magic, and she said she had a special wish to surprise me. I was dazed, too feeble to protest.
       "Holding my paw above her head, she said, 'I wish, I wish, I wish I were a monkeyfish.' In my daze, I felt joy. If she were correct, there would finally be another who looked like me. I would never be alone. She shimmered. She transformed.
       "But then--instead of a female of my species, she became something else, something vaguely like me but at the same time not. I screamed in despair. How were we to know that, unlike a monkey's paw, which grants your dearest wishes, a monkeyfish's paw grants the opposite? I realized she'd become not a monkeyfish--but a fishmonkey.
       "I was distraught, horrified. Angelica flailed on the floor. I could hear her suffocating. I had no choice but to place her in my filthy tank. She looked at me with sadness and love, and then, suddenly, fear. I turned and her husband, blood pouring down his face, grabbed me by the throat."
       "What did you do?" said Soraya. At the bar, two patrons whined for PBRs. She was about to wave them away, but self-conscious of her hands, she told them to "Wait a minute, will you?"
       "I fought back," said the monkeyfish. "In the struggle, the lantern was knocked over. The room began to burn. I jumped from desk to shelf to ceiling, and he threw anything he could at me. A jar grazed my head. I fell. Through smoke, I saw the doctor pick up my still-quivering paw from where Angelica had dropped it. Then all went dark.
       "I woke up the next day in the swamp outside the lab."
       "Angelica? What happened to Angelica?" said Soraya.
       "I found her a few feet from me. Dead of suffocation. I understood then how I had escaped the fire. That she had saved me."
       "And the paw?" said Gerald.
       "The doctor had escaped with it. But he was easy to trace. In the melee, he must not have realized the reverse magic of the paw. I found him in the town square, a gibbering fool, his sanity gone. What had he wished for, I wondered? Supreme intelligence? Perfect wisdom? In any case, he did not have the paw with him.
       "I soon picked up its trail through the telltale ravages of its powers. A soldier who now only wanted to be kind to children. A singer who had become mute. An actor came across it after that, but it was lost for many years since so few knew or remembered him.
       "Eventually, I followed the paw to a traveling carnival. The head carny was a human with a bushy goatee and a face filled with piercings. He admitted that he had my paw and that he kept it as a charm. I caught the scent of deceit on him. As soon as he saw me, I should have known that to him, I was nothing more than another exotic thing to be displayed for profit. But I understood too late. When my back was turned, he struck me over the head. He kept my paw as a charm.
       "I awoke in a cage, one that I would not leave for twenty-seven years. Humans paraded past me, gawking, laughing, throwing rocks.
       "But the carnies were kind to me. They befriended me. They informed me that the head carny's paw was a fake made of popsicle sticks and short hairs. I felt a fool. But one day, Cornelia the fortuneteller told me she'd had a vision that the real paw was nearby, in this very city. The next day, with the help of some of my carny friends, I disguised myself as the visiting cousin of the bearded lady, to whom I already had a passing resemblance.
       "I have since made my way to every bar and tavern I could find."
       "So, did that fortuneteller say it would be in a bar?" Soraya said. "Is that why you came here?
       "Well . . . not exactly. I had to narrow down my search somehow. And I confess I enjoy the smell of stale beer."
       "Cheers, my little friend," said Gerald. "I know exactly where to start looking for your paw."
       "Then we must go immediately," said the monkeyfish.
       "Allons y," said Gerald, polishing off his wine and not leaving a tip.
       Soraya couldn't let them leave without her. "Wait up! I have to see what happens."
       "But what about the bar?" said Gerald.
       "Free drinks for everyone!" Soraya yelled. At this, the once-listless patrons stirred from their reveries and clambered behind the bar like zombies at a brain buffet.

       All three blinked in the bright afternoon light. For the first time, Soraya got a good look at the monkeyfish. Underneath his black, woolen vest, he had dirty blonde fur covering his torso. His legs were covered in scales, and his flexible toes were webbed. A long tail tapered away from his back, and running down it was one long, thin, iridescent fin.
       "This way!" said Gerald. He led them over several blocks to a small building that looked in disuse and disrepair.
       "A library?" said Soraya.
       "Yes! I believe I read something here that could help our icthyosimian friend end his quest."
       "But it looks permanently closed."
       "Correction! Per budget cuts, libraries are only open for a half-hour once a week on a revolving schedule of weekdays," said Gerald.
       Soraya shook her head. "Okay. But it's closed now, right?"
       "Er, yes."
       "So how do we get in, genius?"
       "I shall get us in," said the monkeyfish.
       With that, Eugene scurried up the side of the building to a small window. Soraya was amazed at how he squeezed his furry body into the tiny opening. It took a while since he had a small but solid beer belly. But with a swish of his silvery tail, he was in.
       The library door opened seconds later. At the same time, an alarm went off.
       "Quick," said Gerald, "since it's the library, we only have hours before the police arrive."
       Soraya and the monkeyfish followed Gerald to an area deep in the back of the library. From what Soraya could see of the floor, the area was used mostly for secret intimate liaisons. "Watch where you're stepping, guys," she said.
       "Here it is," said Gerald, who had bent down and retrieved a thin red book titled The End of Your Quest.
       Eugene took the book and opened it. Gerald told him he remembered seeing something odd on the inside back cover. Eugene furiously flipped through the pages. Scrawled on the inside back cover were these words:

       "What the heck does that mean?" said Soraya. "Who is 'Baa,' and who cares if he has feet? What does this have to do with Eugene's paw?"
       Gerald harumphed. "Nothing on its own, obviously! But I surmise these letters to be an anagram for 'Banana of the sea!' When you include the signature, of course. What else would you expect a monkeyfish to eat? QED!"
       "To be honest," said Eugene, "I am partial to pretzels with mustard."
       "That's not the point," said Gerald. "The point is that this clue must have been left especially for our little amphibian primate here."
       "I guess! But it leads us nowhere," said Soraya.
       The trio stood there, baffled, defeated, the weak alarm klaxon pulsing in their ears.
       "Wait!" said the monkeyfish. "These letters also rearrange to spell: 'A Nab Sheaf Atone.' For that matter, they also spell, 'A Nab Ethane Sofa' as well as "Abaft Nae Ah Nose.'"
       "What was that?" said Soraya. "Say again?"
       "'Abaft Nae--"
       "No, the other one," said Soraya. "Anabethane Sofa. That's the famous artist!"
       "Of course," said Gerald. "She has a show on right now in DUMBO."
       "Inside an elephant?" asked the monkeyfish.
       Soraya patted Eugene's soft furry cheek. "I'll explain on the way," she said.

       At the subway station, Soraya let the monkeyfish through with her MetroCard. When Gerald complained of having nothing left on his card, she had to do the same for him.
       Since there was only one seat on the train they were on, Gerald stood by the door to keep his distance from what he called the "rabble." The monkeyfish sat in Soraya's lap. She noticed then that he smelled like the beach. And a little like old laundry. She only hoped he did not look down at the plate-sized palms she was holding him with.
       "Tell me something, Eugene," she said. "Why do you need to find the paw so badly? You seem to be doing fine with your lovely golden one, and the paw just seems to bring bad luck to people."
       "That is it exactly, my dear Soraya. The paw destroyed my happiness as well as the lives of too many others."
       "But it sounds like all those other people were just greedy and selfish."
       "We are all greedy and selfish, human and monkeyfish alike. But should we pay so dearly for our faults? If so, then we would all be gibbering fools in the streets."
       "Sometimes, I think that's what we all are now. Humans, anyway. That's all I see every day--hipsters, douchebags, tyrants."
       They finally arrived at DUMBO, a small riverside neighborhood filled with art galleries and overpriced restaurants. The gallery hosting the art of Anabethane Sofa was in a former warehouse. They walked through the large glass doors and up narrow white stairs.
       "It smells like sweat and old cheese in here," said Soraya.
       "Ah, the perfume of the art world. Shhh. Here we are," said Gerald at the landing, which led them through a large entryway to a loft floor, covered with hundreds of torn, shredded, crumpled pieces of white paper.
       "This appears to be debris," said the monkeyfish.
       "No, no, this is her art," said Gerald. "She collects scraps of paper. Everywhere she finds them, she picks them right up. It's quite stimulating."
       "Everything's the same gray, off-white color," said Soraya.
       "Except for those," said the monkeyfish, pointing ahead with his shining prosthetic. "In the middle."
       The others turned, and there, in the middle of a field of crumpled white paper, was a series of crumpled yellow papers from a legal pad.
       The monkeyfish made his way toward them, but a security guard stepped in his path.
       "You can't step near the artwork"--the guard glanced down--"uh, . . . sir?"
       "Of course. Please accept my apologies."
       Gerald grabbed Eugene's back harshly and led him back to the loft landing. "I've an idea," he stage-whispered to the other two. "If we can get a fishing pole from the fishermen down by the piers, we can go to the balcony and hang our piscine primate friend here . . ."
       "I don't like this idea," said Soraya. "Eugene was literally fished from his home."
       "Let's hear your brilliant idea then."
       "I think we should wait until night and . . ."
       "Absolument non! We must proceed as soon as possible!"
       "I am afraid I agree, Soraya," said the monkeyfish. "We must lose no time."
       "But the fishing pole?"
       "I will be all right. Thank you for your concern."
       "Ha! See? It will be your job to distract the guard, Little Miss Man-Hands," said Gerald.
       Soraya huffed. "You bastard. No. You distract the guard. I'll do the . . . fishing."
       Soon, the monkeyfish was floating in midair. Soraya felt awful. But as she raised him, he said, "It is as if I am flying. Or smoking one of those lovely handmade cigarettes that Woody the Knife-Thrower used to share with me."
       He floated above the crumpled paper exhibit. Soraya gently lowered him, noting how small the fishing rod looked in her hands.
       The monkeyfish turned to look down--and then he seemed to see something. He signaled to Soraya. She at first thought he was asking for his check. And then she realized what he did mean and began reeling him in.
       Just then, Gerald's distracting conversation with the guard ended--but then the guard went straight to the kitchenette area without noticing the woman with the fishing pole dangling a monkeyfish in the air in the middle of the gallery. Luck, thought Soraya, must be on their side.
       She reeled Eugene back in, and the trio ran down the stairs. "What did it say?" she said.
       "It wasn't anything on the paper. It was the papers themselves. The yellow papers against the white. They made a picture--of three faces."
       "Clown faces? Emoji faces?" said Soraya.
       "Sharkdog faces," Eugene said. "The three faces of a three-headed sharkdog."
       "Fancy that!" said Gerald. "There is a three-headed sharkdog currently on exhibit at the Geico Zooquarium in Coney Island."
       "Aren't you special knowing all the goings-on around town?" said Soraya.
       "I stay current. Let's get going."

       The three-headed sharkdog had: a large dorsal fin and a brindled coat; below each set of its gills, collars with bells on them; and, in each mouth, four rows of long, yellow teeth that curved inward. The sharkdog paced in its squalid enclosure, making wide circles, rubbing its fur and fins roughly against the walls, dragging its brutal club of a tail.
       The enclosure sat in the center of the dimly lit animal house, which sat at the lowest level of the corporately-branded zooquarium. Soraya could see the journey to the exotic animal house was painful for the monkeyfish. As soon as they entered, they heard the cries of despair and desperation from all the animals, even the iguanas, and the monkeyfish said they were calling out from their cages to be free or be killed, to no longer suffer the indignity of imprisonment for the sake of human entertainment and to be among their own kind.
       At last, they arrived at the three-headed sharkdog's cage. Eugene looked at it not with fear but with empathy.
       "Poor creature."
       Sitting within the sharkdog's cage was a small red box, and within it--the monkeyfish was sure--was his paw.
       "I must go in there," he said. "I'll need a rope."
       "I don't know," said Soraya. "That thing looks real hungry."
       "Then I shall need a steak. Three steaks."
       Soon, Soraya once again found herself lowering the monkeyfish, this time with a rope, and this time into the cage of a vicious animal. She worried for him but was glad for once for her strong hands.
       In the corner of the enclosure, the sharkdog's three heads hungrily ripped apart the three steaks that had cost Soraya more than $60, since Gerald had no cash on him. It was the last of her pocket money and just about the last of all her money.
       Dangling from a rope in the center of the cage, Eugene moved slowly down toward the red box. He reached down for it, but it was too far down. The rope was too short.
       As Soraya watched in horror, the monkeyfish unhooked himself--
       "What are you doing?" she yelled.
       --and then leaped down the rest of the way, doing a tight somersault and landing deftly next to the box. At that moment, one of the sharkdog heads finished chewing its steak and looked up.
       Once one sharkdog head noticed the monkeyfish, so did the other two.
       Eugene snatched up the box. "It has writing on it."
       The sharkdog circled closer.
       "Get out of there, Eugene!" said Soraya.
       Eugene read the writing out loud:

       "Oh, my God. Now, what the heck does that mean?" Soraya said. "C'mon. Get out of there. We'll figure it out. Gerald will help."
       The monkeyfish reached up . . . but it was too far to leap to the rope with the heavy box, and with his golden fin, he could not hold on to the box and climb up. "Not good, not good."
       "He can't make it," said Soraya.
       The sharkdog circled closer.
       "He must!" said Gerald. "It's his quest!"
       Soraya climbed down the rope and reached down. Her strong hands allowed her to hold on easily, and when the monkeyfish reached up with his golden prosthetic, she grasped it easily and pulled him up.
       The sharkdog circled closer, two of its three heads growling in unison, the third distracted in a ritual of self-cleaning.
       "Okay, Gerald, pull us up."
       Soraya and the monkeyfish looked up--and she knew that something was wrong.
       "Nope," said Gerald. "You must solve the riddle first."
       "You can't be serious," Soraya said.
       "I'm never not serious," said Gerald. "Solve the riddle!"
       "Very well. If we must," said the monkeyfish. He read the words again.
       "Wow, that's horrible," said Soraya.
       "Agreed. It is poorly written," said Eugene.
       "No, it's not! No, it's not!" said Gerald. It's brilliant!"
       "What could the ending be?" said Eugene.
       It's so obvious," said Gerald. "Follow the meter! Follow the rhyme!"
       "I would not think anyone would recommend such writing," said Eugene, and he laughed together with Soraya, even though both were dangling from a rope, and the three heads of the three-headed sharkdog frothed directly beneath them.
       "Could it just be . . .'" said Soraya. "'. . . 'the pa'?"
       "Finally!" grunted Gerald.
       The box began to glow in the monkeyfish's hand until--at last--its lid slid open. Inside was an object, shriveled and not a little hairy.
       "My paw!" said Eugene.
       "Throw me the paw," said Gerald. "No time to argue! Throw me the paw. I'll pull you up."
       "That voice! I know that voice," said Eugene. He looked up and saw Gerald, but for the first time saw him for who he really was. "It is the doctor!"
       The monkeyfish and Soraya hung in horror. They dangled above the dangerous jaws of the three-headed sharkdog, at the mercy of Gerald, who was in truth the doctor who had first imprisoned Eugene so many years ago.
       "But how," said the monkeyfish.
       "Ah, that is a tale," said Gerald, ripping off his beret and revealing a shovel-shaped indent on his forehead as well as a chewed-up ear. "When last you saw me, I was a gibbering idiot in the middle of the town square. I wandered the world for years with a very cloudy idea of who I was and what I needed to do. One day I found myself in the same carnival that had entrapped you. I took a job as their chicken geek for a while, the only work I could perform in my reduced state. After that, I swore never to eat poultry again. In any case, I saw you there and I knew you were my only salvation.
       "You decamped before I could get to you. But I knew Cornelia had helped you escape, so I tied her up to find out where you were going. Then I made her cast a spell on me. Which, given that I had just tied her up, was not my wisest decision. Remember, at this time, I was still an idiot. I wanted to be turned back into a man of science. A respected member of the community. But because of the damnable fortuneteller, I became quite something else. I became . . "
       "A writer," Soraya said. "That's what you get."
       "Yes, and thank Jonathan Franzen, my parents weren't around to see it. She said the spell was only temporary, and then I quickly put her out of her misery."
       "Poor Cornelia," the monkeyfish said.
       Soraya could feel the hot breath of the three heads of the sharkdog steaming underneath them. "Eugene. We're running out of time," she said, for even her grip on the rope could only last for so long.
       "If this sharkdog consumes us," said the monkeyfish, "how will you get the paw?"
       I'm sure you and the bartendress will keep that animal busy long enough for me to retrieve the box," said Gerald.
       "You seem to have thought of everything," said Eugene.
       "No, he hasn't. Hold on," said Soraya. She stuffed Eugene's golden fin in the pocket of her jeans, securing him in place.
       "Oh my," the monkeyfish said.
       "Ooh, that's silky and chilly," said Soraya, who was now able to take the box and quickly stuff it under her shirt.
       Free of his burden, Eugene the monkeyfish clambered up Soraya's body and up the rope and then--with a wild vault--into Gerald's face. Eugene clawed and scratched.
       "Not the glasses," Gerald screamed--and let go of the rope.
       It twirled down, and Soraya fell. Dropped right on top of two of the sharkdog's heads, making the animal start and whimper. She felt a pinch of sympathy for the sharkdog, but then she saw the shriveled monkeyfish paw and saw what she had to do.
       She took the bony appendage and held it aloft. She remembered all that Eugene had said about its magic. And she said, "I wish, I wish, I wish that sharkdog was . . . someplace where he could harm a lot of people."
       The sharkdog popped out of existence.
       Then it popped back into existence near a bottomless lake in a hidden jungle valley thousands of miles away from civilization. All three heads blinked, then sniffed. It caught the scent of bougainvillea, and then it howled in unfettered joy.
       Eugene held his remaining paw around Gerald's throat, then leaped off him with a powerful kick, pushing the writer down into the sharkdog cage.
       "I leave you to the consequences of your choices," Eugene said.
       "What will become of me?" Gerald said in tears. "I'll be forced to self-publish."
       Soraya tossed up the rope, Eugene secured it, and she easily climbed up. She hugged his warm, brine-scented body close to hers and knew what she wanted to do next.

       After stopping off for hot pretzels with mustard, the two stood at the edge of the Atlantic. Behind them, in the dizzy swirl of lights, children screamed and puked on amusement rides, and adults paid too much for fried shrimp and cursed at their own rotten luck.
       Eugene turned to Soraya and said, "Are you sure about your wish? I cannot ask you."
       "I'm sure," said Soraya, waving the last of her pretzel for emphasis. "Please understand, I'm not doing it for you. My story isn't that different from yours, except for the ocean part and the sexy tail. No, I grew up not seeing anyone like me either, not on TV, not in front of me. No momma, no poppa. I got sent from house to house to house. But I never found home. Then I made it to college--I was so proud, though there was no one to share that with--and when I got there, I found people who looked exactly like me. But then they said I wasn't like them enough, that I didn't talk like them or dress like them that I didn't fit in. So, I've never found home. And I think this is my best chance."
       "I think I understand," said Eugene.
       "Good. Here, finish my pretzel." She gave him the pretzel. Then she took the paw and held it aloft. She said, "I wish, I wish, I wish I were . . . a fishmonkey."
       And she began to shimmer.
       And suddenly, she was something new, a new member of another species, the first to appear on the planet for over a century. A monkeyfish. Soraya the monkeyfish.
       She gave Eugene an ecstatic smile." I love my new hands," she said, marveling at her wide prehensile fin and her strong simian paw.
       "You have one more wish," he said.
       "Let's think of something we both want," Soraya said, taking his flipper in hers.
       With that, the two monkeyfish slid into the waters and swam far, far away from coups, pandemics, celebrity folderol, and all those car insurance ads.