Behind the Ironic Column

“Tell him I need a fish head…”   The woman, dressed in the usual jeans and parka dreary-day uniform of Portland, was speaking to her cell phone companion as she made her way through the center of the Park Blocks, dodging the skateboarders.   I was waiting on a bench for my lunch date to arrive, so the only part of the conversation I heard was that line.  If I’d already been walking I would have followed her to hear the rest of the list of supplies.  But it would have seemed too obvious to jump up and start following her, just to eavesdrop.

Fish heads aren’t normally on my personal shopping list, so I’m not even sure where you would get one.  Other than from a fisherman or someplace where boats come in from fishing trips.  You can’t just walk into Safeway and order one – at least not as far as I know.  For some reason I associate fish heads with cat food and things like that – but that may just be imagination on my part.

I have seen artists use fish to do prints, but that seems to be more the scales part of the critter, not the head.  And I guess some cooks use fish heads in soup – although I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t.  The more I think about it, the less I can imagine what she wants to do with a fish head.

Perhaps “fish head” is a code word for something else.  I’m reasonably sure that it isn’t a standard code, but people have all sorts of private codes with each other.  Perhaps one day I’ll hear it again, and see the significance. 

But I’m pretty sure it won’t be like “Rosebud.”

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