Fillipo the Fish
“No! No! No! No!” Old Uncle Hesiod laughed coarsely over the top of his own frustration, “That was not what happened at all!” Hesiod lifted his dappled hands to the board and nudged his dusty black bishop two squares to the left. “I believe that to be checkmate, old man.” Hesiod laughed again. The old man opposite, Guiseppe, scratched at his thin beard and pulled his cap over his eyes.
“Well, I guess I’ll let you have that one.” Snorted Guiseppe, arms stretched behind his head, signalling to the tall thin man by the entrance to the cantina to fetch more lemonade.
“Now, why don’t you tell the boy what really happened.” Hesiod began to replace the chess pieces for another game.
Peeking over the edge of the old stone table where the two old men sat every day drinking fresh lemonade, talking of the war and of the woman they fought over all of seventy years ago, playing chess, laughing, scowling in the sun of old La Marche, was little Guillermo. Guillermo was on holiday from Rome for the week with his parents who were shopping in the city. His father thought that Guillermo should go with them to the city, to visit the museum and experience something other than the rumble of Rome; his mother, an altogether more forgiving spirit, a spirit that many were sad to see caged in the shackles of marriage to a middle aged barrister, held father by the hand and suggested that Guillermo would benefit far more from an afternoon with Old Uncle Hesiod. Father smiled and agreed. And so little Guillermo, a quiet wide eyed seven year old, sat at the feet of his Great Uncle and Guiseppe darting his dark saucer eyes from one to the other, soaking up the stories that the two revelled in telling, from old tales of faeries to stories of the war and of the woman they fought over nearly seventy years ago.
“If you are so certain of the details of the story, Old Man, I think it only appropriate that it be you who tell. And besides, he’s your nephew.” Guiseppe smiled down at him from behind his grey patchy beard.
“If a story is going to be told, my little Guillermo, then it is important to get all of the details in order, correct and to not embellish anything so to undermine the facts. That is how Faerie stories are created, and what could be worse.”
Guillermo smiled. Hesiod moved his pawn into play. The waiter placed a fresh jug of iced lemonade upon the table.
“This is the story of a fish named Fillipo. Now Fillipo was a Halibut.”
“A Mackerel. He was a Mackerel.” Guiseppe whispered to Guillermo.
“He was a Halibut. Who is telling this story, Old Man, and who was the one that actually met Fillipo on more than one occasion?”
Guiseppe raised his arms in submission and took his move, winking at Guillermo as he did so.
“Anyway, Fillipo was a Halibut who lived in the Potenza, which is a beautiful golden river, rich in life and chaotic with all kinds of wonderful fish and wildlife. You should visit, it is as beautiful as the day God scooped out the earth with those great hands of his and let the ocean pour in. It was a long time after God created this river but not long before I tell you this tale today, that Fillipo was born, one tiny baby amongst a clan of thousands, such is the way of families in the world of Hippoglossus Stenolepis.”
Guillermo looked at him blankly, “The Halibut.” Prompted Guiseppe.
“And so, Fillipo found himself in this huge family, in a huge river full of huge families, full of predators at every coral, the threat of death a stark reality every moment of the day. Now little Guillermo, you can understand being scared, I’m sure. Have you ever been in at the market with your mother and for a brief second you have taken your eyes off each other and all of a sudden you are separated in the crowd. An ocean of people swallow you up, oblivious to your little feet scurrying around, your little hands reaching out, and then there she is, your mother, all worried and loving, hugging you and telling you not to wander off. But she is there for you and she loves you very much. She will always protect you, Guillermo. But Fillipo, poor little Fillipo. He had no one. The only meeting he ever had with his mother was when she spat out his egg onto the seabed along with a few thousand others. Now, don’t get me wrong, my boy, this is very much the lot of a fish, and it has always been this way and will be this way for a long time to come. Fish are born, they swim around and are caught in a net and are eaten by old Guiseppe here in one of his wife’s glorious soups. That is the cycle of life. But Fillipo was different. He found that, as he grew older, bigger, and as he was less frightened by the bullies of the water and more wise to the real monsters, that he found time to look up at the sky. Now man has looked to the stars for various answers to age-old questions from the beginning of time, this is the way that man is made up, to question things and to formulate satisfaction through reason. But fish, Guillermo, now fish have never been so inclined. They are swim around, net, soup. As I said. But, also as I said, Fillipo was different. It may have been brought on by his feelings of loneliness, how the life of a fish is very much one of limited ambition and minimal achievement on most fronts. But Fillipo seemed to be born with w regard for things that are most commonly associated with the concerns of humans. He longed to see his mother again, and from a more flattering perspective this time. He wondered who his father was, and if he might have done things with him if he had been… and this did not enter his mind lightly… if he had been a boy rather than a fish. Guillermo, he even dreamt one night that he went fishing with his father. These are not the thoughts of a normal fish in normal circumstances. Fillipo was an extraordinary case. This all came to a head when one morning he was passing by the river bank, a little closer than was safe during the fishing season when he noticed on the river bank a young boy sat next to his father. Fillipo looked up at them for a moment and thought about his father, and what his father might be doing now, he looked at the boy’s father fixing the grub onto the little boy’s line and patting him on the back, smiling as the boy cast off, the little boy looking gladly over his shoulder for his father’s warm smile. Fillipo wanted to be a boy more then ever, but he knew it was never to be. Saddened and solemn he turned to swim off to a safer part of the river, to be with some other fish. But as he turned the water began to swish and swell up into a torrent, it thrashed and swirled as if Poseidon himself was rearing his angry head. Fillipo felt the urgent desire, as do all fish, to swim as quickly as possible to the furthest reaches of the river, for this is the kind of torrent that follows a shark attack or something just as tragic. But Fillipo instead found himself turning back to the spot where he had been watching the boy fish with his father, and there, all flailing and terrified, was the boy plummeting through the reeds and the grit to the riverbed, his father screaming at the bank. Fillipo was frightened but he was pretty sure that boys could not live very long in the river, not as long as fish, anyway. And that was when it happened, Guillermo. Every story has its defining moment, as does every life. Each creature that God has placed upon His great
green Earth is given a fleeting moment in which they are given the opportunity to move themselves closer to His Kingdom. And this, my boy, was Fillipo’s chance. He raced toward the little boy and pushing his nose under the boy’s armpit, Fillipo pushed and pushed with a might and an effort that he was previously unaware he held. He drove the boy as close to the surface as he could where the long strong arm of his teary father locked onto his collar and pulled him onto the grass. Fillipo was exhausted, and in all honesty, was not entirely sure of what he had just done, or why he had done it. But done it he had and inside he felt a deep unexplainable feeling of goodness, not a feeling all that common to fish. Well, anyway, Fillipo went off to sleep for a while underneath a stone by the opposite riverbank. He was very tired.
“Now we old men, that have tasted the wines of the world, felt the sun on our backs in many lands, kissed ladies, danced under the eternal moonlight of a hundred thousand dusks, we old men, Guillermo, we can tell you a thing or two about the structure of the universe and how life is little more than a glimpse. Whatever it was that I did to deserve to sit here every day in my twilight and enjoy the Mediterranean breeze on my old leathery skin, playing chess and drinking lemonade with my oldest friend, I don’t know what it is. But I have been a good person, I like to think, in the six hundred years I have wandered this Earth. I have been caring of my friends and merciful to my foes. And my reward is this. And I am thankful. Bare this in mind, Guillermo, as you go through life. Now why do you suppose that God would look upon the deeds of men differently to the deeds of animals? Fish? Well, I can tell you now with the lips of a man that has never told a lie, that He does not. And when Fillipo awoke from his slumber he was different. And this was not the blossoming of the Salmon that we are told of. No. Little Guillermo, Fillipo had legs. He had long olive coloured legs with clearly defined muscles and fine dark strands of hair. He knew immediately what they were as the boy had had them in the river torrent, and he had seen them on the underside of almost every fisherman he had seen. They were for walking. Fillipo was at first confused and a little scared but he soon put these feelings aside as soon as he was on his feet sprinting through the water, grinning wildly, his fins swaying like arms, the feet pounding into the pebbles propelling him onward through the mesh of reeds, onward through the speckled dust, onward toward the riverbank. And then, Guillermo, there he was. He was on dry land. He stood for a while getting used to air, his legs long and muscular, his glorious scales glistening in the sunrays. He looked around at how different everything looked from on land, at how pretty the world really was now that it wasn’t so wet. Fillipo had never been so happy.”
Old Uncle Hesiod nudged his Rook half way down the board. “That looks like check to me, Old Man.” Guillermo sipped at his lemonade without taking his eyes of his great uncle.
“Well, aren’t you going to tell the boy what happened to Fillipo?” Said Guiseppe studying the board for his next coarse of action.
“Do you want to know what happened to Fillipo?” Asked the Old Uncle. Guillermo nodded his big round head. “Okay, I will tell you. It looks like Old Guiseppe is going to be taking some time over his next move. Well, as you may have gathered from your visit, little man, the people of La Marche are good, tender people, and they are always ready to help out strangers when and wherever the opportunity arises. It was no different for Fillipo. He wandered into town, penniless and lost, knowing very little of the language, having not a penny to his name, and no pockets to keep any pennies should they have come his way. The poor little fish did not even know he was in Italy. Well, he strolled into town on his knew legs, proud and tall, down the main street where people were shopping and socialising with friends. Now, I will not tell you that people did not notice the six foot Halibut strolling through their town, but nobody cried out, nobody called for the police or threw stones, such are the people of La Marche. Instead one kind young lady, the lovely Beatrice Blendici who was a florist, approached Fillipo and asked him if he was lost. Fillipo, of course, could neither understand nor answer the question, being a fish. Beatrice realised this and took him by the fin to her father’s store. In truth, Fillipo was somewhat relieved as he had not yet had the experience in walking that most toddlers have had and his strides were long and arched, some might even say somewhat uncouth and grotesque, therefore he was using up far more energy than one would with a regular gait and stride. He was feeling quite tired. Beatrice introduced Fillipo to her father, Guido, who was the local undertaker, a truly catholic thinker and a kind man. He offered Fillipo a place on the sofa usually reserved for the grieving, which Fillipo took gratefully and he tried to find out why Fillipo was in town and what he intended to do there. But, of course, there was nothing to find out, there was no reason for him to be there and he had no intention upon his arrival. He just walked. This was perhaps apparent to Guido, who was a very astute man and fairly well-educated for his position, who decided not to interrogate what he saw as a simple minded fish who answered every question with a large thick lipped smile. But Guido thought him a very pleasant young man and decided to help him. So he pulled a few strings and got Fillipo a job working for his friend Enzo the grocer. Fillipo was a delivery boy. It was the perfect job for him. He had is own bike, perfect for his long muscular legs. Enzo, a very jolly little man with a huge round belly and a thick moustache that curled at the edges, would draw the delivery route on a very simple map, put the groceries in the basket on the front of the bicycle, and then, when Fillipo reached his destination a bell would ring as the wheels of his bike came to a halt, signalling for the recipient to come out and collect their goods. Fillipo would give them a bright thick-lipped smile and cycle on to his next customer. He became well liked around the town, people would wave and call out as he cycled past them, he would nod and smile back, happy at last to be free from the water. Most importantly, Fillipo had friends. He was friends with Beatrice, Enzo and Guido as well as Hector who also worked for Enzo. In fact it was Hector who taught Fillipo to understand Italian, but unfortunately he could not reply as his fish insides had not the capacity.”
Old Uncle Hesiod took a long sip of his lemonade and studied the board once more before dancing his Knight over a pawn. “That should keep you busy, Old Man.” He smiled.
“Tell him what happened to the fish.” Snarled Guiseppe.
Hesiod looked down at Guillermo who had not taken his eyes off him for quite some time.
“What happened to Fillipo, little one, is a mystery. One day he just disappeared. He didn’t turn up for work one morning. And that was that. Beatrice swore he went back to the river, Enzo hoped that was the case and that he didn’t get lost or worse. I think… do you want to know what I think?” Guillermo nodded eagerly, “I think his time was up.”
“No, he moved on to the next town.” Dismissed Guiseppe, rubbing his chin over his next move.
“Rubbish. His time was up. You see, Guillermo, the way I see it is that God gave that fish legs as a reward for saving that little boy who fell in the river. These rewards do not last forever. I think that he woke up one morning and his legs were gone, so he went back to being a regular fish. But let me tell you, that boy is sorely missed by us all.”
As Hesiod spoke a car pulled up on the gravel and Guillermo’s parent’s got out. His mother was as natural to the frame around her as a flower would have been, as right as the olive branch that she side stepped to approach the three of them at their stone table. His father’s blue pastel suit was as garish as nothing that nature had to offer.
“Good afternoon there folks.” Guiseppe welcomed them both, Guillermo offered embraces, Hesiod a silent wave.
“And has Old Uncle Hesiod been keeping you entertained, little one?” Asked his mother.
“He’s been fine. Taught him chess. And the joys of fresh lemonade.” Hesiod moved his queen sideways. “Checkmate!” He laughed.
Driving back to the hotel Guillermo could only think of Fillipo, such a stark painting was in his mind of this huge fish trundling down the street. And that night as they sat in the restaurant with other relatives Guillermo scowled at his Aunt who ordered the fish. At breakfast the next day he asked his mother if he could go fishing when they returned to Rome. She patted him on the head and said, “We’ll see, little one, we’ll see.”
That afternoon he went out to play football in a field across from the hotel whilst his parents relaxed by the pool. Guillermo kicked the ball and chased it over and over until it flew in the air and into some reeds at the far side of the field. He searched and searched but it had been swallowed by the undergrowth. He noticed the reeds were the border to a wide river, soft and clear. And by the river, sat on a rock with his back to the boy, was a fish. Guillermo was slightly frightened but intrigued at the same time and found himself approaching the figure. At the alarm of a broken twig underfoot the fish turned and looked at Guillermo. The fish had long muscular legs and long muscular arms which had just been supporting his chin, glum as it was.
“Hello,” said the fish.
“Hello,” said the boy, “are you Fillipo?”
“Yes. Yes I am. How did you know that?”
“I’ve heard about you.”
“I see.”
“People don’t know what happened to you, they‘re worried.”
“They needn’t be. I’m just lost.”
Guillermo looked Fillipo up and down and could see how sad he was. “I didn’t know you had arms.”
Fillipo looked at his arms sadly.
“And my uncle said you couldn’t talk.”
“That was the thing, you see. I woke up one morning and I had arms. I was horrified. And do you know what was worse? When I woke up that morning I looked at my arms and I said, ‘I have arms’. I spoke. I never wanted a voice or arms. I just wanted legs. I was so happy with my legs. So I decided to leave, I didn’t want to scare anyone or make anyone feel uncomfortable. So I decided to go to Rome where nobody knows me. But I just seem to be going round in circles.”
Guillermo stepped forward and put his hand on Fillipo’s damp scaly shoulder. “I’m going to Rome.” He said softly. “You can come with us.”
Fillipo smiled his huge bright thick-lipped smile and took Guillermo by the hand. They walked over to the hotel and through the back gate over to the pool. People did notice a six-foot Halibut walking hand in hand with a seven-year-old boy into the pool area, but no one screamed or threw stones.
“Mum, Dad, this is Fillipo.”