Fish Wish

This was originally one of the Grimm fairy tales. My mom used to tell it to us, so I decided to retell it.

“Uh, well, I dunno. I’m pretty happy, all things considered. Should I just toss you back in, then?”

The words filtered through Aileen’s consciousness and tickled her brain until she sat bolt upright, mouth agape, rocking the rowboat so that the whole thing sloshed and rolled wildly for a moment.

But she felt herself justified when she saw what was dangling from her husband’s fishing pole: an iridescent shimmer, a flash of light and scales; the most beautiful fish ever to hang from an average Walmart fishing pole.

“Jeremy!” She shrieked, pawing at his sleeve. “Is that a magic fish?! What are you doing!? Don’t throw it back!”

He looked at her, surprise all over his face. “But it’ll die if it stays out here too long. It said I could have a wish, but I don’t want anything. Why shouldn’t I throw the poor thing back?”

Aileen and the fish regarded one another. Aileen was twisting her hands together and grinning like a demented woman. The fish looked rather resigned. It heaved a sigh—an unusual thing for a fish to do—but the deep, velvety voice that proceeded from its mouth was rather more so.

“It appears that your woman desires you to make a wish, fisherman. You’d better go on and do it.”

Jeremy looked at Aileen. “I didn’t know you wanted anything?”

“A new house” She gasped, eyes aglow. “Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a little yard to have a garden in.”

Puzzlement crossed Jeremy’s face. “We just bought that condo. I thought you liked it. You said it was snug, and cute. And we were going to repaper the kitchen next paycheck.”

“Well, we’re not going to stay there forever, Jerry.” Aileen said, swatting him gently on the shoulder. “And it is tiny. Why wait around for you to get a pay raise ages from now when we can have everything we want right now? Come on! I’m dying to see what our new house looks like!”

Jeremy turned to the fish and cleared his throat apologetically, his honest, open face pink with embarrassment. “Um, Mr. Fish…”

The fish held up a warning flipper. “It’s got to be in rhyme. I may be enchanted to grant wishes to whoever catches me, but I do have some standards.”

Jeremy’s eyes bugged. “Uh, what?”

“Rhymes. Non-negotiable.” The fish said, firmly.

Jeremy sat for a moment, hunched and frowning with concentration, moving his lips silently. Finally, he straightened and said, “Mr. Fish:

My dear wife Aileen

Wants something quite keen.

Happy with me, she can’t be,

Until her wish you guarantee.”

The fish considered this. “Eh, I suppose it’s too much to expect to be pulled out by John Donne. It’ll do. Your wish has been granted!”

It was a really nice performance on the fish’s part; just the right touch of vibrato to give the pronouncement a sense of weight and thrill. But nobody appreciated the artistry, he thought sadly, as his final syllables were drowned by Aileen’s squeal of joy. She threw her arms around Jeremy’s neck (a dawning happiness was visible on his face) and shouted, “Ooh, Jerry, let’s go see our dream house!”

The fish was deposited back in the water by a profusely grateful Jeremy, and the couple rowed back to shore, vanishing in the spangled reflections of the sun on the lake water. The fish popped its head out to watch them go. It sighed. “He’ll be back, soon enough.”

—

The creak of the oars was the only sound on the foggy lake. It was a dismal day, a constant fine mist splattering through the air, fog hugging the surface like a clammy, damp blanket. Jeremy appeared through the swirling clouds, a furrowed line on his brow. He cleared his throat. “Uh, fish? Mr. Fish? Oh, er, right—rhyming. Uh, okay…

My dear wife Aileen,

wants something quite keen.

Happy with me she can’t be,

Until her wish you guarantee.”

A silvery head popped up from the water. It is difficult to describe how a fish face could look stern and forbidding, but this was definitely the expression. “What does she want now?”

Jeremy clutched at the oars miserably. “She wants to be mayor.”

“Mayor? I wouldn’t have thought she was the type for local politics.”

“She isn’t. I dunno what’s got into her. She doesn’t want to do anything I thought we wanted to do.”

“Oh, very well. Your wish is granted.” The fish didn’t bother to put the vibrato in this time. Clearly this bedraggled, damp man wasn’t the type to appreciate a good announcement.

“Oh thank you, thank you!” Jeremy said, and began rowing back to shore as fast as he could. “She’ll be so happy!”

“Not likely.” The fish said to his retreating back.

—

A week later, choppy, angry waves slapped at the sides of the rowboat, rocking Jeremy as he sat huddled in the middle, trying to peer through lashing rain and wind to see where he’d last met the fish. He could barely hear over the pounding of the rain landing on his rain jacket and slashing into the water. Finally, unable to make head or tail of his location, he shouted into the wind:

“My dear wife Aileen,

Wants something quite keen!

Happy with me she can’t be,

Until her wish you guarantee

“What is it this time?!” Boomed the fish, jutting up abruptly from the water directly beside the boat.

"She wants to be President!”

“Ah, well, doesn’t everybody nowadays?! But it’s done!”

And the fish had gone, leaving Jeremy to row blindly ashore and hope that he hit ground somewhere close to where he’d parked his car.

—

The entire sky lit up as lightning staggered down to earth, spidery filaments of fire spreading across towering black clouds. A boom of thunder came seconds later, loud enough to rattle bones. In the brief light, Jeremy was visible, crouched in the bottom of his rowboat, hands over his head, shouting as loudly as he could manage into the storm:

“My dear wife Aileen,

Wants something quite keen!

Happy with me she can’t be,

Until her wish you guarantee!”

The fish appeared in the water and shouted at him, “I’m only coming back because I want to hear what nonsense that woman’s come up with next! What does she want?!”

“Pope!” Shouted Jeremy, a little hysterically. “Pope! We’re not even Catholic!”

The fish rolled its eyes and waved a flipper as it flopped back into the water. “Done!”

—

A week later, Jeremy stood on the grass beside the lake, clutching an absurdly large mitre to his chest, and realized he couldn’t even make it out onto the lake. Marble sized hail clattered down all around him, bouncing off his vestments, which flapped noisily. The wind nearly knocked him sideways and the boat was gone, ripped from its moorings by the violence of the waves and the wind. But he inhaled deeply and bellowed into the wind:

“My dear wife Aileen,

Wants something quite keen!

Happy with me she can’t be,

Until her wish you guarantee!”

Surprisingly, the distinct silvery fish head popped out of the water at the edge of the reeds. Jeremy shuddered and waded in, his shoes filling with water, shouting miserably, “She wants to be God!”

For a long moment, the fish just looked at Jeremy blankly, so long that Jeremy wondered if Aileen had somehow used up the magic and he would now be stuck permanently as a non-believing bishop in a church whose primary cleric had been usurped by his increasingly unstable wife. And then the fish threw back its head and laughed.

“Tell you what, Jeremy.” It said, “I’ll give you one more chance to make your own wish. What do you want?”

Jeremy looked down at the gaudily ornamented hat in his hands and bawled, “I just want her to be happy with me again!”

“WISH GRANTED.” The fish boomed.

And the hail clattered to a stop. The wind died down to a quiet whisper through the reeds. In the distance, a tiny gleam of blue showed between the billowing storm clouds. Jeremy stared around him with his mouth agape in surprise.

“Jeremy,” said the fish.

“Yes.” Jeremy said, snapping his mouth shut abruptly and standing to attention.

The fish fixed him with a cold, fishy eye. “Don’t come back.”

So Jeremy got into his car, soaking wet, shoved the crumpled mitre behind the seat and drove home. Home to the little condo he and Aileen had bought. He walked hesitatingly up the steps and opened the door. Aileen was sitting on the couch, looking red around the eyes. She stood up, a catch in her breath, hurried to him, wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He put his arms around her. For a long moment they stood there. And finally, Aileen said, “Jerry…would you want to help me pick out a nice wallpaper for the kitchen? I’d like to fix it up together.”

#fish #grimm039sfairytales #wishes