Every day was always the same for Jianping, so he thought it was a safe assumption that today would be no exception.
His morning started as it always did; he woke up next to his wife on their thinly padded bed. He stood up and rolled his neck from side to side, then walked barefoot to the kitchen. It was early; the sun was just starting to light up the kitchen corridor’s paper walls. Jianping made his way to the sink and reached his hand out of the window, where his fingers blindly moved along a fishing line hung outside until he grasped a smoked fillet of mackerel. After a quick inspection, he gently placed it on the bowl of soft rice his wife had prepared for him the night before, then did the same for a smaller, but in every other way identical, bowl for her, too. He ate sat cross legged on the floor.
Some days, Jianping would open the screen door to his garden while he ate and watch the morning dew settle on the petals of his neat lilies. Other days, and today was one of those other days, his lilies were attacked by a barrage of heavy rain from above, and Jianping would listen to the water thump the earth.
After breakfast was work. Jianping put his bowl in the sink and gathered up his kit; a bamboo rod, a fishing hook and a blanket. He tied them into a bundle with a length of twine and patted the folds out of his tunic before he slung it over his shoulder. Like clockwork, he grabbed his hat off the hook as he left the house. He set off to the lake; it was a 20-minute walk from his house and, like every other day, he made a point to enjoy the journey.
When Jianping reached the edge of the lake, he unwrapped his blanket and spread it out on the softened mud. He sat down, and looked out to the water while he made his fishing rod. The water was normally still, but today it was a war zone; little cannonballs from heaven bombarded an immense and indifferent opponent.
He cast out.
Minutes passed. Then half an hour. Then an hour, but the cork on Jianping’s rod did nothing but bob. It takes a seasoned expert to tell the difference between a cork bobbing up and down in the rain and a cork that’s been bitten by a fish. Luckily, Jianping was a seasoned expert.
Suddenly, he jerked his stick to the side; his rod got heavier. He knew he had caught something. He grabbed the line and slowly pulled it towards him. The line pulled back, resisting, but Jianping was patient and waited until it went slack before he pulled again. Slowly, but surely, he reeled the line in.
Eventually, his catch was right in front of him. He lifted it out of the water; it was a fish. “Good,” thought Jianping.
“Bugger, you’ve got me,” said the fish.
Jianping was confused. He thought he knew everything there was to know about fishing, but clearly he’d missed a lesson somewhere.
“Do you mind?” The fish gestured its fin to the hook poking through its bottom lip.
“Oh, of course.” His politeness overcame his disbelief and Jianping removed the hook from the fish’s mouth.
“What’s wrong with you, man? What’re you doing hiding hooks in worms?” The fish nursed its swollen lip.
“I’m a fisherman. Sorry.” Jianping didn’t know what else to say.
“I guess that makes me a fish, then.” The fish gave Jianping a cheeky wink. “Look, buddy, I’ve got things to do, Perches to see, you get me? So, how’s about you throw me back in, a little bit of catch-and-release? Just this once?”
“What?” Jianping didn’t have much experience negotiating, but he got the sense he wasn’t off to a great start.
“Yeah, I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry. I mean, I won’t make the others think you’ve gone soft and that. You’ll still be Mr Big Fisherman. So how about it?”
Jianping thought for a second. “But I need food.”
“Oh Cod – is that what you’re doing to us!?” The fish gave a chuckle. “Heyyyyy, I’m just pulling your fin; we know how it is. I’ll let you in on a secret; we tell the weird ones floating worms taste better. Let things take care of themselves.”
Now the initial shock had worn off, Jianping was starting to get the hang of talking to something he would usually eat. “So how come you’re here?”
“Bit embarrassing, really: I was wicked hungover. Should’ve known a juicy worm breakfast was too good to be true.” The fish looked at Jianping intently. “I can make it worth your while, y’know?”
“What?” It was back to square one; Jianping was out of his depth.
“Worth your while? You know, tit for tat? You scratch mine; I scratch yours?” Confident it had got the message across, the fish elaborated: “I’m not just a pretty face, y’know. I grant wishes.”
Although he had no data to base this opinion on, somehow, Jianping doubted this particular fish was a wish-granting one. The fish sensed his worry and narrowed his eyes.
“Oh what, you think I can talk and I don’t have anything else going for me? I’m a talking fish, dude.” The fish’s stern gaze faded “I’ve got to admit, though, it’s good to finally have a conversation. It’s always ‘worms this’ and ‘worms that’ with those guys, drives me up the bend.” It tipped his head towards the water and patiently waited for a reply. “Are you sure you’re not a fish yourself? Not talking too much.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit shocked.”
“That’s cool.”
They sat in silence for a minute.
“What’s your name?” asked Jianping.
“I’m a fish, man. You talking to any other fish you’ll confuse me with?”
“I suppose not. Why can you talk?”
“I told you, I can grant wishes. Born with it. One day I just thought, wow, what would it be like to talk? Next thing I know I speak, like, 4 languages.”
Jianping struggled to decide what to ask next. “How many wishes can you grant?” he asked in the end.
“Good question. I’ve not hit a wall yet; just earlier I was wishing for a nice juicy worm and BAM. Now we’re here.” The fish chuckled. “Difficult, wishes. Sometimes it was bound to happen anyway.”
Jianping was impressed. “That’s quite eloquent for a fish,” he said respectfully.
“Great,” the fish rolled its eyes. “First fish you’re talking to and you’re already slipping in the microaggressions.” The fish cupped some water from his belly into his gills “Some fisherman you are.”
“Sorry. Look, I’d love to release you, but I have to bring home some food for me and my wife.”
The fish rolled his eyes again. “If only there were some sort of magical way you could ask for something and get it. That’d be so useful.”
“Oh.” Jianping felt silly; of course, there was an obvious solution to this mess. “Well then I know my wish: I wish to catch a fish for dinner.”
“For real?” The fish was not impressed. “I’m here offering you a wish, not a small kindness given the circumstances, and you’re asking me to serve you my friend on a platter? Bite me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jianping again. “That was insensitive.”
“Yes, it was,” said the fish in a huff.
“I don’t want to cause offence”
The fish could see Jianping was embarrassed and reigned itself in. “Look, I get it. You’re talking to a fish; it’s been a day.”
“Thanks fish,” said Jianping. He sat there and looked out on the lake as he decided what to do. The rain had stopped.
“Heads up: I am going to suffocate and die if you don’t put me back in water,” the fish croaked. Its voice had become hoarse and its eyes were turning dull.
“Well, I don’t want you to suffer,” Jianping said. “Let me help you.” He gently cupped the fish’s body and placed it in the still water. “It was lovely to meet you, strange fish. My wish is that you have a good day.”
“That’s very nice. Right back at you Mr Fisherman,” the fish said. It turned and swam to the centre of the lake, then looked back at the fisherman and gave a farewell splash, before it dove deep and left him alone once more.
Jianping had no luck the rest of the day and he went home empty handed for the first time in years. He was a bit disappointed, but his wife didn’t mind. Just before her husband arrived home, she’d found several plump chickens looking lost by the roadside. She coaxed them into their garden with some rice and now they were clucking happily among the lilies. The next morning, Jianping and his wife discovered that the chickens laid big, tasty eggs. They laid so many Jianping and his wife had to make rice with eggs for breakfast just to not waste them all. It was just as well, really, because Jianping had lost his taste for fish.