by Alan Sincic
“These are the rules and I make the rules, and I make the rules because … because…” Edward had to think for a minute. “… because I am bigger than you.”
Nods all around. The cowboy was nodding so hard he almost fell off his horse.
“Any questions?”
Silence. A sputter of bubbles out from under a pie tin. The clunk of an armchair bumping into a rafter. Outside, far and away across the rooftops, the chatter of a starling in a tangerine tree.
“Good.”
And good it was. Edward caught sight of himself in the curves of Mr. B’s shiny toaster and sashayed over to take a closer look. He bowed to himself. He waved. The closer he came, the bigger he got. As the toaster bulged out to try to make a better fit, Edward’s fins blazed out like a pair of silver spurs, he shot up as tall as a ten-gallon hat, his shadow spilled out in a long black cloud from one end of the counter to the other. He was the king of the ranch.
“You will live here,” said Edward as he picked up the stationmaster and dropped him into a glass measuring cup. Five ounces, four ounces, three ounces, two ounces … the stationmaster shrunk down between the tight red bars, down and down until he was at the bottom of the cup. “That’s so that you will always know how many ounces you are.
“And you will live here,” said Edward as he dropped the cows one by one into an empty milk bottle. “That’s so that you will feel at home. You are just a cow, you are not a fish, I cannot have you roaming all over my house.”
The cows tumbled down to the bottom of the bottle like pebbles spinning down to the bottom of a well. It made Edward feel big to be telling everybody what to do. Mr. B was a nice person and everything, but when it came to running a house, he was useless.
“And you…,” continued Edward as he turned to the cowboy salt shaker. “You will—”
Edward turned around completely. The cowboy and his horse were gone. Quick, thought Edward, if I were salt and pepper shakers, where would I go? Quick! A picnic, came the answer, I would take myself out on a picnic.
Edward lit out for the parlor.
“Whoa on up there! You just whoa on up there, partner!”
By the time he caught up, they were halfway to the door.
“You listen to me,” said Edward as he snapped at their hoofs and their boots and their bridles and their buckles. “I am the boss of the house and you will go where I tell you to go.”
Neither of them gave Edward so much as a glance. He was tumbleweed beneath their feet as they galloped across the prairie.
“I’m warning you!”
He tried to snatch them up in his mouth, but they were too slippery to hold. His fins slid off the cowboy’s porcelain shoulders and down the horse’s porcelain tail, and they both bucked off in a circle around him. Edward tried to push them with his nose. He tried to kick them with his tail. Nothing. Onward to the door they spun.
Outside in the garden the crickets were singing. The sky was a bright blue ship, the clouds were the bright white sails, the sunlight tumbled down from the trees and in through the window like a thousand bright birds, but Edward did not notice any of these things. Right then he was not big enough inside to contain them all. Right then he was all taken up by the cowboy and the horse.
“Go ahead, then,” said Edward. He snapped off the string from the covered-wagon kite and tied one end to his tail. “You just go and ride to your heart’s content.”
Bang went the cowboy against the kite, and then onward he rode. Edward took the other end of the string and tied it into a lasso.
“You should know better than to tangle with me.”
He lassoed the horse, pulled the string tight, then looped it once around the hat rack for good measure. He did not even notice the direction that the current was taking him, or the light shining up through the slot in the door, or the eyes peering in through the rush of the water.
“Now look who is the boss,” said Edward above the rattle of the mail chute and the roar of the water.
“Now look who is the biggest of the biggest of the biggest of the—,” said Edward as the current spun at him and tugged at him and pulled him toward the door.
At the word big, the current sucked Edward—whoosh—right through the chute and straight out the door. Whoosh.
Six
CAPTURED!
In the middle of the sun, out in the middle of the bright sunlight, sat the cat, the fat cat, the fattest of the fat cats. Edward hung by his tail from the string as the water flowed around him. It was such a nice day that the cat began to sing.
I look in the mail slot
And what do I see?
A let, a let, a letter.
A letter for me!
Edward flipped and flopped and fluttered on the string. The cat twitched and flitched and switched her gleaming whiskers.
“You don’t want to eat me,” said Edward.
“Why not?” said the cat as she washed her paws in the flowing water. She was careful to scrub under the nails.
“I don’t have enough meat on my bones.”
“But I am on a diet,” she said as she glanced up at him and then back down at her paws, “and you would be just the right size.”
“I’m telling you. I am much smaller than I look.”
“Then maybe I should move closer. Maybe you are so small because I am so far away.”
“I’m warning you. An hour later and you would just be hungry again.”
“Then I will eat half of you now, and half of you an hour from now.”
“Okay. Fine, then. If you want to ruin your appetite eating such a scrawny fish.”
“But you are not a scrawny fish.”
“No, no, no. You’re just saying that to make me feel good. Look—look here at my ribs, look at them sticking out here.”
“No, no, no. You should have a higher opinion of yourself. I have always found you very attractive.”
“You mean small and attractive, don’t you? Very, very small and very, very attractive, like a tiny butterfly?”
“Not at all. Rumor has it that you are the biggest of the big.”
“No, no, no. That was a misunderstanding. I am the smallest of the small.”
“But I heard you say it yourself. You said that you were the biggest of the—”
“No, no, no. I meant … I said … I meant that I used to be big but that … but that … what with this water and everything, I shrunk. Everything shrinks when you put it in water.”
“But you have always been in water.”
“Not this much water. This is a lot of water, a lot more water than I have ever been in before.”
The cat cocked her head to one side and stared at Edward. Never in her life had she met such a complicated fish. She gave the string a little tug. She arched her neck to peer into the bubbling front windows. She sniffed at the mist in the air.
“Well, water or no water, you look plenty big enough to me.”
“That is just because I am big-boned. I have big bones.”
“Big what?”
“Big bones.”
The cat yawned once and ran her tongue across her teeth. Complicated, complicated. The whole thing was getting far too complicated.
“Well, this has certainly been a very interesting discussion, and I thank you. I have learned a lot about fish that I never knew before. You have a very pleasant personality, and I wish you the best of luck in the future. Now I am going to eat you.”
The cat lifted Edward by the string and dangled him in the air. He felt the heat of her breath on the back of his neck.
“Good for you…,” gasped Edward to the cat. “For not being afraid…”
He was gulping now and his voice was getting fainter. The cat opened her jaws and held him high above her head.
“Good for you…,” whispered Edward with his last ounce of strength. “For not being afraid … of what the people will say.…”
The cat stopped.
“What? What people what?”
> Edward hung limp on the end of the string.
“What did you say?”
Silence. The cat lowered Edward back into the water and swished him around.
“What did you just say?”
Edward wriggled back to life immediately.
“No, no, no. Eat me, eat me up. I admire your courage. And don’t be afraid of what the people will say.”
“What will the people say?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re going to eat me now, right?”
“Yes,” said the cat. That was a simple question. She liked simple questions.
“Just like that?”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought that you were one of the better cats.”
“I am one of the better cats. I am even better than the better of the cats.”
“Oh. Then you already know.”
“Know? Know about what?”
“The spices.”
“The spices?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the spices?”
The cat glanced around to see if anybody was watching. She did not know whether to answer yes or to answer no.
“Of course,” said Edward. “The better cats are the only cats who insist upon the spices. Maybe you are not one of the better cats.”
“Oh, yes, I … I mean no, I … I mean yes, yes, of course I am. And the spices, too. I would never—”
“That’s good. I just thought that you had forgotten.”
“Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”
“Good.”
Silence. The cat lifted Edward up to her mouth again and then put him back down.
“Now, about the … about these, about this—”
“Spices.”
“This spices. Your opinion is that—”
“Well, dill is good. Or maybe fennel with some paprika. Or cloves, or chives, or cardamom seeds…”
The cat did not blink. She stared as if there were something very interesting on the other side of Edward, only she didn’t know what it was.
“… or nutmeg, or sage, or bay leaves, or basil…”
The cat struggled to pronounce these words to herself.
“… or salt, or pepper, or parsley, or…”
The cat sat up and cocked her head. “Salt?”
“Salt. Salt and pepper. The better cats insist upon—”
“Salt. I know that. The better cats insist upon salt.”
“And pepper.”
“Salt and pepper. I know that. Don’t you think that I already know that? Don’t you think that I—”
“I know, I know—and you can get it from that cowboy and his horse, the salt and pepper shakers just inside the doorway there, right?”
“Absolutely,” said the cat as she let go of Edward and reached into the gurgling mail slot. “I can get it—” Suddenly she stopped and looked back at Edward.
“Wait a minute. Why are you being so helpful?”
“It’s nothing personal. It’s just that it would be embarrassing to be eaten without any spices. It’s just something that is not done.”
She stared at him for a second. Slowly a smile spread out across her face. “Absolutely.”
She stood up on her toes and shoved her arm way up into the mail slot. “It would be embarrassing.”
Her paw closed tight around the cowboy and his horse. “Because it is just something that is not done.”
She gave them a yank—the cowboy and his horse and the string around the horse—and as she yanked the cowboy toward her, the other end of the string, the end tied to Edward’s tail—snap-slap-whoosh—snapped itself up through the mail slot—whoosh—and snapped Edward up along with it, ker-whoosh! In the house—he was back inside the house!
Edward slipped out of the string and tumbled back away from the door. His heart was racing so fast he would have to swim for a week just to catch it. The voice of the cat came singing in through the door. She did not even know that he was gone. Up and down went the shadow of her paws like a bandmaster leading a ten-person band.
First you go and get the salt
And you go and get the pepper,
Then you add a little malt,
And you finish it with … ah … um,
you finish it with …
Edward thought for a moment about a word that might rhyme with “pepper,” but then he decided that, well, maybe it would be better not to say anything at all. He was shaking from fin to fin. Maybe—just for a change, and just for a while—maybe it would be better to say nothing at all.
Seven
DOGS ON THE ROOFTOP, FIRE IN THE TUB
When the fire department arrived, Edward was sunning himself in the garden window, reading a book about flying squirrels and nibbling on the last of the shortcake. The stationmaster was back in his station house and the cows were back in their meadow and everything was the size it was supposed to be.
Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!
Fire truck after fire truck roared up the street. At the head of the line rode the fire chief in his blazing-red Jeep with a whistle in his mouth and a badge at his chest and a streak of hot Tabasco at the rim of his whiskers. On the running board rode the mayor with a thermos in her hand and a pen between her teeth and a fist of city papers tucked inside her red suspenders. At the very end of the line rode Mr. Billingsly on a rickety green bicycle, his bath towel flapping in the wind and a half-dozen stray dogs yapping at his heels. He looked very tiny in the distance.
“Save the house, save the house!” shouted the fire chief through his megaphone as he skidded to a stop on top of Mr. B’s rosebushes. “Whatever you do, save the house!”
The short stubby firemen ran over to turn on the fire hydrant. The tall skinny firemen ran over to roll out the hoses. The neighbors all ran out to join in the excitement.
“What are we doing, what are we doing?”
“We’re running! We’re running!”
“But why are we running, why are we running?”
“The house!”
“To the house!”
“Something about the Billingsly house!”
Edward could not understand what all the hubbub was about. The house was much tidier than it had ever been. The cats were gone. The floor was spotless, fresh as a folded sheet, not a stick of furniture even touching the ground. Up the walls and across the ceiling, Edward’s crayon pictures of dogfish and catfish and starfish and jellyfish glowed red and yellow and blue and green in the light. He had even washed Mr. Billingsly’s rodeo shirts and hung them out to … well, not to dry—at least not underwater—but at least he had hung them out.
“Save the money, save the money!” cried the mayor as she kicked over Mr. B’s birdbath on her way across the lawn. “Whatever you do, save the money!”
Of course, thought Edward, I could have done more. I could have oiled the hinges and dusted the knickknacks and watered the potted geraniums, yes, certainly, but it is, after all, my vacation, isn’t it? Even fish get to take a vacation.
“Save the kitchen, save the kitchen!” cried a short stocky woman with a bowl of cookies in her arms and a sifter in her hand and a smudge of flour on her cheek. “Whatever you do—”
“Save the fish!” cried Mr. Billingsly. He hopscotched over the firemen’s hoses in his tender bare feet. He was wheezing hard. His glasses shimmied down to the end of his nose. A tangerine popped out from under his arm and rolled away down the sidewalk. “Whatever you do, save the fish!”
The dogs were barking. The cats were screeching. The bells were clanging.
“Stand back, everybody!” shouted the fire chief as he charged toward the door with his ax held high. “I am going to break down the door.”
Mr. B grabbed hold of the chief’s yellow slicker and rode it—bump, bump, bump—all the way up the front steps. “No, no!” he cried out, gasping between breaths. “It’s not the door, it’s the tub. The problem is
the tub.”
“The tub-tub?” said the fire chief. “The bathtub?”
“The bathtub,” said Mr. Billingsly.
“Hop to it, boys!” shouted the chief as he tossed the megaphone to Mr. B. “There’s a fire in the tub!”
Six burly firemen leaped from the porch. The crowd trampled their way into the flower garden underneath the bathroom window. The chief blew his—tweet!—silver whistle. Mr. B stumbled backward into his—plop!—tomato blossoms.
“Follow me in with those hoses, boys!”
“Wait a minute, chief!” shouted the ladder man from the top of his ladder truck. “I think there’s some smoke on the roof!”
Tweeeeet! went the chief’s whistle. Up the ladder went the ladder man. Up went the hooks. Up went the rope. Up went the whistle and the chief and the ax and the men and the hose and the mayor and the papers and the dogs and the short stocky lady with the spoon in her hand.
Edward pressed his face close to the window and watched Mr. Billingsly as he crawled out of the tomato patch and over to the megaphone. Poor Mr. B. He was breathing hard. His hands and knees were covered with mud. He reached up to comb the bald spot on top of his head, but then remembered that he did not have a comb.
“This is Mr. Billingsly,” said Mr. B into the megaphone. His voice echoed out across the rooftops. “And I would like you to please come down from the roof.”
Out popped the mayor’s head. “What was that?”
“I am sorry, but there is no fire on the roof.”
Out popped the fire chief’s head. “What did you say?”
“No fire, I said. No fire on the roof, no fire in the tub.”
Out popped the heads of the half-dozen dogs. “No what? No fire?”
“It is my fault, I am sorry, but the house is not on fire.”
“But you told us to save your house,” said the chief. “You told us you had a problem.”
“I do have a problem,” said Mr. B through the megaphone. He looked around at the hoses and the trucks and the pumps and the hydrant. “You see, I was going to take a bath. I always like a nice warm bath. But now it seems that, well … it seems that I have put too much water inside the tub.”