FISH LOVE

By Reginald Murray

   It has been said that the sea’s persona is as mysterious as our infinitesimal solar system. It runs wide and deep. And what lurks within its bowels is a mystery. Yet the sea can be as unpredictable as the weather in March. Sometimes we sail smooth waters. Other times we sail rough waters. One person’s vicissitude will determine his fate, thanks to the mysterious sea.               

   Rencil Ballard is as predictable as leaves falling on a brown autumn day. He has his strong likes and dislikes. The former speaks highly of him. Two of his passions exhibit him: his lovely wife, Betty, and fishing.             

  In all honesty and fairness to him, I will say that fishing is at the top of his wish list. If he misses fishing one week, he isn’t right, until the following week. All other interests are on hold.       

   It is a particularly hot July day. He and Betty are having their edible breakfasts - cooked sausages, bacon and eggs, toasts, a bowl of cold cereal, and to wash it down, a cold glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee – they concur! The kitchen radio is playing a song from a bygone era, The Four Tops’, “Still Waters Run Deep.” How ironic? These two lovebirds love their oldies. Rencil eventually goes over and turns it off.                            

   “Well Rencil, what are your plans for today?” She asks, taking a sip out of her coffee, looking at him intensely with her sky blue eyes.                                                                                                    

   “Fishing!” Rencil Ballard gleefully answers.          

   “You need to readjust your priorities some,” she advises him. “Or need I say you’ve outgrown the sea. There’ll be other weeks to pursue your matter.”

   “I know that! But I’m impatient about next week. Next week can’t wait,” he tells her.

   “Don’t be hasty, darlin’!” Misses Ballard warns him. “If I were you, I would take this one step at a time.”         

   “I see the shape of your argument,” he pauses, chomping some more on his food, “but the fish may be biting, this time around.”

   “You’ve been unlucky, as of late!” she reminds him.                                           

   “Well, I must say this: unless you’re a bona fide fisherman, you wouldn’t understand the sport of fishin’,” he instructs her. “Some days they bite. Other days, they don’t.”

   “You’ve been out there nearly every day. And still, you come up empty-handed,” she recalls. “Give it a rest!”   

   Rencil shakes his head.        

   “I’ll go out this one last time. After this, I won’t go fishin’ for a while. I promise. Then, I’ll spend more time with you. I won’t disappoint you,” Rencil assures her.

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   Betty has other thoughts about this matter. She angrily says, “If that is the case, stay out there and rot!” She leaves the kitchen, abruptly.

   Rencil shrugs his shoulders, drinking some more of his coffee. He eventually hits the open sea with the eagerness of a marathon runner sprinting to the finish line. He can’t get there fast enough!                   

   The sea is his microcosm. There is no argument for that. High above, he listens to the crackling sounds of the seagulls flying in disarray. And the ocean’s surface is as smooth as silk. Rencil is somewhere out in the middle of the vast ocean fishing peacefully to himself. Also, his thoughts are on Betty. Right now, this is his lair. “Oh, how I wish I was a sea creature who could live on land and in the waters,” he says so thoughtfully. “Jus’ this one time - jus’ this one time around! If only I can catch a glimpse of its beauty beneath, I would be in cahoots with all of the other sea creatures and mammals below. That would really steal my thunder! Ah! I really wonder what life is like below!”                                                                                

   Besides waiting impatiently for the fishes to bite, Rencil sees the colorful sea creatures coming close to the water’s surface and then quickly disappearing beneath. Far off, he sees the dolphins jumping up and down in the waters like circus tigers through fire loops. “Neat!” he says         smilingly.                                    

   He momentarily forgot why he came here. Rencil is enthralled to see the fish going and coming. It titillates him to see the various shapes and sizes of the fishes flap their fins and tails. They swim near the surface of the salty waters. Then they disappear below. He is mystified. Then he quickly comes back to reality.                               

   The red sun is sinking fast in the West. The red streaks in the sky only add to the sheer beauty mystery of what Mother Nature does. His shadow has grown long. Rencil meanwhile has no luck of catching anything, like all week. “Betty was right. Too much of anything is no good for anybody. Oh well,” he sighs, “I’ll call it a day.”                                                                   

   Just as he is heading home, the sea suddenly becomes violent and uncontrollable. His boat rocks from side to side, nearly capsizing. The huge foaming waves bedraggle him. A few dark clouds float from out of the blue. A figure slowly emerges from it. He is in another fishing boat. He pulls up next to Rencil’s boat. “Excuse me, sir!” the stranger tells him in his alert voice. “I like to introduce myself. I’m Aquanine. What’s yours?”                                                      

   “Why do you ask?” Rencil wants to know, becoming leery of him.        

   “According to my calculations, you’ve been out here nearly every day, fishing,” he reminds.  

   Rencil is flummoxed that the stranger knows this.         

   “What’s your point?” Rencil wants to know.    

   “The fish haven’t been biting. Sometimes you come with your friends. Sometimes you go it alone.”                       

   “What of it?” Rencil asks.                     

   “Don’t fool yourself! You’re in love with the sea,” Aquanine admits.      

   Rencil shrugs.

   “What’s your name?” the mystery man asks.             

   “I’m Rencil, Rencil Ballard,” he skeptically introduces himself. “I’ve been out other weeks prior to this one. Sometimes, I get lucky. Other times, I don’t. This day is no exception to me.”

   “Well, you’ve got a fair point. But I think it’s more than the point of you fishing here,” Aquanine adds.

   “Meaning?” he asks.

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   “You do like fishing for the sport of it,” he remarks. “But I think you being out here all the time goes beyond fishing. Be honest with yourself! You’re in love with the sea more so than your wife.”                                                    

   Rencil stares in disbelief.        

   “How do you know my likes and dislikes?” Rencil asks, becoming more leery of the newcomer, with every passing word of his sentences.                                                                                                                         

   “You might say I’m telepathic!” he says.   

   “Telepathic!” Hearing that makes Rencil that more suspicious, now wanting to leave. The man sees this.

   “Don’t fool yourself! You love the sea more than your wife,” the stranger repeats himself.         

    “How do you know that?” Rencil asks, now turned off by the unexpected visitor. It’s as though the unfamiliar person is trying to get into his head - or his personal life.           

   “This mornin’,” he recounts, “your wife wanted you to stay with her and give her some       attention, not the sea. You had a conscientious choice. You chose this place over her.”     

   “Fishin’ has always been my strong passion,” Rencil informs. “She understands me.”       

   “Does she?”

   “Indeed! She accepted acquiescently!”

   “Well, I have a different theory behind that.” the stranger tells him. “She wanted you to be with her. She stormed out of the kitchen angry at you.”              

   Rencil is mute.                

   “That’s where I’m headin’ now, to be with her,” Ballard adds. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get goin’.”

   “I’m afraid that’s impossible!” Aquanine comments.

   “Impossible?” Rencil asks annoyingly.            

   “Yes! Impossible! You won’t ever see her again. You’ve had many chances to stay with her. But you chose the sea over her,” the newcomer says.                                                                                      

   “My choice!”

   “Indeed! You were given a choice, not a chance,” the stranger cites. “A lot we do is by our own free-will.”                                 

   “What are you drivin’ at?” Rencil inquires in his exasperated tone.                                                

    “I control the seas,” he continues. “I can make them either turbulent or calm. I can make the     fishes bite or not.”

   “Come on man! You’re pullin’ my leg!”          

   “And I can cause violent storms to come upon one unawares,” Aquanine warns him. “If you leave and disobey me, I will cause a nasty storm to hit you and capsize your boat, before you make it inland. There you shall drown and never see your real world again - or your beloved wife! Come with me. I can show you my microcosm beneath. Life under the sea isn’t so bad.”    

   “Come with you? What do you mean by that?” Rencil asks in disbelief.          

   “Yes, come with me! Was it not you who just said so thoughtfully that you wanted to catch a glimpse of the beauty beneath the surface and all within?” Aquanine reminds him.            

   Rencil nods disapprovingly.    

   “Then that answers my question,” the person responds. “Don’t fool yourself! You want this place more badly than your wife. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be out here every day. Come with me! There, you can have all the fish you want.”                                                                             

   “But we’re humans! How is that possible?” Rencil Ballard asks.

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   “I’ll show you!” he says. He changes into a grotesque figure unimaginable to the naked eye - a sea bishop.

   “My gosh!” Rencil is awestricken, by what he sees. “This is really impossible! Am I imagining this or what?”

   “No!” the man-turned-sea bishop responds. “I come from the dawn of civilization. I am a long liver, especially under water. Join me!”                                                               

   “What about my wife?” Rencil inquires.

   “Your wife will have a clear understanding of what happened to you,” he cautions. “She will be disappointed. In due time, she will understand. Time will eventually ease away her pains. Now hold out your hand!”                                                                       

   Ballard hesitantly do as instructed. In a split second, the enchanted sea bishop takes his hand and converts him into another sea bishop. Both dive deep into the bowels of the ocean, Will Rencil ever be seen or heard from again?                                                                  

   Later that night, Betty is sitting in her rocking chair on her porch. She is impatiently waiting for Rencil. Gazing out into the vast waters, she wonders why her husband is a no-show. Her six senses tell her that something is amiss. “He’s not going to disappoint me, I hope not!” she muses.

“Perhaps I got a little perturbed at him this morning. I shouldn’t have.”                                  

   Something catches Betty’s keen eyes in the dark. It’s Rencil’s boat. It founded its way back to the sandy shores. Everything is inside of it, everything that is, except him. Where is Rencil?         

   “Rencil! Rencil! Where are you?” Betty hollers out in her startled, panic-stricken tone, running towards the boat. She wonders what in the name of reason has happened to him. The only answer        she gets is the roaring voice from the sea “Rencil, please answer me! Where are you?” she cries a second time.      

   “Perhaps, he’s been claimed by the sea,” comes these discouraging words from an unknown. Betty turns in her amazement to see who said that. A man! He looks to be in his late seventies. He has specs of balding white hair on his dome, snow-white side burns, and a white goat-tee. They are complemented by his oval wrinkled face, sagging cheekbones, and sapphire eyes.  He is pale in complexion. The person is looking solely at Betty.                     

   “And who might you be?” she asks.

   “I’m Wally,” he introduces himself. “I’ve known your husband ever since he was fifteen. I must admit! He was one of my favorite childhood idols growing up. He had a strong passion for the sea and fishing. If he couldn’t go, he rather be out of existence.”                                                  

   Betty nods her head and smiles some.            

   She methodically eyes the stranger, before saying anything that may be out of the way. She has always been that way. “What do you know of him?” she asks sternly, still distraught and     disconsolate over the fact that Rencil is a no-show.        

   “I’d say he was as fine a gentleman as could be. He loved and cared for the sea deeply - and took fishing quite seriously - you know what I mean!” the man answers.         

   “What do you think happened?” she inquires.                  

   “There are a number of possibilities to consider!” the fellow responds.

   “Name some,”           

   “I’ve heard strange tales about sea serpents, sea monsters, gigantic whales, octopuses, and yes, sea bishops lurking somewhere deep within the bowels of the ocean,” he explains. “Sometimes, they come upon one unawares, catching them off guard. Sea bishops take back whomever they want to their world to be with them, eternally. That’s one possibility.” 

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   “Nonsense!” Betty objects. “I don’t believe in all that superstitious bull-crap! I’ve read about sea-bishops in Greek mythology, when I was young. I’m not buying into that story, not one iota.”

   “Ah, but the waters aren’t safe ‘round here anymore,” Wally cautions. “My dear, who knows what really lurks within the bowels of the ocean? Perhaps, his love for the sea was too strong! It was so strong that the sea claimed him as its own, making him a part of its world.”                 

   “He’s been out there nearly every day this week,” Betty recalls, lamenting some.    

   “That is the shape of my argument,” Wally remarks.                 

   “I did say ‘stay out there and rot’ earlier in the day. I really didn’t mean it.”

   “Don’t beat yourself up over what you said,” Wally adds, consoling her some. “You really didn’t mean it. You were disappointed. He knows it. But he chose the sea over you anyway. The     sea is as strange and mysterious as our solar system.”                       

   “Perhaps!” she agrees casually.         

   “Indeed!” Wally says. “Cheer up, Betty! He may come back for you. I wouldn’t put too much stock into negative thinking.” Wally leaves.     

   She stands up, takes one long hard look at the sea, and says, “Perhaps!” She turns in,          regrettably.      

Rencil awakens to the smell of breakfast - the smell of eggs, toast, coffee, orange juice and fried fish – all are on one accord. They do eat fish in the morning. The aroma penetrates his sensitive nostrils. He darts out of bed and rushes into the kitchen, in his pajamas. The comely Betty is cooking before his alarming eyes.                                     

   “Are you all right?” she asks, startled by his abrupt appearance, noticing a worried look on his face.                 

   “I had a nightmare. I dreamed I went fishing,” he gives his account of his dream. “A sea bishop approached me unawares and turned me into one.”                            

   “And?”

   “He wouldn’t let me come back to you. I became a part of the sea forever.”

   “A silly dream!” Betty sighs, shrugging her shoulders.                         

   “What do you suppose it meant?” he asks.

   “You were out fishing nearly every day this week,” she proclaims. “The sea knew your love for it was too strong. Usually opposites occur when we have those silly nightmares.”                 

   Ballard sighs.                        

   “Well my love for you is stronger than the sea,” he gladly admits. “I’m going to give it a break – a long break! Hmm! Maybe there is a lesson to be learned. You were very disappointed that I was a no-show.”

   “How did you know?” she asks.      

   “Sea bishops are enchantin’ creatures. They are telepathic. He told me.”                    

   “I’m going shoppin’ at the mall,” she answers, not caring one scintilla for sea bishops. Betty wants to steer the topic in another direction. “Care to come?”      

   “Indeed!” Rencil readily agrees. He hugs his wife and kisses her. He can’t let go of her. “Hmm! You know what?” 

  “What?” she asks.                          

  “I’ll call my love for you, fish love,” Rencil answers. His smile is as bright as the sun.      

  “Fish love! Now that’s a first for me,” Betty laughs. They kiss and leave.