Hyram and the Fish Who Spoke French
(a Latvian Tale of
Linguistic Adventure)
By Polycarp Kusch
Once upon a time, there was a young man named Hyram who decided to take the day off from his demeaning and mundane job to relax by the river for a day of fishing. Hyram cast his line, perched his pole in amongst a pile of rocks and proceeded to nap, as all good fishermen will do. Slish! Spitsplitthensplash! and a Ploop! Onto the shore leaped a small gray fish yelling in an incomprehensible tongue. "Quelle bêtise!" said the fish. Hyram scooped it up and asked its name. "Eau... Eau de mer," the fish replied as if in need of something direly important. Ranting nonsense, Hyram thought.
Obviously this fish was trying to say something. But only speaking Latvian, Hyram was at a loss to decipher the fishymumbling words. "I'll take this little fish to Mr. Anthropos". He was in the war and had traveled. "He'd know what the fish was trying to say."
Hyram walked to Mr. Anthropos' farm continuously avoiding direct eye contact with the flopping fish. "Détruisez-moi", the fish whispered.
Farmer Anthropos plowed away as Hyram held the fish aloft and called out to the old man. "Mr. Anthropos, listen to this fish I found and hear if you can make out what it's saying." Hyram shoved the fish at the farmer's ear. "Ah, pour mourir...", said the fish. The farmer reeled back. "Amazing! Where did you find this fish my boy?" Hyram explained and asked if the field-tilling bumpkin understood the fish's words. "No my boy, I speak seven languages including Canadian, but what this fish is trying to say is a mystery to me. It sounds like German or perhaps Czechohubasian. Take the fish to Mr. Herr, the prison guard, and ask him to translate for you. I'm sure he can help more than I. Pull my darling wife, we have sixteen more acres to plow!" And with that, Mrs. Anthropos (in full harness) pulled away down the furrow.
Hyram walked into town and found Mr. Herr drinking again with under-age girls at the pornographic cinema house. He approached the guard and thrust the fish in the man's face. "I have a talking fish I think is speaking German Mr. Herr. Listen and hear if you can tell me what it's saying." Mr. Herr rose from the fender of his primer gray '74 Pontiac Grand Prix and leaned towards the fish. "Je suffoque...en plein air.", said the fish. Mr. Herr was shocked and slapped Hyram, the fish, and for no particular reason a fourteen-year-old girl in a Van Halen T-shirt sitting on his trunk who was sipping beer through a straw. "My goodly stupid boy, if that foul mouthed fish is speaking German, then we've never lost the war. I don't speak the gutter garble of that...that fish you have there. Take it to Mr. Boucher at the butcher's shop. He can tell you what your babbling French fish is saying."
Hyram walked to the butcher shop with his flapping fish in hand. "French huh? How did a little French fish like you get all the way to Latvia?" "Veuillez me tuer...", repeated the fish. Hyram entered the butcher shop and took a number.
After two and a half hours, Hyram's number was called and the young man held the drying, now barely mobile, fish up for the French butcher's careful inspection. "Mr. Boucher, I have this fish who speaks French and I'd like to know what it's saying. Please, can you help me?" Mr. Bloucher took the near-dead fish and held it to his ear. "Quelle bêtise!", moaned the little dry fish. The butcher's eyes widened. "Étonnant! Comment très sincère!", he said aloud. Hyram asked, "Is my fish speaking French Mr. Boucher? What is it saying?" The butcher laughed to the young man, slammed the fish unconscious against the cutting board and quickly lopped off its head with a large clever. "Ahhh! Mr. Boucher! You've killed my French speaking fish! What was it trying to say?"
Mr. Boucher flipped the fish head into a near-by trash can. "That wasn't French you silly boy. That's simply the noise that fish make when you take them out of water", the butcher explained as he skillfully filleted the fish and wrapped it in fresh newspaper. "You take this home now and tell your Mama to cook him up with some lemon and butter and he'll be...délicieux!" Then he kissed his fingers and threw out his hand in a gesture Hyram had seen other French people do...and some Italians.
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