The man who rode a fish
Issue #318 Keith’s SciFi Musings May 14, 2023
“It appears to me that you are riding a fish.”
The Irish elf-looking man with the rust-reddish hair and the acres of brillo beard nodded firmly as he regarded me with a keen suspicion. Right. He’s the one riding a huge fish around Belle Isle while smoking a pipe, but I’m the one under suspicion. Even when the world goes crazy, some things about the world never change.
“So are you gonna answer me?” I asked.
“Maybe when you ask me a question, lad,” he said, his voice deeper than the river I’m assuming he must have come out of at some point. And not just deep, but it sounded like it was still underwater.
“Fine,” I said. “Why are you riding this fish around Belle Isle? I think you’re scaring people, man.”
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The elf man harrumphed.
“Nonsense. Why just moments ago, before you interrupted my very nice day, a young tike who couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9 came up to me and asked if he could pet Mike.”
“Mike…?”
“Name of the fish.”
“Of course it is. So did the kid have fun petting your fish?”
The elf man regarded me for an uncomfortably long time, then coughed into his fist, mumbling something I couldn’t quite make out.
“I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to repeat that. Couldn’t understand a word you said.
“I ummm…I said Mike ate him. But not to worry. The boy will be fine in a day or two when Mike gets tired of him and spits him out.”
Right at that moment I didn’t know whether to scream like a madman or laugh like the same. I considered doing both.
“Would you like me to count how many things are wrong with what you just told me?”
“That won’t be necessary,” the elf man said, looking sheepishly at the ground as he pulled the pipe from his lips for what may have been the first time in his life. Then he stared out at the river, I guess hoping a few answers might just walk on out of the water and onto the island. But after several minutes of relative silence, except for the mild rustling of nearby trees, both he and Mike turned to face me with the saddest looks I had ever seen on man or fish.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Phil.”
“I see. So what do you plan to do about this, Phil? Because something really does have to be done. This kid’s mother ain’t gonna wait around until a fish coughs him up at her doorstep.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Mike, his voice sounding even more human than Phil’s. But it was still in the bass register.
“Whoa. So you don’t just float around on land with an elf on your back, but you can talk too?”
Mike ignored my question.
“So what do I get if I bring the kid back?”
“I can tell you what you’ll get if you don’t, buddy. You can believe that. Here in Detroit, we know what to do with a fish and a grill.”
The End.
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