The Fisherman and His Wife part 1

            Once upon a time, an old fisherman, Fraco, and his wife lived in a tiny shack on the edge of the ocean. Each day, the old fisherman would walk down to the beach. Working with his net and trusted old fishing rod, he would spend all day waist-deep in the tide catching fish. Whenever he brought a fish home, his wife would fry it up in their single lopsided frying pan, and they would eat their dinner together, sharing their single fork between them. When the fisherman caught some extra, he would sell them in the town a few miles away and buy other food, like thick bread and some twisty carrots. On days when he didn’t catch any fish, they went to be with empty stomachs and hopes for a better day tomorrow. Life was simple, and though they didn’t have much, what they had was enough for them.

One day, after a particularly long lean period, the fisherman heaved his net out of the water and saw a beautiful flounder. The fish was enormous. Its wet scales gleamed like gold in the bright sunlight. Though he was hungry, the fisherman decided the fish would be worth more sold to someone in town. “I’ll surely get a pretty penny for such a beautiful fish,” he said, as he pulled the net with the struggling fish on to the sand.

“Please,” gasped the fish, “don’t eat me! I’m a prince of the ocean, and I’ll reward you handsomely if you spare my life.”

            The fisherman immediately dropped the net. “Never mind the rewards or your being a prince,” he said as he freed the golden flounder from the fine strands. “I’d not capture or kill any fish that can talk.”

As soon as he was free, the flounder prince darted around the shallows like a sunbeam under water. After a moment, he poked his head above the surface and said, “You have spared my life, and I will be your friend forever. If you ever have any need of me, call and I will come.” Then he swam away faster than a thought.

The fisherman walked back home slowly, too wrapped in his thoughts for any more fishing that day. When he got home, he told his hungry wife about the magical flounder.

“While, my silly husband, you should have accepted his reward,” his wife Liberelle said.

“But I couldn’t have eaten him anyway,” the fisherman said. “Not a fish that can talk.”

“Well, no,” Liberelle agreed. “But he does still owe you his life. A reward is not unreasonable.”

“I couldn’t think of anything,” the fisherman stammered. “We have enough.”

“Well, this old shack is worse off than we are,” his wife said. “The wind and rain blow in during every storm. It’s really not suitable for us to be exposed to so much cold. We aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

“That’s true, I suppose,” the fisherman agreed reluctantly. Half of him wished he hadn’t told his wife about the flounder, and the other half berated himself silently for not having thought to accept the reward. There were a few things the old couple could use.

“Go to the sea tomorrow morning and call the flounder. When he comes, ask him if we could have a snug little cottage with a nice little garden. Oh, and a proper kitchen. If he really is a prince, that should not be too much for him.”

The fisherman agreed to seek the magic fish tomorrow and make his request. Privately, he thought that the flounder prince would have swum half-way around the world by now and that all this business was behind him.

He was wrong.