Silver Scales
The boat rocked atop the waves gently as a bird on the wind. A bird, she thought. What would it be like to be a bird instead of a daughter? Are birds daughters the way daughters are? Do their parents watch? Do they listen? Do they care? Do parents care for their daughters? She wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter much. She cared; she would do anything for her father. Anything.
At the moment, that anything was rocking along in that little dingy of a boat watching the fish as they swam beneath the boat as swiftly as a jet soars through the sky. A jet. What would it be like to soar like a jet, she wondered, instead of being a daughter? Does the jet have someone to cheer it on when it takes off? To mend it when it breaks? Does anyone care for a jet? Do parents care for their daughters? She wasn’t sure. So instead she looked back at the water. At the fish.
Her father did not. Indeed, he looked at the fish, but he did not really see them. He was only interested in the fish. Melanie thought about the fish with its silver scales that glistened in the sun. The silver scales, the magic power they had. The power to grant any wish -- to increase the pantry’s stock a hundredfold, to pile the money high in its purse, to heal the illness of any mind or body. The silver scales. She did not wonder about them. To wonder if, perhaps, it could grant her wish. The fish with the silver scales was only the stuff of legends, of dreams.
Her father, however, did not believe so. For years, he’d been searching for the fish, and so he would continue to search. This was the first time he had brought Melanie along. She couldn’t say she wasn’t happy to come along. She loved the old dingy, the green waves, the warm sky. She loved pleasing her father, for indeed it pleased her father to have her along. What she was not pleased with was -- but it did not matter. Even if the fish did exist, it could not grant her wish. Father was to have the wish. Yes, the fish was for him. Even if she found it she would give it to him. For she would do anything for her father. Anything. She did so love to please him.
The hours passed by and the waves settled and the boat ceased its gentle rocking. Her father took up the oar, and began to row back to shore. Melanie pushed aside a strand of her brown hair and looked into the water. It did not stir, not besides the ripples made by the oar her father rowed, by the boat’s great body passing through. No fish swam beneath the boat. Not even the fish of the silver scales. No fish swam, so there was no reason to stay.
The boat pressed on through the still water, and finally made its way back to the shore, pushing itself upon the sand as if in greeting. Strange, she thought, that the boat would be so happy to see its captor. And yet not so strange. The captor gave the boat a sense of security. Out on the sea, out on its own, the boat might capsize. Free as it would be, as natural, as pure, it still might capsize. Then again, she thought, was it not better to float on the sea, free of the sand’s cold confinement, bobbing along the uncaring but undemanding waves? The waves that would carry it to -- but it didn’t matter. The boat was happy with the sand. Yes, it was happy.
Her father climbed out from the boat, and walked towards the middle of the beach where they had left their picnic basket that held the leftover wrappers from lunch. He began to gather their things while Melanie stepped out of the boat. She did not step onto the sand. Instead, she stood in the water. It lapped against her ankles kindly. She smiled. She liked the water. It was her friend. She stepped further forward; it was up to her knees. Then, forgetting that her father would soon be calling her, she dove beneath the water. He did not see.
He did not see, but she opened her eyes. The water was green and surprisingly clearer than it had been from the safety of the boat. She saw for miles and miles the green water in front of her. No fish swam beside her. She was the only thing beneath the water. She looked at the rocky ground below her and wondered where the fish might be hiding. She could not see them for she was alone or -- no, wait. A bright flicker caught her eye. Melanie swam forward through the crystalline water, and she saw --
The fish! The fish and its silver scales as bright and brilliant as her father had always said. The fish that could -- but it did not matter. All that mattered was that Melanie would catch the fish, for catching the fish would please her father. She did so love her father, and pleasing him. She swam forward, fast yet slowly as to not disturb the fish. She wasn’t sure how, perhaps it had felt sorry and gave itself up, but she reached out her hand -- patient -- and then closed her fingers around the fish.
Making sure to keep a tight grip on the fish, she swam upwards. Her head came out of the water and she bobbed back and forth gently on the waves as a bird on the wind. She did not wonder what it would be like to be a bird for right now she was a daughter. Not just any daughter. A daughter that a parent would watch, would listen, would care for. Oh yes, when her father saw, he would be more than pleased. He would be proud of her.
She called to him, coming up to the shore, holding in the air the glistening, silver fish that she caught, so he could see. The ocean’s water began to stir again as the wind picked up. Its moan called to her, a wave coming up from behind. It caught her. He did not see.
