Edward Is Only a Fish (4 page)

“Spices.”

“This spices. Your opinion is that—”

“Well, dill is good. Or maybe fennel with some paprika. Or cloves, or chives, or cardamom seeds…”

The cat did not blink. She stared as if there were something very interesting on the other side of Edward, only she didn't know what it was.

“… or nutmeg, or sage, or bay leaves, or basil…”

The cat struggled to pronounce these words to herself.

“… or salt, or pepper, or parsley, or…”

The cat sat up and cocked her head. “Salt?”

“Salt. Salt and pepper. The better cats insist upon—”

“Salt. I know that. The better cats insist upon salt.”

“And pepper.”

“Salt and pepper. I know that. Don't you think that I already know that? Don't you think that I—”

“I know, I know—and you can get it from that cowboy and his horse, the salt and pepper shakers just inside the doorway there, right?”

“Absolutely,” said the cat as she let go of Edward and reached into the gurgling mail slot. “I can get it—” Suddenly she stopped and looked back at Edward.

“Wait a minute. Why are you being so helpful?”

“It's nothing personal. It's just that it would be embarrassing to be eaten without any spices. It's just something that is not done.”

She stared at him for a second. Slowly a smile spread out across her face. “Absolutely.”

She stood up on her toes and shoved her arm way up into the mail slot. “It would be embarrassing.”

Her paw closed tight around the cowboy and his horse. “Because it is just something that is not done.”

She gave them a yank—the cowboy and his horse and the string around the horse—and as she yanked the cowboy toward her, the other end of the string, the end tied to Edward's tail—
snap-slap-whoosh
—snapped itself up through the mail slot—
whoosh
—and snapped Edward up along with it,
ker-whoosh!
In the house—he was back inside the house!

Edward slipped out of the string and tumbled back away from the door. His heart was racing so fast he would have to swim for a week just to catch it. The voice of the cat came singing in through the door. She did not even know that he was gone. Up and down went the shadow of her paws like a bandmaster leading a ten-person band.

First you go and get the salt

And you go and get the pepper,

Then you add a little malt,

And you finish it with … ah … um,

you finish it with …

Edward thought for a moment about a word that might rhyme with “pepper,” but then he decided that, well, maybe it would be better not to say anything at all. He was shaking from fin to fin. Maybe—just for a change, and just for a while—maybe it would be better to say nothing at all.

Seven

DOGS ON THE ROOFTOP, FIRE IN THE TUB

When the fire department arrived, Edward was sunning himself in the garden window, reading a book about flying squirrels and nibbling on the last of the shortcake. The stationmaster was back in his station house and the cows were back in their meadow and everything was the size it was supposed to be.

Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!

Fire truck after fire truck roared up the street. At the head of the line rode the fire chief in his blazing-red Jeep with a whistle in his mouth and a badge at his chest and a streak of hot Tabasco at the rim of his whiskers. On the running board rode the mayor with a thermos in her hand and a pen between her teeth and a fist of city papers tucked inside her red suspenders. At the very end of the line rode Mr. Billingsly on a rickety green bicycle, his bath towel flapping in the wind and a half-dozen stray dogs yapping at his heels. He looked very tiny in the distance.

“Save the house, save the house!” shouted the fire chief through his megaphone as he skidded to a stop on top of Mr. B's rosebushes. “Whatever you do, save the house!”

The short stubby firemen ran over to turn on the fire hydrant. The tall skinny firemen ran over to roll out the hoses. The neighbors all ran out to join in the excitement.

“What are we doing, what are we doing?”

“We're running! We're running!”

“But why are we running, why are we running?”

“The house!”

“To the house!”

“Something about the Billingsly house!”

Edward could not understand what all the hubbub was about. The house was much tidier than it had ever been. The cats were gone. The floor was spotless, fresh as a folded sheet, not a stick of furniture even touching the ground. Up the walls and across the ceiling, Edward's crayon pictures of dogfish and catfish and starfish and jellyfish glowed red and yellow and blue and green in the light. He had even washed Mr. Billingsly's rodeo shirts and hung them out to … well, not to dry—at least not underwater—but at least he had hung them out.

“Save the money, save the money!” cried the mayor as she kicked over Mr. B's birdbath on her way across the lawn. “Whatever you do, save the money!”

Of course, thought Edward, I could have done more. I could have oiled the hinges and dusted the knickknacks and watered the potted geraniums, yes, certainly, but it is, after all, my vacation, isn't it? Even fish get to take a vacation.

“Save the kitchen, save the kitchen!” cried a short stocky woman with a bowl of cookies in her arms and a sifter in her hand and a smudge of flour on her cheek. “Whatever you do—”

“Save the fish!” cried Mr. Billingsly. He hopscotched over the firemen's hoses in his tender bare feet. He was wheezing hard. His glasses shimmied down to the end of his nose. A tangerine popped out from under his arm and rolled away down the sidewalk. “Whatever you do, save the fish!”

The dogs were barking. The cats were screeching. The bells were clanging.

“Stand back, everybody!” shouted the fire chief as he charged toward the door with his ax held high. “I am going to break down the door.”

Mr. B grabbed hold of the chief's yellow slicker and rode it—
bump, bump, bump
—all the way up the front steps. “No, no!” he cried out, gasping between breaths. “It's not the door, it's the tub. The problem is the tub.”

“The
tub
-tub?” said the fire chief. “The bathtub?”

“The bathtub,” said Mr. Billingsly.

“Hop to it, boys!” shouted the chief as he tossed the megaphone to Mr. B. “There's a fire in the tub!”

Six burly firemen leaped from the porch. The crowd trampled their way into the flower garden underneath the bathroom window. The chief blew his—
tweet!
—silver whistle. Mr. B stumbled backward into his—
plop!
—tomato blossoms.

“Follow me in with those hoses, boys!”

“Wait a minute, chief!” shouted the ladder man from the top of his ladder truck. “I think there's some smoke on the roof!”

Tweeeeet!
went the chief's whistle. Up the ladder went the ladder man. Up went the hooks. Up went the rope. Up went the whistle and the chief and the ax and the men and the hose and the mayor and the papers and the dogs and the short stocky lady with the spoon in her hand.

Edward pressed his face close to the window and watched Mr. Billingsly as he crawled out of the tomato patch and over to the megaphone. Poor Mr. B. He was breathing hard. His hands and knees were covered with mud. He reached up to comb the bald spot on top of his head, but then remembered that he did not have a comb.

“This is Mr. Billingsly,” said Mr. B into the megaphone. His voice echoed out across the rooftops. “And I would like you to please come down from the roof.”

Out popped the mayor's head. “What was that?”

“I am sorry, but there is no fire on the roof.”

Out popped the fire chief's head. “What did you say?”

“No fire, I said. No fire on the roof, no fire in the tub.”

Out popped the heads of the half-dozen dogs. “No what? No fire?”

“It is my fault, I am sorry, but the house is not on fire.”

“But you told us to save your house,” said the chief. “You told us you had a problem.”

“I do have a problem,” said Mr. B through the megaphone. He looked around at the hoses and the trucks and the pumps and the hydrant. “You see, I was going to take a bath. I always like a nice warm bath. But now it seems that, well … it seems that I have put too much water inside the tub.”

“How much water did you put inside the tub?” asked the mayor.

There was a long silence. The house made a groaning sound, like a fat man at a picnic. The chimney burped. The front door creaked. A little spurt of water squirted out the keyhole and watered the plants on the doorstep.

“Come down and I will show you,” said Mr. B. They all trundled down the ladder, muttering and grumbling. To be expecting fire and then to end up with water—it was all very disappointing.

Mr. Billingsly led them over to the big picture window at the front of the house.

“Edward?”

Eight

THE BEST FISH IN THE WORLD

Mr. Billingsly tapped gently on the window.

“Edward? Are you okay, Edward?”

Tiny bubbles floated up from the frame of the window. The curtains danced and swirled like lily pads in a stream. The house had turned into a gigantic people-sized aquarium.

“Don't worry, Edward,” said Mr. Billingsly in a loud voice as he pressed his face against the glass, “we haven't forgotten you.”

Like a gold coin dropped into a deep blue pond, Edward floated down into the frame of the window. He was tired from his long day, and it felt good to drift gently through the water.

“This is Edward, my fish,” said Mr. Billingsly. He looked like he was about to cry.

Edward smiled and waved to the crowd in the window—the fire chief, the mayor, the firemen, the neighbors, the dogs, the cats. The crowd smiled and waved back.

“He looks very happy,” said the stout woman with the sugar and the crumbs on her cheeks.

“Well, he deserves to be happy,” said Mr. Billingsly.

“He is the best fish I ever had.”

Edward blushed.

“My best friend in the whole wide world.”

Edward lowered his eyes. He was shy about receiving so much praise.

“The best fish that anybody ever had,” said Mr. Billingsly as he sank down onto the front-porch steps. “It's a shame that I am going to have to leave him.”

What was that? Edward swam closer to the window.

“He seems like such a nice fish,” said the woman. “Why would you have to leave him?”

Mr. Billingsly put his head down in his hands.

“Because I do not know how to swim.”

He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“There is no other solution. There is no longer enough room in this house for the both of us. I am going to have to find another place to live.”