Okay, folks, I’m definitely leaning into this fisherman theme. This next story is based on the poem The Fisherman and His Wife by the Brothers Grimm or Alexander Pushkin’s poem The Tale of the Fisherman and the Fish or both. Enjoy.
AMber
There once was a fisherman who could no longer find work on the boats and so, having no skill but fishing (and not much skill in that) was soon caught poverty’s dire and unforgiving net. It wasn’t too long before he and his wife were living in a run-down shanty at the far edge of town and wearing naught but old and threadbare clothes for they had no money for better. It was a miserable existence. Every day the fisherman would take his aging gear—nets and poles and hooks and lines—down to the water to try to catch some fish while his wife attempted to make their shanty more liveable. If the fisherman was lucky he’d catch three fish and sell two, taking home a few coins and the final fish for supper. If the fisherman was not lucky, he’d go home emptyhanded, then he and his wife would have to go to bed hungry and unable to sleep due to worry-filled thoughts of having to move from the shanty to a ditch. But the fisherman was more often lucky than not, and so he and his wife were able to pay their rent and keep—if only barely—from starving.
For all their hardship the fisherman was much content with his life but for one thing: his wife, unhappy with their circumstances, would frequently request—and often quite loudly!—that he consider a profession other than fishing. Perhaps carpentry. When they were courting he’d once built her a very fine spicerack, surely he could find work doing much of the same. But the fisherman would not hear of it. He’d always been a fisherman and he always would be. Their rows about this were legendary and would sometimes go on for hours with neither party backing down. The fisherman would insist that he could ever only be a fisherman, that no man in his family did anything but, and his wife, matching him tone for tone and barb for barb, insisting that poverty sucked and she didn’t want to starve to death. The fisherman thought his wife an awful scold and after a while, all the love he’d had for her was gone from his heart. So much so that he often referred to her as the bane of his life. His wife, for her part, felt much the same.
One day, at his usual fishing hole, the fisherman had just dropped a line in the water and settled back to daydream about what a grand life he’d have if he’d never married that awful harridan he called “wife” when his line went taut and his float was dragged under the sea. The fisherman, only slightly put out for having to work so soon into his day, reeled up the line and pulled a huge fish from the sea.
“Please don’t eat me,” said the fish, “I am not a regular fish, but an enchanted one. Put me back in the sea!”
“Oh, don’t make so many words about it,” grumbled the fisherman, “I wouldn’t eat anything that can talk anyway.”
With that, the fisherman tossed the fish back in the sea and went back to his daydreamy attempts to catch the edible.
When the fisherman went home that night he told his wife about the strange talking fish.
“Husband,” she said, absolutely exasperated, “why didn’t you ask a boon of the magical fish? Everyone knows that when you catch a magical creature you ask a boon! Why didn’t you?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the fisherman, “What should I have asked for?”
“Anything! Look at the way we live! Anything would be better than this! Some money, maybe a nice cottage with some geese and a few hens, a goat or two. Something comfortable and warm.”
“Is that what you want?” asked the fisherman, “Fine. Fine! I’ll go back to the fish and ask him for it.”
And back he went to do just that, grumbling all the way.
At his fishing hole, the fisherman noticed the water was tinted a yellowish-green, vastly different from the blue it usually was. He sat in his favorite spot by the water and called out:
“Oh magical fish of the sea, please listen to me, my wife, the bane of my life, has sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
The fish swam up to the edge of the water and land and said, “What does she want?”
“Uh,” said the fisherman, “my wife says that when I caught you I should have asked for something from you before I let you go again. She wants to not live as we do. She’d like a cottage, some money, and maybe a goose or two.”
“Go home then,” said the fish, “She is in the cottage already.”
The fisherman went home and instead of a ramshackle shanty, there was a pretty little cottage with a thatched roof, a garden, and even a couple of geese!
“Isn’t this fantastic?!” said his wife.
And it was. The cottage had two bedrooms, a parlor, and a kitchen. The garden was filled with flowers, fruits, and vegetables. And besides the two geese, there were four ducks and six chickens, with plenty of feed for all! The fisherman’s wife was overjoyed.
“We will live happily here,” said the fisherman.
“We will try,” said his wife.
For a few weeks, the fisherman and his wife lived in relative peace but after a while, the fisherman’s wife began to worry about ending up once again poor and in a shanty. The fisherman still did nothing but fish, after all, and there were more lucrative professions, one’s that actually had, you know, jobs available to work. Maybe he could apprentice to the brewer’s guild, he was still a young man, or, if he didn’t want that, he could work for the mail service delivering the post, or try again with the fishing boats to see if any of the captains would take him on as crew. She brought these up with her husband and the rows began again because he was a fisherman and only a fisherman and he’d tried and failed with the fishing boats and was not going to try again. Couldn’t she just be happy with her cottage?
“The cottage is not enough!” the fisherman’s wife told him (loudly) during one of their arguments. “We need to be able to support ourselves. We can’t just have a cottage. We need money to keep it up. We need something to set aside for hard times. We need to build a life and a life is more than just a cottage!”
“You want more than this cottage! I suppose you want a castle and servants galore!” shouted the fisherman, “Fine! Fine. I’ll go back to the fish and ask him for it!”
His wife protested that that wasn’t what she meant, but he was already gone, grumbling mightily as he went.
At his fishing hole, the fisherman noticed the water was blue-grey and gloomy, though still calm enough. He sat in his favorite spot by the water and called out:
“Oh magical fish of the sea, please listen to me, my wife, the bane of my life, has sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
The fish swam up to the edge of the water and land and said, “Well, what does she want now?”
“She wants to live in a castle, that bloody woman does!”
“Go home then. She’s already standing at the door.”
When the fisherman returned home he found his wife standing in the doorway of a magnificent castle. She wasn’t terribly happy.
“I didn’t want this,” she said.
“How could you not want a magnificent castle?” the fisherman asked.
“I was just saying that I wanted a bit of security in life.”
“What’s more secure than a castle?”
“I really feel like you’re not listening to me.”
And thus the row began anew. The fisherman and his wife raged at each other for days, each talking neither listening until finally—
“You want security? You want security?” the fisherman shouted, “The king has security. Maybe you want to be the king? “Fine! Fine. I’ll go back to the fish and ask him for it!”
His wife protested that that wasn’t what she meant, but he was already gone, grumbling mightily as he went.
At his fishing hole, the fisherman noticed the sea was dark grey and covered in foam. He sat in his favorite spot by the water and called out:
“Oh magical fish of the sea, please listen to me, my wife, the bane of my life, has sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
The fish swam up to the edge of the water and land and said, “Well, what does she want now?”
“Unhappy with the castle, she is,” said the fisherman, “No! A castle couldn’t satisfy her. She won’t be satisfied until she is king!”
“Go home,” said the fish, “She is king already.”
The fisherman went home and as he came close he saw a troop of soldiers, heard trumpeters trumpeting and drummers drumming. When he entered he saw his wife sitting on a throne of gold and diamonds, with a golden crown upon her head, and beautiful handmaidens waiting around her to serve her. She was not pleased.
“Well, you’re King now,” the fisherman said, “I hope you’re happy.”
“This isn’t what I meant and you know it.”
And thus another row began. Or the same one continued—who can tell? They fought for days, the fisherman and his wife, until…
“I can see that being king is not enough for you,” shouted the fisherman, “An emperor is higher than a king, and you can’t stand having anyone higher than you, can you? “Fine! Fine. I’ll go back to the fish and ask him for it!”
His wife protested that that wasn’t what she meant, but he was already gone, grumbling mightily as he went.
As he approached his fishing hole, the fisherman noticed the sea black and muddy, a mighty whirlwind blew over it, but he went to the shore anyway. He sat in his favorite spot by the water and called out:
“Oh magical fish of the sea, please listen to me, my wife, the bane of my life, has sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
The fish swam up to the edge of the water and land and said, “Well, what does she want now?”
“That greedy woman can’t stand not being the highest in the land,” complained the fisherman, “she’s got to be emperor now.”
“Go home,” said the fish, “she is emperor already.”
So he went home, and as he came near the fisherman saw his wife sitting on a very lofty throne of solid gold, with a crown a full two yards high sitting upon her brow. On each side of her stood guards and attendants, all arranged according to height—the tallest being a giant and the smallest a pixie no bigger than your thumb. Before her stood princes and dukes and earls, but rather than looking smugly pleased as he expected her to the fisherman’s wife looked annoyed. Very annoyed.
“What?” the fisherman said, “This doesn’t satisfy you either?”
“Nothing you’ve ever done has, dear,” replied his wife. The court tittered.
And thus another row began. Or the same one continued—who can tell? They fought for days, the fisherman and his wife, until…
“You’re so high and mighty,” the fisherman shouted, “you should be the pope! In fact—”
“Don’t you dare!” yelled his wife.
“No! No!” said the fisherman, “You want to be holier-than-thou, ‘I never make mistakes! I’m better than everyone else!’ You can be the bloody pope! I’ll go back to the fish and ask him for it.”
“You get back here!” shouted his wife, “I don’t want to be pope! I don’t even want to be emperor!”
But he was already gone, grumbling mightily as he went.
As he approached his fishing hole, the wind was raging, the sea was tossing up and down like boiling water. Ships were in great distress and danced upon the waves most fearfully. There was a little blue in the middle of the sky, but in the south, it was all red and black as if a dreadful storm was rising. Still, he approached the shore and sat in his favorite spot by the water, and called out:
“Oh magical fish of the sea, please listen to me, my wife, the bane of my life, has sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
The fish swam up to the edge of the water and land and said, “Well, what does she want now?”
“Oh, nothing is ever good enough for that woman,” complained the fisherman, “she’s just the holiest person in all the land, so of course, she’s got to be pope.”
“Go home,” said the fish, “she is pope already.”
Then the fisherman when home and found his wife sitting on a throne with three crowns upon her head, while all around her was the pomp and power of the Church. She was surrounded by cardinals and bishops, priests, nuns and monks, penitents, and petitioners. There were rows of burning lights on each side of her, the tallest being as tall as a tower and the smallest being no more than a rushlight. The fisherman could have sworn that he heard angels singing in the very far distance. His wife, however, did not seem pleased at all. In fact, she seemed very, very angry.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded before the fisherman was even able to say a word.
And thus the most epic of rows in the history of all rows began. The fisherman and his wife did not sleep for shouting. They could be heard from one side of the land to the other and people wondered why their voices didn’t fail for all the noise, but they didn’t. The fisherman and his wife fought for days and days and days, until…
“Even this! Even this,” the fisherman shouted, “doesn’t satisfy you! Doesn’t shut you up with your nagging and complaining, you awful, vicious shrew! What more can you have?”
“What is it you even think I want?” his wife shouted back, “What sane person even wants this, you buffoon? I don’t want to be pope. I don’t want to be emperor. I don’t want to be king. You know what I do want?”
“Yeah, yeah,” mocked the fisherman, “You want to be God on high. I’ll go back to the fish and have him make it so!”
“No, you will not,” shouted his wife.
But the fisherman was already gone.
As he approached his fishing hole, a dreadful storm arose. The trees and the rocks shook, the sky became black, lightning played, thunder rolled, the sea was covered with black waves as tall as mountains, with a white crown of foam upon them. Still, he approached the shore and called out:
“Oh magical fish of the sea, please listen to me, my wife, the bane of my life, has sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
The fish swam up to the edge of the water and land and said, “Well, what does she want now?”
“Being pope is still not good enough for the scold I made my wife,” the fisherman complained, “she will not be satisfied by being anything less than God!”
“Oh, no!” shouted the fisherman’s wife before the fish could speak. She’d followed him to continue their argument, but her pope slippers and dress made it difficult to keep up so she was unable to catch him before he summoned the fish.
“No,” she yelled, “I don’t want to be God. I don’t want to be pope. I don’t want to be king. I don’t want to live in a castle! I want nothing more than to be free of you, you lazy good-for-nothing! I hate you!”
“I hate you!” shouted the fisherman.
“Ah,” said the fish, “I have gotten caught in an argument. Very well, I will give you both what you want.”
The fisherman’s wife disappeared. After a few moments, the fisherman noticed and stopped arguing.
“Go home, fisherman,” said the fish, “You and the woman you once called wife have both gotten what you wanted: you are free from one another. Do not call me again.”
The fisherman went home to his ramshackle shanty. No one was there to either greet him or argue with him. It was quiet and peaceful and he had no responsibilities or expectations. He could live as he wished and he did.
As for the fisherman’s wife? She had no memory of her once-husband or former marriage. She found herself a room near the center of town where she made friends with her neighbors. Soon she was wooed by and married to the jolly (and widowed) baker who owned her favorite patisserie. She lived a happy and comfortable life and never went to bed hungry again.
Knotting the Wind 