Short Fiction by Aleksandr Kuprin (nonfiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

It is from him that I learned about the poisonous fish drakus, that resembles a small mackerel, and about the manner in which it ought to be taken off the hook; also about the sea-gremille which causes sores by stinging with its fin, and the terrible double tail of the electric ray. He also told me how skilfully a sea-crab eats an oyster by first putting a pebble into its valve.

And many a strange and mysterious sea-tale did I hear from Kolya in those sweet, quiet hours of the night in early autumn, when our yawl rocked gently on the sea, far away from the unseen shores, and when the two or three of us, sitting by the yellow light of a hand-lantern, leisurely sipped the local pink wine, that smelled of freshly crushed grapes.

“There lives in the ocean a sea-serpent a verst long. Very seldom, not more than once in ten years, he comes up to the surface and breathes. He lives all alone. In former times there were many of them, males and females, but they did so much evil to the small fish, that God condemned them to sterility, and now only this thousand-year-old male serpent lives his last in loneliness. Seamen meet him occasionally, here and there, all over the world, in all the oceans.”

“There lives, somewheres in the sea, on a deserted island, in a deep, submerged cave, the king of sea-lobsters. When he strikes claw against claw, there arises a great turmoil on the surface of the water.”

“Fish converse among themselves⁠—this is known to every fisherman. They warn each other about various dangers and traps, and an inexperienced, awkward fisherman can spoil a lucky spot if he lets some fish out of the net.”

From Kolya I heard also about the Flying Dutchman, that eternal sea-wanderer, with black sails and a lifeless crew. This tale is known and believed all over the seashores of Europe.

But one old legend, told by him, especially touched me with its fresh and naive simplicity.

Once at dawn, when the sun had not yet risen but the sky was already orange-colored and a pink mist hovered over the sea, Kolya and I were hauling out a net which had been placed along the shore in the evening for mackerel. The catch was very poor. It consisted of about a hundred mackerels, five or six gremilles, a few dozen fat, golden crucians, and a lot of jellylike mother-of-pearl-colored medusas, that resembled huge, colorless, many-legged mushroom pileuses.

But we also caught a very queer fish which I had never seen before. It had a flat, oval shape and would scarcely cover a woman’s palm. Its edges were fringed with frequent, small, transparent hairs. Its head was small, and in it were set eyes that were not like those of a fish; they were black, rimmed with gold, and unusually lively. Its body was of an even, golden color. But most striking in this fish were two spots, one in the middle of each side. They were as large as a dime, but of an irregular shape and of a bright azure hue so remarkable that it is not found on any painter’s palette.

“Look,” said Kolya. “This is the Lord’s fish. It seldom gets into our nets.”

We placed it first into the boat pail, and later on, when we returned home, I poured some sea water into a big, enamelled basin, and put the Lord’s fish in it. The fish immediately began to swim round and round, along the sides of the basin, almost touching them, and all the time in one direction. When touched, it emitted a short, scarcely audible, rattling sound, and increased its speed. Its black eyes rolled around, and the wavering of the countless hairs set the water in swift, wavelike motion. I wanted to keep the Lord’s fish in order to take it later to the Aquarium of the Biological Station at Sebastopol, but Kolya said, waving his hand:

“It does not pay to bother. Anyway, it won’t live long enough. That’s the kind of fish it is. If you take it out of the sea even for a second, it won’t live. It is the Lord’s fish.”

Toward evening it died. And at night, while sitting in the yawl, I thought of it, and said:

“Kolya, why is this fish the Lord’s?”

“Well,” answered Kolya with devout earnestness, “our old men here tell the story this way: When our Lord Jesus Christ rose from the dead on the third day after his burial, no one believed him. Many miracles wrought by him were witnessed while he was alive, but people could not believe this one and they were afraid.

“His disciples renounced him, his apostles denied him, the faithful women abandoned him. Then he comes to his mother. At that moment, she was standing at the fireplace, frying some fish, preparing dinner for herself and hers. Said the Lord to her: ‘Greetings! Here I am, thy Son, risen from the dead, as it is written in the Scriptures. Peace be with thee.’ But she shuddered and cried out in affright: ‘If thou art truly my Son, work thou a miracle, so I may be convinced.’

“The Lord smiled at her lack of faith and said: ‘I shall take this fish lying on the fire, and it will spring to life. Wouldst thou believe me then?’

“And barely did he touch the fish with his two fingers and lifted it up in the air, when it began to tremble and sprang to life.

“Then our Lord’s mother had faith in the miracle and joyfully worshipped her resurrected Son. And ever since then there remained on the fish the two spots of heavenly azure. These are the traces of our Lord’s fingers.”

That was how a plain, simple-minded fisherman related this naive, ancient tale. A few days later I learned that the Lord’s fish has also another name, that of the fish of Zeus. Who knows how far back into the womb of ages this