TUORT

 A very short story.

His name was Tuort and no-one knew his secret except his mother.  What Tuort didn’t know was that she too had been afraid of water since she was a baby fish. 

Part of her still was.

She would try to encourage him. ‘Come on Tuort.  You love the abbey.  It is a beautiful day and the sounds of the humans echoing through the cloisters…You love that.’

Tuort’s side pressed against the banking, his tail had found the shallowest part and rested on a rock.  Through the surface of the water he could see the sun shake every time the water was disturbed.  All around him the sound of happy gurgling and splashing as his fellow fish, his own age, weaved their easy way through the water. Some of them came close, just to smile and make faces at him. One of them mouthed ‘Scaredy fish.’

‘I’m okay here.’ He said.  ‘I can see the abbey.  I can hear the human voices.’

‘It’s not the same unless you go deeper.’

‘I’m not doing… Said Tuort in a panic.  ‘I can’t.’

‘Okay.’ Said his mum. ‘We can swim closer.  You close to the bank.  Or you can hold onto my tale.’

‘I’m not a baby.’ Said Tuort.

He did love the abbey though, always amazed at how tall it was, almost it seemed to him to touch the sky.  He loved the idea of the River Tweed flowing alongside the abbey, the Fish Motorway.   Someone, a human child threw a rock into the water and metres away and the river pulled itself up in fright and nearly dragged Tuort away from the banking. 

More and more stones hit the surface of the water as the human child laughed with joy. It did not know that fish below the surface had scurried away into the safety of their homes at the bottom of the river. 

Tuort’s mother tried to grab his tail in her mouth but too late another huge stone hit the water and a wave it seemed the size of the abbey lifted Tuort up and pushed him away from the banking. He flapped and tried to find something solid with his tail but the river folded into wave after wave that curried him upstream.

The waves slowed but he began to sink telling himself swim swim but he couldn’t and rolled through the water, the sun high ahead broken into pieces by the river surface, the abbey high in the sky looking down at him.

Then he heard a gurgle below him.

He let himself be rolled by the water till he was facing the river bed.  He heard it again but couldn’t see anything. He knew that sound though.  When his parents had took him on his first swimming lesson that was the sound he made in panic.

He saw it.  A young fish flapping its tail, its mouth making the gurgling noise, its eyes wide with fear.

When Tuort reached the young fish it said.  ‘I don’t like the water.’

It was then it happened.  He knew he couldn’t be afraid anymore because he had to help.

‘Hold onto my tale.’ He said to the young fish.

The young fish, whose name was Prac did as he was told and soon they were swimming, or Tuort was, towards the surface and the safety of the banking.

‘It’ll be okay.’ Said Tuort as they swam.  ‘I was afraid once. Still am.  But a fish is a fish.  Can’t be a fish out of water.’

Tuort stopped. ‘It’s okay.  Listen.’

Kelso was busy, the sound of the traffic, peoples voices drifting, then echo of the birds flying through the abbey.

‘I like listening to the sound down here.  It’s like music.  A thousand instruments. I used to listen to hugging the banking.  Its sounds much better the deeper you go.  This is what the fish hear.’

Tuort was so caught up in listening to his music that he didn’t realise that Prac had let of his tale.

For a moment he panicked thinking he had lost him then he felt a nudge of his side.  It was Prac. He was swimming, and smiling, and looking up to listen to the music of the town that only the fish can hear.