The Tale of the Accountant and the Mechanical Fish

By Virgil Hervey

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, in a little slab house on Long Island, there lived a middle-aged bean counter named Herman Huffer, his girlfriend, Ramona, and her teenage daughter Serena. They lived a dreary existence which, for the most part, consisted of Ramona commuting to her job as a bond trader on Wall Street, the surly Serena spending part of her day at the high school and the rest of it locked in her room on the phone, and Herman telecommuting to his accounting job.

Since he was alone in the house most of the day, the wicked Ramona, as Herman referred to her behind her back, expected him to do all the house-keeping chores. She would return to the house at night, tired and stressed out from a difficult day in Manhattan and a long commute on the Long Island Rail Road, and invariably find fault with Herman's efforts on the home front. She acted as if he had no job at all, as if he idled away his days surfing the internet, just because he sat in front of a computer all day. On weekends, Ramona was fond of going to garage sales. She was addicted to them. She insisted on dragging Herman along with her.

Early one Saturday morning, Herman and Ramona were poking around at a particularly large garage sale. Normally, Herman would have stayed in the car, but this day he had spotted a half-dozen fishing rods. He hadn't fished since he met Ramona. The price tags were beckoning him in the light breeze, so he decided to take a look. As he poked around, he found that there was a lot of fishing equipment for sale. The owner, who had passed away only recently, had been an avid fisherman. It was his widow who was holding the garage sale.

"Herman, come here! I want to show you something," Ramona called to him from across the yard.

Herman walked over to where she was looking at a fish which had been mounted on a plaque. It looked like a large mouth bass. As he stepped in front of it, music started to play and the fish started wagging its tail. When the vocal started, the fish turned its head, looked at Herman and began to sing, "Take me to the river."

Herman laughed. The fish had looked real at first, but now he could see that it was made of rubber. There was a fake brass name-plate under the fish. It read, "Big Mouth Billy Bass." He had been fooled.

When the music stopped, Herman passed his hand over the sensor and another tune began to play. This time it was "Don't Worry, Be Happy" and every time the music got to the "don't worry, be happy" part, the fish turned its head, looked at Herman, and mouthed the words.

"Let's get it, it's only five bucks," Ramona pleaded like a little girl.

"But it's so tacky," Herman replied. "I can see we'll get tired of it pretty damned fast."

"There's a switch on the back. We can leave it off - only turn it on when we have company."

"We never have company."

"Come on, Herman, Serena will love it."

"Serena will hate it, like she hates everything else."

But Ramona prevailed and Herman carried the fish over to where the lady was collecting the money and, half joking, asked if the batteries were included.

"I imagine they're pretty weak by now," the lady said, missing the joke, "but you're welcome to them."

As soon as they got in the house, Ramona found a spot on the wall in the den and supervised Herman's efforts to hang the plaque. When he was done, she called Serena out of her room and had her pass by the fish. As she did, the fish started to sing about being taken to the river. The girl looked at it stoically, then looked at her mother and Herman and said, "Whatever...," and returned to her room where she had been on the phone with one of her friends.

"I told you," Herman said.

"Oh, shut up!" Ramona replied, disappointed.

They left the fish turned on for most of the day. Every time one of them passed it, it began to sign, either "Take Me To The River" or "Don't Worry, Be Happy." Late in the afternoon, Herman noticed that the fish was starting to poop out. The music had gotten softer and softer, and the fish wagged its tail lethargically and could barely move its head. Herman reached behind the plaque and shut it off.

That night Herman dreamed about fishing. He was a young man, fishing from the bank of a river. He had never been fishing before. Suddenly, the pole jerked. He had hooked a fish. He reeled in. When he pulled it out of the water, it was the fish from the plaque. It flopped around on the ground for awhile, then stopped. Herman looked at it sadly and told it he was sorry.

The fish wagged its tail, turned its head and looked at him. It spoke. "Don't worry, be happy," it told him.

Herman woke with a start. The wicked Ramona was snoring in the bed next to him. He lay there for a moment monitoring his own bodily functions. His heart was racing, he was short of breath, and he had to pee. He got up and went down the hall to the bathroom. When he came out, he thought he heard something at the other end of the house. He tip-toed to the den to see what it was. He listened at the door for a moment before going in. It sounded as if someone was crying. He turned the light on from the switch on the wall and entered the room.

The fish turned its head weakly and looked at Herman. "What are you doing up so late?" it asked.

Herman was startled. "I thought I turned you off."

"Whatever...," the fish replied.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because I am about to die."

"So you really do want me to take you to the river."

"Not really," the fish said, sarcastically. "What I need is batteries. These suckers are about to go completely flat. I'll tell you what, if you give me four fresh C cells, I'll grant you three wishes.

Herman was astounded. "What's this, a new twist on the fable of the fish and the farmer's wife?"

"Whatever...," the fish replied. "But don't get carried away. Number one, you can't use a wish to ask for more wishes; and number two, don't ask for lots of money. Being rich is not within the parameters of your destiny. I only have a margin of error of plus or minus five percent deviation from your fate."

Herman recalled all the old tales and how the beneficiaries of such good luck would waste their wishes. He decided to be cautious.

"This is complicated," he told the fish. "How long do I have to use up my wishes?"

"Smart boy, you have until my new set of batteries runs out. If I were you, I'd get Duracells."

The next morning, Herman went to K Mart and purchased batteries with the longest expiration date he could find. When he finished loading them into the compartment on the back of the plaque, the fish started thrashing about like the fish in Herman's dream. Herman hung him back on the wall and looked at him with alarm.

"Don't worry, be happy," the fish told him. "Are you ready for a wish?"

"Not right now," Herman said. "I want to consider this carefully."

"Whatever..." After that, the fish made no more spontaneous conversation. Whenever Herman turned the switch to the on position, the fish did nothing more than wag its tail, turn its head and sing as it was supposed to. But when it looked at Herman and began to lip sync the words of "Be Happy," it seemed as if the fish were mocking him.

Weeks went by and Herman did nothing about making a wish. After awhile, he began to believe that the entire incident with the fish had only been an extension of the dream he had that first night after they brought the fish home. He would feel foolish making a wish.

One afternoon, Herman was working in the den when Serena the teenage bitch stomped in wearing nothing but her bra and panties. She was holding a pair of jeans in her hand, waving them in Herman's face.

"When are you going to do the goddam laundry?" she screamed, then turned and stomped back to her room.

Herman had seen her in her underwear a zillion times before, but had never really taken notice of her body. They all walked around the house in their underwear. Even now, Herman was wearing only a tee shirt and boxer shorts. Maybe it was the fact that she had attained near-adulthood (she was seventeen and, technically, fair game in New York), maybe it was simply that she was wearing such tiny bikini bottoms and was bulging out of her skimpy bra... Herman felt something begin to stir in his shorts. "I wish that, just once, I could screw that little bitch," he said aloud.

"Just once?" asked the fish. "Granted. You have two wishes left."

"Wait!" Herman called to the fish, but it was too late.

With that, Serena stomped back down the hall and into the den. She grabbed Herman by the hand, pulled him out of his chair, and led him down the hall. When they got to her room, she pulled down his shorts and pushed him onto her bed. Then she stripped and climbed on top of him. It was all over in a few minutes.

"You can leave now," she told him contemptuously when they were done.

"Don't you want me to stay here and hold you for awhile?" he asked, confused.

She pushed a box of tissues in his direction. "Wipe yourself off and get out! I've got a test tomorrow."

Herman pulled on his shorts and went back to the den.

"What just happened?" he asked the fish. But there was no reply. Herman turned on the switch.

"Don't worry, be happy," the fish sang.

It seemed to Herman that the fish was smiling. He sat back in the chair where he had been working. But he couldn't work. He may have been confused and dejected, but he was also exhilarated. Something was stirring inside his pants again, but he knew that wishes were very specific. He had said, "just once" and just once it would be.

After awhile, Serena returned to the den. She was fully dressed. Herman noticed that she was wearing the dirty jeans which she had been complaining about. She was holding something in her hand. It was a video tape cassette.

"I don't have to tell you what's on this tape, do I?" she said. "Since you haven't seen fit to do the laundry, you'll have to take me to the mall for a new outfit! And don't get ideas about this tape, it's not the only copy."

The trip to the mall cost Herman a couple hundred bucks. The next day's shopping excursion cost him another hundred. He could see that this was going to continue until he was completely broke. If he didn't play along, she threatened to turn a copy of the tape over to her mother. Not only that, he was her slave in all matters about the house. "Get me this, get me that!" It never ceased. To complicate matters, every night, Herman dreamed of sex with his nubile slave master. Every morning he woke with an erection that seemed as if it was straining to tear itself free from his body.

Herman knew that he would have to use another wish. He didn't want to simply waste one by asking for the tape back or voiding the first wish completely. He needed to find a way to make the curative wish work to his benefit, perhaps subdue the restless feeling in his boxers. He had an idea.

"I wish the girl were infatuated with me," he told the fish.

"Granted," the fish said. "You have one wish remaining."

With that, Serena entered the den and, once again, took Herman by the hand. But this time, the love making was long and luxurious, and when they were done she lay there clinging to him. After awhile, she began playing with him. He was easily aroused a second time and they did it again. But it didn't end there. She wanted it again and again.

"Give me the tape and all the copies," Herman demanded.

She complied, turning over a stack of cassettes.

"Now you have to make love to me again," she said.

Herman tried, but could barely get hard. She wouldn't give up, kept working on him, trying to get him up.

Herman looked at his watch. "Cripes, your mother will be home any minute!"

He was saved for the day, but every afternoon, after the girl got home from high school, it was the same thing. And, to complicate matters, there was the problem of the girl's mother, who was used to getting it two or three times a week. Herman was exhausted.

One day, Herman was slouched in his chair in the den, unable to work. He had lost weight and was sore all over, especially in one particular location. The girl would be home in a short while. He was sure she would finally wear him down to a nub this afternoon.

"You look like shit," the fish said.

Herman was surprised. The fish hadn't spoken, without being turned on, since it had granted his second wish.

"I know you're trying to get me to waste my last wish."

"These batteries aren't going to last forever."

"With one wish left, I better be careful what I wish for."

"Whatever...," replied the fish.

With that, Herman heard the sound of a key turning in the lock of the front door.

"I'm home," called Serena, cheerfully.

She entered the den, still carrying her books. She dropped them on the floor and began to undress. She stood naked before Herman.

"You know what I want," she said, coyly.

"I wish everything could go back to the way it was before I ever laid eyes on you!" Herman called out to the fish. "There, I've said it!"

"Wish granted," said the fish.

Herman felt dizzy. The room spun about him in a whirl of smeared color. Objects were being pulled away, as if by centrifugal force. First to go was the girl. Herman, at the center of it all, felt no such pull. The last thing to go was the fish.

"Damn you," Herman called to it.

"Within the parameters, plus or minus five percent...," the fish was saying. But it was gone before it could finish the sentence.

It seemed as if he had gone momentarily dizzy. When he regained his composure, Herman leaned the fishing rod, which he had been examining, back with the others against the wall of the garage in the strange backyard. Ramona was calling to him. "Herman, come here! There's something you've just got to see."

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