Part 58

Kenneth had leaned out too far over the edge of the boat, the boat had suddenly decided to go the other way, and Kenneth had fallen into the water.

The first thing he felt was delicious coolness, the second that his clothes had gone, and the next thing he noticed was that he was swimming quite easily and comfortably under water, and that he had no trouble with his breathing, such as people who tell you not to fall into water seem to expect you to have. Also he could see quite well, which he had never been able to do under water before.

'I can't think,' he said to himself, 'why people make so much fuss about your falling into the water. I sha'n't be in a hurry to get out. I'll swim right round the moat while I'm about it.'

It was a very much longer swim than he expected, and as he swam he noticed one or two things that struck him as rather odd. One was that he couldn't see his hands. And another was that he couldn't feel his feet. And he met some enormous fishes, like great cod or halibut, they seemed. He had had no idea that there were fresh-water fish of that size.

They towered above him more like men-o'-war than fish, and he was rather glad to get past them. There were numbers of smaller fishes, some about his own size, he thought. They seemed to be enjoying themselves extremely, and he admired the clever quickness with which they darted out of the way of the great hulking fish.

And then suddenly he ran into something hard and very solid, and a voice above him said crossly:

'Now then, who are you a-shoving of? Can't you keep your eyes open, and keep your nose out of gentlemen's shirt fronts?'

'I beg your pardon,' said Kenneth, trying to rub his nose, and not being able to. 'I didn't know people could talk under water,' he added very much astonished to find that talking under water was as easy to him as swimming there.

'Fish can talk under water, of course,' said the voice, 'if they didn't, they'd never talk at all: they certainly can't talk out of it.'

'But I'm not a fish,' said Kenneth, and felt himself grin at the absurd idea.

'Yes, you are,' said the voice, 'of course you're a fish,' and Kenneth, with a shiver of certainty, felt that the voice spoke the truth. He was a fish. He must have become a fish at the very moment when he fell into the water. That accounted for his not being able to see his hands or feel his feet. Because of course his hands were fins and his feet were a tail.

'Who are you?' he asked the voice, and his own voice trembled.

'I'm the Doyen Carp,' said the voice. 'You must be a very new fish indeed or you'd know that. Come up, and let's have a look at you.'

Kenneth came up and found himself face to face with an enormous fish who had round staring eyes and a mouth that opened and shut continually. It opened square like a kit-bag, and it shut with an extremely sour and severe expression like that of an offended rhinoceros.

'Yes,' said the Carp, 'you are a new fish. Who put you in?'

'I fell in,' said Kenneth, 'out of the boat, but I'm not a fish at all, really I'm not. I'm a boy, but I don't suppose you'll believe me.'

'Why shouldn't I believe you?' asked the Carp wagging a slow fin. 'Nobody tells untruths under water.'

And if you come to think of it, no one ever does.

'Tell me your true story,' said the Carp very lazily. And Kenneth told it.

'Ah! these humans!' said the Carp when he had done. 'Always in such a hurry to think the worst of everybody!' He opened his mouth squarely and shut it contemptuously. 'You're jolly lucky, you are. Not one boy in a million turns into a fish, let me tell you.'

'Do you mean that I've got to go on being a fish?' Kenneth asked.

'Of course you'll go on being a fish as long as you stop in the water. You couldn't live here, you know, if you weren't.'

'I might if I was an eel,' said Kenneth, and thought himself very clever.

'Well, be an eel then,' said the Carp, and swam away sneering and stately. Kenneth had to swim his hardest to catch up.

'Then if I get out of the water, shall I be a boy again?' he asked panting.

'Of course, silly,' said the Carp, 'only you can't get out.'

'Oh! can't I?' said Kenneth the fish, whisked his tail and swam off. He went straight back to the amethyst ring, picked it up in his mouth, and swam into the shallows at the edge of the moat. Then he tried to climb up the slanting mud and on to the grassy bank, but the grass hurt his fins horribly, and when he put his nose out of the water, the air stifled him, and he was glad to slip back again. Then he tried to jump out of the water, but he could only jump straight up into the air, so of course he fell straight down again into the water. He began to be afraid, and the thought that perhaps he was doomed to remain for ever a fish was indeed a terrible one. He wanted to cry, but the tears would not come out of his eyes. Perhaps there was no room for any more water in the moat.

The smaller fishes called to him in a friendly jolly way to come and play with them--they were having a quite exciting game of follow-my-leader among some enormous water-lily stalks that looked like trunks of great trees. But Kenneth had no heart for games just then.