I once caught a catfish, the voice said, that was so big I couldn’t land it.
In fact it almost rivered me.
I liked the word rivered so I looked up : it was a boy leaning over the top of the wall. I could feel from the mouth and the pull of it, he said, that it was a lot bigger than you from head to foot, and though you’re not that tall yourself it’s quite long for a fish, no? His cap was new : he was wearing a finely embroidered jacket, I saw its quality though the wall was more than 2 men high.
So I couldn’t land it, he said. Cause it was a lot bigger than me too, and there was only me and the catfish, no one else, and I couldn’t hold it and bring it in myself.
So I cut my line and I let it escape me, I had to.
But it’s the best fish I’ve ever caught, that fish I didn’t catch,
cause it’s a fish that will always be with me now and never be eaten, it’ll never die, that fish I’ll never land.
I see you’ve done well today. Any chance you’d give me one of your hundred fish?
Catch your own fish,
I said.
Well, I would, but you’ve taken so many it wouldn’t be fair to the river, he said.