Purpo and the Fish Who Counted Bubbles

There was a precise spot on the seabed — between the Cave of Lost Thoughts and Donna Assunta's rock — where bubbles rose from the sand in a line, one after another, like pearls of air climbing towards the sky.

Purpo passed by often. He liked watching them rise. He didn't know where they came from, and that made it even more beautiful.

That's where he found Lello.

Lello was a needlefish — long, thin, with enormous eyes and fins that always trembled slightly, as if he were cold even in summer. He hovered motionless in front of the bubbles with an expression of fierce concentration, moving his mouth without making a sound.

"What are you doing?" asked Purpo.

Lello raised a fin without turning. "Shhh. Seventeen... eighteen... ninete— wait. Was that one a double? That was a double. I have to start over."

"Start over what?"

"Counting the bubbles."

Purpo looked around. Bubbles were rising from the sand by the dozens, hundreds, constantly. An endless flow.

"All of them?"

"All of them."

"And how long have you been counting?"

Lello finally turned. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, like someone who hasn't slept in days.

"Forever. I mean... I don't remember when I started. But I can't stop."

Purpo settled onto the seabed. He knew that kind of look. He'd seen it in Gelsomina the Jellyfish when she checked twenty times whether her rock was in the right place. He'd seen it in Gennaro the Seahorse when he retraced the same path three times for fear of having forgotten something along the way.

"Why can't you stop?" asked Purpo, unhurried.

Lello lowered his voice. "Because if I miss one... something happens."

"Something like what?"

"Something... bad."

"But what, exactly?"

Lello opened his mouth. Closed it again. Thought about it. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I feel it here." He touched his chest with his fin. "If I stop counting, the thought gets so loud it feels like I'm drowning. And I'm a fish — we don't drown."

Purpo nodded. He didn't interrupt. He knew that some conversations need space, like currents.

"You know what I think?" he said after a while. "The bubbles never asked you to count them."

Lello looked at him, confused.

"The bubbles rise from the sand. They float up. They pop at the surface. They've been doing it since before you were born and they'll keep doing it long after we've all become fossils. They don't need anyone watching over them. They're bubbles. They do bubble things."

"But if I miss one..."

"You miss a thousand every day. While you sleep, while you eat, while you're talking to me right now — the bubbles keep rising and you're not counting them. And look." Purpo gestured at the seabed around them. "Nothing terrible is happening."

Lello looked. The seabed was calm. A small crab was taking a stroll. A piece of seaweed swayed. The bubbles kept rising, indifferent.

"But..." Lello trembled. "But the thought stays. Even when I know it's absurd, the thought stays."

Purpo reached out a tentacle and rested it on Lello's fin. Gently.

"I know. Bad thoughts are like that. They don't leave just because you ask them to. But you know what I've discovered? You don't have to make them disappear. You just have to stop obeying them."

"How?"

"Like this. When the thought says: count the bubbles or something terrible will happen — you answer: alright, thought. I hear you. But I'm going to do something else now."

Lello stayed still. The bubbles kept rising.

"And then?"

"And then the thought shouts for a while. It gets worked up. Makes a scene. Like Gelsomina the Jellyfish when you don't invite her to the seaweed meeting. But after a while... it gets tired. And you realise the terrible thing never came. And next time it shouts a little less."

"And what if the terrible thing does come?"

Purpo smiled. "Then you face it. But you face it when it actually arrives — not a thousand times before in your head. As they say around here: fear has this effect — it makes you feel the pain before the wound."

"Meaning?"

"That fear makes you feel the pain before you're even hurt. And that's the worst pain — the invented kind. Because at least real pain passes."

Lello watched the bubbles. For the first time, he wasn't counting them. He was just watching. They rose, they shimmered, they disappeared. Like small thoughts drifting away on their own.

"They're beautiful," said Lello, quietly.

"Yeah," said Purpo. "When you stop counting them, you actually see them."

They stayed there for a while. In silence. Counting nothing.

Then Lello said: "Purpo?"

"Yeah?"

"The thought is shouting right now."

"I know. What do you tell it?"

Lello thought about it. Then, for the first time, he smiled. "I tell it: I hear you. But right now I'm watching the bubbles with a friend."

Purpo didn't answer. He just stayed there, tentacle on fin, watching the bubbles rise towards the world above without anyone counting them.

And the world, strangely, didn't end.