The Fisherman of Breaths

Every early morning, before the village opened its eyes, Uncle Nanni went out with his little boat.

He did not always fish for fish. Some days he fished for silence. Other days, reflections. Other days still, breaths.

Matteo discovered this one Sunday, when he climbed into the boat with him.

“Where is the bait?”

“Today we do not need any.”

Uncle Nanni took a light net, almost transparent.

“This one catches only deep breaths.”

Matteo laughed. “Breaths cannot be caught.”

“Then let us see.”

The sea was calm, but Matteo was not. He spoke quickly, moved his feet, asked one question on top of another.

Uncle Nanni cast the net.

“First breath.”

He breathed in slowly. His chest rose. The net moved just a little.

“Second.”

The sea made plof against the boat.

Matteo tried. At first the breath came out short. The net remained empty.

“Do not force it,” said his uncle. “Invite it.”

Matteo looked at the water. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. The net trembled and gathered a large bubble.

“I caught it!”

“You let it arrive.”

They continued like that: breath, wave, bubble. Every bubble in the net shone for a moment and then burst without noise.

When they returned to the harbour, Matteo felt lighter. He had not brought home fish, but he had learned something useful.

That evening, in bed, when thoughts were running, he imagined Uncle Nanni’s boat. He cast an invisible net.

First breath.

Second.

Third.

And little by little, calm took the bait.