The Little Fish Who Counted the Waves

Pippo was a blue little fish who lived in a sea cave lit by the Moon.

By day he swam among the seaweeds, chased bubbles, and played hide-and-seek with the shrimps. In the evening, when the other little fish entered their niches, Pippo stayed awake.

“I am not sleepy,” he said.

But he yawned.

Mother Fish prepared his place between two leaves of seagrass. Father Fish checked that the current was gentle. Pippo, however, kept moving his tail.

“What if I miss a game?”

“Games sleep too,” said his mother.

One night the Moon entered the cave and drew seven silver lines on the water.

Grandmother Turtle, who was passing by, said, “Count the small waves.”

“What is it for?”

“To tell the body that the day is over.”

The first wave entered the cave.

“One,” said Pippo.

His mother stroked a fin.

Second wave.

“Two.”

His father arranged a leaf.

Third wave.

“Three.”

Pippo let go of a bubble.

Fourth wave.

“Four.”

His tail moved less.

Fifth wave.

“Five.”

His eyes grew heavy.

Sixth wave.

“Six.”

The cave seemed softer.

Seventh wave.

Pippo did not say seven. He only thought it.

Grandmother Turtle smiled. “There. The body has understood.”

From that evening Pippo had his routine. One stroke on the fin. One leaf arranged. One bubble let go. Seven small waves.

He did not always fall asleep at the same wave. Sometimes at the fifth, sometimes after the seventh. But he was no longer afraid of missing the night.

He had learned that sleep does not arrive like a fish to chase. It arrives when you prepare a road for it.

And in the cave, every evening, the Moon counted with him.