The Fish that Almost Ate Guam

     I got a rather testy letter back from my editor when I sent her the drafts for this story. She hired me to write fact, she said, not fiction, and fish tales were Talisa’s department - not mine. But I’ll remind her that she also hired me for my curiosity and adventuresome spirit, and how could I boast such qualities if I willingly let pass a chance to investigate a story with such a title as “The Fish that Almost Ate Guam”?

     I was sitting in a beachside tavern in Guam, just a few days into my tour of the Pacific islands. The trip had been uneventful and I was in low spirits – too many coconuts and not enough excitement. But I happened to overhear a band of girls saying they were off to “sing to the fish” – as if that were as natural a thing as taking in a show or grabbing a bite to eat. After some good natured prodding, I coaxed the girls into expounding. Their tale was good enough for print, so I’ll relate it to you mostly unchanged:

     When Guam was young, before it had been discovered by the outside world, the people of Guam lived happily on their lovely island home. But as outsiders began to come in, bringing with them unrest and dissention and ideas of war and conflict, the native people began to suffer. The fishermen of the island began to notice that the island itself was suffering too – the bays on either side were getting larger and the land between them, smaller. A giant fish, they speculated, was slowly eating the island in half. The people felt helpless, for no matter how often the men set out in boats, they always came back empty-handed. The fish had a hiding place and could not be found.

     At that time, it was a habit of the young maidens of the island to go down to the springs to wash their hair with soap oranges and lemon, and let the peels float out into the bay. One day a girl noticed some of the peels floating in a bay on the opposite side of the island. Telling her friends, they concluded that the monstrous fish that had been destroying their home must have tunneled its way beneath the island itself, and have a home down there. They devised a plan: since the fish had eluded the men for so long, it must be shy and wary of fishers’ nets. So they wove a net from their hair instead. Going down to the spring, they began to sing to the fish, to coax it out. When the massive fish, intrigued by the noise, came out from beneath the island, the girls threw out their hair and jumped into the water, trapping the fish and saving Guam from certain destruction.

     So if Guam was already saved from this island-eating monstrosity, I questioned, then why were the girls off to “sing to the fish” today? The girls would only giggle – but they invited us to come along and see. We followed them to their favorite bathing spot – Agana Springs – and watched the age old practice play out. Washing their hair out, they sang silly songs about the fish, in one verse taunting it in another mockingly praising it – interspersed with snickers and giggles. Soon I saw bubbles rising from the water, followed by rocky looking spears which breached the water’s surface – these were our deadly island-eating fish, our hosts pointed out, laughing. 

     What I had expected of an island eating fish, I’m not sure – gnashing teeth, rock-smashing jaws, fearsome fins? But peering into the depths, a wall-eyed, long-nosed, clownish-looking school of wormish creatures peered back at me, quivering happily to the beat of the girls singing. Comical as they were, the fish were large – ranging from 10-20 feet – though hardly of island-eating proportions. Nor did they seem to be of island-eating temperament, bouncing about in the water, sputtering at the sound of the merry voices on the shore.

      “I don’t think there’s anything to the stories,” said one girl of about 15, “It’s just an old tale meant to make our ancestors look clever and to warn against outsiders. Some people say there are bigger fish living under the island and if we forget to sing to them or let too many foreigners into the bay, they’ll come out and start eating again – but I think we’d have seen them if they were there.”

     When the girls packed up and went home, Timmy and I stayed behind to explore some of the tidal caves around the bay. We found tunnels of every size: some large enough to walk through, others smaller than a finger’s width – these fish were island drillers, if not island eaters. The light of our lanterns brought fish slithering out of their holes and peering up from pools in curiosity. 

    Though I was eager to plumb the depths of this mystery and find the monster fish of legend right then and there, Timmy was equally eager not to be drowned by the rising tide, so we left much of the cave system unchecked – let it not be said I don’t make compromises. Taking a final look out over the bay, I thought I caught a glimpse of a large shadow in the depths and a rising wave above it – the island-eater itself? It passed too quickly to be sure.