Charlie the Tuna was in town last week to promote his latest book, an autobiography called Star-Kist Off. Charlie is no stranger to Toronto, having performed his one fish show, Bye the Sea, Bye the Sea, Bye the Beautiful Sea, here to rave reviews 10 years ago. He also chose Toronto to launch his very successful book of poetry, The Ocean Maid Me What I Am Today.
I had never met Charlie, but I knew him by reputation and immediately recognized him when I found him at my front door. "So," Charlie said, in that voice that we have all come to know and lover over the past 20 years, "Are ya gonna stand dere gaping, or are ya gonna ask me ta come in?"
"Of course...of course," I said, stupidly. "Come in...uhh..."
"Call me Charlie," the fish said, entering and finding a place on the sofa in my living room. "Everybody does. Mind if I smoke?"
"Not at all," I replied as casually as I could.
"Tanks." Charlie produced a cigar from thin air. Then, with a clever manipulation of his fin that I was unable to completely follow, he produced a match and lit the cigar. "Oh, I know that smoking ain't exactly good for me," Charlie admitted. "Da smoke gets in my gills, you know..."
"How did you do that?" I asked, astonished.
Charlie merrily puffed away. "Cartoon characters got special privileges," he told me. Then, lowering his voice, he added: "Listen, you ain't gonna tell no one I'm here, are you?"
"Not if you don't want me to. Trouble"
"Nothing I can't handle," Charlie said, cocky. There was something in his voice, though, something in the way his scales were pricked up that suggested to me that this was not the case. Still, I decided to play the good host and stay away from potentially touchy subjects.
"You...you look shorter on television," I remarked.
"Yeah, well, better da television taking off a few pounds dan a fisherman," Charlie responded.
"Sure." We sat in silence for a few moments, not having much to say to each other. I stifled a cough. "So," I finally asked, "how are you enjoying your stay in Toronto?"
Charlie nearly spit. "I thought I was loved in dis city," he told me. "But, da people here have turned out to be a bunch of animals. Dey're just animals!"
I looked sympathetic. "Bad reception for your book, hunh?"
"Naaw, dey loved the book," Charlie said. "Ate it up. Haw haw. But, when dis tuna scandal broke, well, da algae sure hit da fan..."
"Oh..."
"I can't go anywhere any more," Charlie explained, "without some jerk shouting: 'Sorry, Charlie. Star-Kist doesn't want tunas dat taste good, Star-Kist just wants anything dat it can pass on ta da consumer!' Dat's about as funny as a driftnet!"
"Surely," I pointed out, "You have nothing to do with it."
"Of course not," Charlie agreed. "Da company puts out some tuna dat da government tasters label unfit for human consumption and the Minister for Fisheries overrules da tasters and lets da rancid and decomposing tuna get sold. I'm just a fish caught in da middle. But, I've been plugging Star-Kist for so long, people confuse me with da company. It's really embarrassing, what with my new book and all... Say, how can a ting like dis happen, anyway?"
I shrugged. "I gather that the company suggested to the provincial government that the plant would be closed down if there was any trouble from the government inspectors. The Premier of the province let his imagination run wild, thinking about 400 unemployed canners, and spoke to the Minister..."
"Funny country you got here." Charlie said.
"Don't I know it," I responded, trying not to get defensive. "If an Ethiopian relief organization wasn't prepared to accept the tuna, the government should never have allowed it to be sold to Canadian consumers. But...don't you think that the publicity could actually help you sell more copies of your book?"
Charlie gave me a fishy look. "It probably will," he admitted in disgust, "but, dat stinks. It really stinks."
He had me there. Charlie took the butt of his cigar out of his mouth, looked at it wearily and threw it into the fireplace. It disappeared before it got past the grate. We talked for several hours more, but the subject didn't come up again.
Eventually, he said, "I gotta go. Could you peak out da curtain and see if dere is anybody lurking outside?"
I did. "Nobody out there that I can see," I told Charlie.
He rose. "Listen," he said, "I really appreciate dis moment of peace. If dis afternoon was any indication of what I can expect from your country, dis promotional tour is gonna be murder. Sheer murder."
"I'm glad I could help," I replied, seeing Charlie to the door. "But, tell me, why did you choose me? We've never met before."
Charlie stood in the open door. "Don't you know?" he stated. "You're getting quite a reputation among fictional characters and famous historical figures as an alright guy."
I blushed.
"You're okay," Charlie the Tuna told me, and flopped away.
