“What!” exclaims Ludwig, raising his head in surprise, “one of the electric eels? Is it that you’re speaking of, Gaspar?”
“Ay, señorito; just that.”
“Surely you wouldn’t eat it, would you?”
“Wouldn’t I? If I had one here now, you’d soon see.”
“But are they really good to eat?”
“Good to eat! I should think they are; and if you could but taste them yourself, señorito, you’d say so. A lightning eel’s about the daintiest morsel I ever stuck teeth into; though they do have their dwelling-place in mud, and as some say, feed upon it. Before cooking them, however, something needs being done. You must cut away a portion of their flesh; the spongy part, which it’s said gives them power to make their lightning play. In that lies the dangerous stuff, whatever sort of thing it is.”
“But what are they like, Gaspar? I’ve never seen one.”
It is Ludwig who still interrogates; but to his last question Cypriano, not Gaspar, gives the answer, saying:
“Oh, cousin! Do you mean to say you’ve never seen an electric eel?”
“Indeed do I. I’ve heard father speak of them often, and I know them by their scientific name, gymnotus. I believe there are plenty of them in the rivers of Paraguay; but, as it chances, I never came across one, either dead or alive.”