Molly Moon & the Monster Music by Georgia Byng Page A

stopped.
    Inside the triangular front door of the restaurant, three kimono-wearing hostesses greeted them, bowing low. Their lips were red, their cheeks were pink, and each of them had their dark hair gathered in a bun decorated with sticks. Behind them was a giant fish tank. It covered the whole back wall, as high as the upper floor, where the restaurant’s clients sat. Inside the tank was a rock garden with bright weeds and colorful water flowers. Freshwater fish of all sorts—salmon, trout, carp, and ayu—swam about in there, glooping and gliding. The hostesses presented them all with slippers.
    All the children changed their shoes, as did Miss Sny. But Mr. Proila ignored the slippers that were offered to him.
    â€œPah!” he spat, and, straightening his white jacket, he marched up the stairs.
    The upstairs room was unbelievable. Most of thefloor consisted of the surface of the fish tank Molly had seen downstairs, so it was like a large pond. It had five big wooden boats in it. The boats were fixed so that they were completely stable. Inside each was a long table, with enough space around it to seat twelve.
    Chattering people sat at these, enjoying fish suppers—cooked or as sashimi (raw slices of fish, beautifully presented). Little flasks of Japanese sake wine and spouted bottles of soy sauce stood on the tables, and the people ate with wooden chopsticks. Everyone was relishing the novelty of the restaurant and this is why:
    Fish swam in the water around the boats, and customers fished for their own supper. Once a fish had been caught, waiters took it to the chef, who killed, gutted, and prepared it for eating.
    At the farthest table, a young boy had just caught one. He was shielding his face as it struggled and flipped on the end of his line, splashing him. His family laughed as he grappled with the net.
    â€œHorrid!” said Gerry disgustedly. “Molly, you know I’m a vegetarian, don’t you? I . . . I don’t like killin’ things and I ’specially don’t like eating them.”
    Molly put her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear. Sorry, Gerry. Can you handle it? Maybe they have avegetar—” But before she could ask for a vegetarian menu, Mr. Proila had distracted her. He had started to shout at the restaurant’s maître d’.
    â€œNO! NO! I BOOKED TWO WHOLE TABLES! Who are these peasants on my table? Get them off it. If you don’t get rid of them now, I will close this place down. And what’s more, you will find yourself swimming around in that tank and being eaten for supper.”
    The maître d’ looked terrified. Cowering and obedient, he followed Mr. Proila’s orders.
    â€œMr. Proila”—Hiroyuki stepped in front of his manager so that he could read his lips—“we don’t need two tables. Come on . . .” But Mr. Proila flapped his hand irritatedly at Hiroyuki to shoo him away.
    Once the table had been cleared, Mr. Proila, like a horrid schoolboy who had just bullied a class full of kindergarten children, pushed his way to the best seat in the restaurant, at the end of one boat. Another big boat now sat empty beside it.
    Riffling through the fishing rods there, Mr. Proila chose what he obviously thought was the nicest for himself, dropping the others on the floor. Laughing in a show-off way, as though everyone must surely be wanting to watch him have fun, he began castinghis line.
    â€œCome on!” he shouted to the band boys. “COME ON, ZAGGER!”
    The rest of the people in the restaurant now realized who the boys were. Silly fans that they were, they now thought it quite appropriate that they should all clear the way for Hiroyuki, Chokichi, and Toka and their party.
    Embarrassed to have caused such a commotion, the boys found places to sit on the boats. Molly and Gerry and Petula sat down, too. And everyone (except Gerry) found themselves a rod to use.
    â€œCOME ON, YOU SLIMY