Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

SAVING FISH FROM DROWNING
The interviewer smiled and laughed. “Yes! Yes!” She began to clap.
“Now you sing ballad.”
Harry backed away. “Oh, no.” He held up his hands. “No, no. Not
possible.” He pointed to his throat. “Very bad. See? Sore, inflamed,
can’t sing. Terrible pain. Possibly contagious. Sorry. Should not even
be here.” He stepped off to the side.
The interviewer cupped Marlena’s mosquito-bitten elbow. “You.
Please to sing us Christmas traditional song. You choose. Sing!”
“‘Jingle Bells’?” Esmé piped up.
The boom swung toward Esmé. “‘Jingo Bell,’” the woman re­
peated. “Yes! This is wonderful ballad. From Stone Bell to Jingo Bell.
Please. Begin!”
“Come on, Mom,” Esmé said. Marlena was horrified at what her
daughter had wrought. Of all the times for Esmé to choose to be
cooperative. Harry strode off, laughing and yelling back in encour­
agement, “Yes, sing! It’ll be wonderful!”
The cameras rolled. The rain continued to play in the background,
and Esmé’s voice soared over her mother’s squeaky one. Esmé loved
to sing. She had a friend with a karaoke machine, and she sang bet­
ter than all her friends. Just recently she had learned that you didn’t
have to sing the standard notes; you could do loops around them and
land on the tune where and when you wanted. And if you felt the mu­
sic deep in your gut, a natural vibrato came up. She knew how to do
it as no one else she knew could. The pride she felt put a tickle in her
throat until she had to sing to soothe it.
Marlena’s and Esmé’s singing grew fainter as Harry strode away.
He took a path that led up, and he was soon in front of what he
guessed was one of the famed grottoes with its life-sized figures. It
reminded him of a nativity scene. The carved faces showed obvious
signs of repair, and given the dim light, most of the finer features
were difficult to see. Like many holy artifacts, these had been
maimed during the Cultural Revolution, their noses and hands
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