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Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

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AMY TAN<br />

For once, Harry did not need to use a loo. But he, too, left the bus,<br />

to clear his head. He and Marlena were suddenly at odds with each<br />

other, and he could not fathom why. In his mind, he had simply tried<br />

to show a bit of affection—this was in the way of rubbing her<br />

rump—and she had recoiled, as if he had been trying to sodomize<br />

her in front of her dozing daughter. She shot him a look, a castrating<br />

look. His ex-wife used to aim such a look at him frequently toward<br />

the end of their marriage, and he was an expert at interpreting it. It<br />

meant: “Not if you were the last sperm bank on earth.” Yet the night<br />

before, Marlena had been as passionate as he had been, he was cer­<br />

tain of it. There was absolutely no reluctance there. She had recipro­<br />

cated on the sidewalk of Ruili, providing fully fifty percent of their<br />

physics of frottage. Why this sudden turnabout?<br />

The look Marlena gave him was actually one of mortifying dis­<br />

tress. She, along with several others on the bus, was starting to feel<br />

the cramping effects of dysentery as it prepared to make its inex­<br />

orable descent. How could she tell him, especially in front of Esmé,<br />

the reason that their ardor needed to be put on hold? Even if Esmé<br />

were not there, of all things to put a damper on romance, not this.<br />

Dear God, the agony, the inconvenience.<br />

Rupert, Moff, and Bennie hurried off with feeble flashlights in<br />

search of a spot where they might have solid footing. Here, I averted<br />

my eyes. I would like to point out, however, the highly unfortunate<br />

coincidence that what an American takes to be an ideal outdoor<br />

toilet is what some Nats—perhaps the one who died of intestinal<br />

malaise—consider to be home sweet holy home, in this case, a small<br />

grove of jacaranda trees, still leafy in winter but missing their mag­<br />

nificent mane of lilac-colored blossoms. Cross-culturally, mistakes<br />

were made, unintentional to be sure, and nothing would have come<br />

of it had Rupert not yelled out: “Daa-ad! Dad! Do you have toilet pa­<br />

per?” He cursed, pulled out the paperback <strong>from</strong> his jacket pocket,<br />

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