Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

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NO NAME PLACE
Poor Harry. He lay on a wooden chaise longue on the deck out­
side his newly repaired cottage. He was more peeved than wor­
ried that Marlena and the others had not yet returned. It was
Christmas Day, for God’s sake, and here he was alone, mired in bore­
dom, while they were gallivanting about like elves, getting red-nosed
on Burmese beers—and, oh yes indeed, no doubt telling jokes about
last night’s fire. Wherever they were, he groused, it was damn incon­
siderate of them not to ring him with news of their whereabouts.
Though, come to think of it, was there even telephone service in a re­
mote resort like this?
Harry wondered whether he should ask, and I reinforced this
thought with a surge of urgency. He jumped to his feet, and I ap­
plauded. Off he went to find Heinrich. But from dock to dock, he
encountered only the help. “Telly-phone,” he overenunciated, and