Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

SAVING FISH FROM DROWNING
I’m on—” She coughed, having almost said “assignment.” “On va­
cation,” she quickly recovered, while mentally kicking herself. No
more slips.
“Even so,” Harry said admiringly. He pressed the fast-forward
button and the lives of his friends zipped by, complete with squiggly
voices, until he saw their arrival at Floating Island Resort. There’s
Heinrich, he noted, old slobberchops and greasy palms, meeting
them at the dock. Harry turned up the volume and heard Roxanne
narrating as she recorded: “The Intha fishermen here stand on one
leg to fish. . . .” The next image was Harry’s cottage with its partially
burned roof. Criminy, she filmed that? Roxanne was giving a wry de­
scription: “. . . He set his bungalow on fire last night.” She giggled,
then snorted out the rest: “And he tried to stomp out the flames,
wearing only his birthday suit!”
Harry reddened, but when he glanced at Belinda, he saw she was
straight-faced, watching the video with serious intent. And then, like
evidence of ghosts, eleven shadows climbed into longboats. The date
and time stamp indicated December 24th, 3:47 P.M., which was stu­
pid o’clock on Christmas morning in Myanmar, so damn early it had
still been dark. His heart was drumming in his ears.
He is with them now, in that lost time now found.
He hears Marlena call out to Esmé, “Honey, did you bring your
coat?” The throaty sounds of the outboard engine drown out the an­
swer. Cut.
Moff is looking toward the mountains, the only sounds the soft
plash of water on the boat’s sides. As sabers of light slice at the
mountains’ purple silhouette and open the sky, everyone murmurs in
unison. Cut.
They’re amid the rhythmic clacking in a weaving mill. Cut.
Noisy banter and bargaining in a cheroot factory. Moff and
Dwight waggle cigars out of one side of their mouths and utter
Groucho Marx witticisms. Cut.
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