Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
Belinda looked at Zilpha out of the corner of her eye. They’d have
to work fast to return to the bureau in Bangkok. The disc they’d
recorded had to reach Global News Network before Harry gave his
tape to the Embassy; otherwise, bye-bye, exclusive.
Belinda asked if Harry was still going to do the update in Ran­
goon with TV Myanmar. He snapped a brisk no. He’d play along
with them and let them fly him to Rangoon and pay for his hotel, and
then he’d feign food poisoning before the shoot. Let them get a dose
of their own medicine, he said to himself.
Before leaving Zilpha’s room, Harry said, “I can’t thank you
enough for letting me use your camcorder and computer. You’re a
godsend. Say, what is it you two do?”
“We’re teachers,” Belinda said immediately. “Zilpha teaches kinder­
garten, and I’ve got first grade.”
Harry broke into a smile. “I thought it might have been something
like that.”
T HE NEXT MORNING, in Rangoon, Harry arose at five and went
over his plan. He would wait for the reporter to call him at seven.
He’d make his voice hoarse to sound deathly ill and to ensure that it
was impossible for him to speak on camera. A couple of retches
might be good, too. He’d play the part thoroughly. No shaving today,
and no shower. He mussed his hair, put on rumpled clothes. At
eighty forty-five, he would take a taxi to the American Embassy. If
anyone from TV Myanmar saw him leave the hotel, he would say he
was trying to find a Western doctor. Had he covered all the bases?
Brilliant. He was about to order breakfast, but thought better of it.
So he took out his notes and the rough draft of Come. Sit. Stay.
At seven, the reporter called, but before Harry could launch into
his excuse, the man said tersely, “Today we are not filming. Every­
thing has been canceled.”
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