Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

SAVING FISH FROM DROWNING
When the sun is gone and there are no stars above, they turn to
their memory. They hear a hundred bronze drums, a hundred cow
horns, a hundred wood gourds in the shape of frogs. They hear flutes
chirp and bells echo. They hear the gurgling brook music any god
would love. Together, they sing in perfect harmony: We are together
and that is what matters.
L ET ME first confess that I was wrong about Heinrich. I had never
been able to discern his true feelings. He was a master at subterfuge,
and I had made up my mind that there was nothing more I wanted to
know about him.
But gossip had it right: He was indeed a former CIA agent. In
1970, he disagreed with U.S. policy on Vietnam, and if you must
know, it was the Phoenix Program, when National Liberation Front
members were classified as Vietcong and then killed. He left the ser­
vice a disillusioned idealist, and since his cover had been as hospital­
ity consultant, he saw no reason why he should not continue in that
capacity in Bangkok. Oh, and the accent was fake, at least it started
off so. He was born in Los Angeles, the land of movie stars, to a
Swiss German father and an Austrian mother, and by familial ear he
was able to affect the accent, using it so constantly that it was second
nature to him, even when he was drunk. The alcoholic stupor, how­
ever, was not a cover. Heinrich was a sad and angry man who was
happiest when absent from his senses.
What surprised me was his connection to the hill tribe, specifically,
the Lord’s Army. He had met Black Spot during the boatman’s many
forays bringing in resort guests. In Heinrich, Black Spot found a
friend in spirit. He had heard the German utter hateful words about
the regime. Eventually, he and Heinrich made a pact, one that Hein­
rich kept from his own staff. Heinrich would buy supplies for the re­
sort and then—cursed bad luck!—they would be “stolen.” In recent
441