Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

SAVING FISH FROM DROWNING
the floor, she hit the back of her head on a bronze Buddha statue.
The autopsy showed trauma there. The man pulled out the comb
from her throat, and in all likelihood, he was shocked by the amount
of blood spurting out. So he grabbed a red tasseled cord from a cur­
tain in the display window and wrapped that around her neck to
stanch the flow. Despite these heroics, she died, drowned in her own
blood.”
The detective let Vera absorb this news. She was crying a little,
imagining the horror and the futility of the stranger’s actions.
“We think the man was terrified he’d be caught there,” the detec­
tive went on. “His hands were covered with blood. We found finger­
prints on the metal comb. He must have run out pretty fast. I’m
guessing he ditched his pants and shoes close to where his car was
parked. Now you know as much as we do.”
Vera dabbed her eyes and said she could see how this made sense.
I could, too. Nonetheless, it was so unsatisfying. Clumsiness? That
was the reason for so much drama and blood? And what about the
stranger? I wished I could thank him for trying. And as I thought
this, I saw in an instant who he was, a man I had known for twenty-
seven years. I saw him nearly every few days, yet I hardly knew him.
He was Najib, the Lebanese grocer around the corner from my
apartment building. He had been on his way home from a late-night
supper with friends. He, who never gave me any special discounts at
his store, had tried to save my life.
“We don’t know who the man was,” the detective told Vera. “But
if I did, I wouldn’t press charges.”
Vera stood up, and the detective reached into his file and gave her
the letter. It was written in Chinese. He said that he’d found it near
my body and had given it to a Chinese guy in the department, who
looked at it quickly and determined it was a chatty letter from a fe­
male relative in China.
“Someone might want to send back a note to this person,” the
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