The words in the headline are a quote from NightWatch.
The momentous events in Sri Lanka give reason to reflect on the gentle humanity of the people we met there. Two quick stories:
*****
In the pre-dawn gray, the fishing fleet already trolled off the Negombo shore. One last tardy catamaran, sail full-billowed, chugged out to join the rest.
Sheldon had already been out and back. A slight fellow, just chest high, with a broad smile under a clipped mustache, Sheldon showed me his catch, in a crate, a few gross of five or six inch mackerels.
He took me to meet all the other guys and see their catches, stepping over nets they were busy untangling and setting right for the afternoon. He led me to his house, just alongside and between a couple of beach hotels, shoreside from the road. It was in a community of a dozen thatch huts.
He’d built it himself and he took me inside, immensely proud, to show me how he had arranged two hundred woven palm-frond panels on top of one another to build the roof. He told me “two hundred” several times. A thatch wall divided Sheldon’s house into two rooms. The only furniture was a rough wooden bed with no linens.
Sheldon’s wife, a very young woman dressed in a long blue smock with her hair pulled back, rose to smile and greet me, and his precocious four and six year old daughters danced around us all. He took his son, just one year old, into his lap as we talked.
We all sat together near a crack in the wall where sunlight came through so they could look at postcards of where I was from. They served sweet tea. I drank it fearing I’d be dying of local water later that day.
Sheldon walked me back toward Hotel Royal Oceanic, two hundred meters and several worlds apart. On the way, he explained to me that he was 31, his brother was “41, 42 sometimes. Lives nearby, mama too. Papa no.”
- Sheldon and his family lived a scant hundred yards from the ocean, before the tsunami of December 2004. I have no idea of their fate that day.