“Ajith, quickly, throw out the anchor!” His son was already waiting with the small grapple in his hand and he threw it over the side, then took up the slack to hold the boat fast in four feet of water. Chandin cut the motor and came out of the cabin. He and Ajith roused the man and woman. Their Tamil was met with blank stares. “Ajith, take an arm,” Chandin said, and threaded his own arm under the woman’s. A small crowd of fishermen had gathered in the waist-deep water at the beach. Chandin beckoned them to help and two rail-thin men waded out to the boat. Chandin and Ajith lowered the woman over the side into the water into the men’s arms. They carried her to the beach and set her alongside a small skiff that had been pulled up there, then ran back out for the man.

“This one’s heavy,” Chandin said, and he and Ajith half lowered, half dropped the man into the water, where the two fishermen struggled to keep him upright, dragging him by his armpits up next to the woman. Ajith followed, carrying the diving fins.

“Who are they?”

“Where did they come from?”

“What will you do with them?” The crowd had grown around the couple slumped on the sand, passed out.

Chandin raised his hands to the group and calmly said, “They are in a bad way. If a few of you will kindly help, we will take them to our house, give them something to eat and drink, and let them sleep. Then we will see how to get them home.”

The Kindness of Strangers

Pottuvil, Sri Lanka. That evening.

Tusker awoke to the smell of food. It was both incredibly appetizing and revolting. Pungent fish, oil, spices. Nearby, he could hear the clanging of a spoon in a pan, something frying.

Where was he? His eyes adjusted to the dark, and he lifted his head to look around. He was lying on a low bed in a small room. It was almost completely unadorned, with whitewashed walls and a single high window with flimsy curtains. Across from him, against the wall, was a table with a small statue on it. He recognized it as the Hindu god, Ganesha, with its distinctive elephant’s head. Sticks of incense stood unlit around it and a garland of flowers was draped over the back of the makeshift shrine.

Next to him, he heard a groan. Sam was lying on an identical bed across from his. She stirred and rolled over. “Where are we?” she whispered. Tusker sat up and reached across to her. He stroked her hair.

“I don’t know, but we’re alive,” he said. “I’ve got a pounding headache. Must be dehydration.” A bottle of water sat on the floor between the beds and he reached for it.