The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2004

48 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 4 F O C U S swim inGulshan Lake will eat anything. And it’s going to get hotter.” When they were all in line, the Swiss ambassador fired a starting gun. Birds flew off in all directions, flapping their wings and distracting the paddlers for a second or two. “Damn. C’mon, let’s go!” shouted Jerry. They began paddling wildly, out of rhythm with each other, splashing water everywhere. ‘Synchronize!” Stan shouted. “One. Two. Stroke. Lift. Stroke. Lift.” They got into rhythm and soon reached the middle of the pack. The crowd was cheering. Horns were blaring. Street kids were jumping into the water to swim after the boats. Suddenly their boat took a hard knock from the silver foil boat. What were they? Navy Seals? The banana boat start- ed rocking, jostled by the pushes of silver foil paddles. “Brutes!” Loretta shouted. “Get away!” She pushed with her own paddle and the nose of the silver boat changed direction. Stan gave it a shove from the rear and it headed into the Samurais. The bananas took a few minutes to regain their rhythm, but soon found their boat heading right for the Vikings. “Watch out!” Loretta shouted from the helm as the two boats collided. She toppled backward, out of reach of the hairy arms of a Viking hulk. Hameed stood up to defend her, possibly his future wife. It started their boat rocking wildly. “Sit down!” Stan shouted to him as they struck the Vikings again. “Paddle! Keep paddling!” The Vikings pulled ahead. “Catch them! Paddle!” Hameed was sweating. The yellow costume stuck to him. Another boat was coming alongside. The International School scholars were almost abreast. They started splashing water into the bananas’ boat. The bananas splashed back. Paddles were flying. Everyone was shouting. He laughed with the exhilaration of it, the incongruity of him, a studious economics professor temporarily turned aid worker, participating in such a nutty adventure. It made him feel very American. The International School boat crashed into the bananas. He saw, under a mortarboard cap with a crimson tassel, the face of a beautiful girl. Her eyes were large and black, her cheeks wet and rosy. She was laughing. She was a Bangladeshi. Hameed stopped splashing and stared at her. “Take that!” she shouted, and threw a full paddle of water into his face. “Ha!” She thumped her paddle against his side of the boat. Her teammates did the same, rocking it dangerously close to the water line. “Teachers, beware!” Stan thrust his paddle at the last man in the teachers’ boat, forcing him off the other side. One of his mates grabbed the oar and pushed back at Stan. Rather than abandon the boat, Stan let it be pushed so hard that water rushed in. “Lean forward!” Stan shouted as he tumbled backward and out of the boat. Hameed, Jerry and Loretta leaned toward the teachers’ boat. This brought Hameed within inches of the lovely Bangladeshi girl. The dream girl pulled his hat off and threw it overboard. She looked startled by her own boldness. He reached for her arm, to pull her into his boat. She resisted, grabbing his hand instead. Who is she? He looked at Loretta and Jerry. They were grinning. At that moment, the two boats started to tip toward each other, nudged by the frogmen, already in the water with their snorkels and fins. Hands clasped, Hameed and the dream girl fell into the water together. Her mortarboard floated away. Treading water, he shook the hair fromhis eyes and sput- tered, “Who are you?” She flipped onto her back and looked toward the sky. “I’m from Texas, but I’m teaching at the International School for a while.” Her accent was faint, similar to his. He followed her gaze. The pale blue sky was dusted with wispy clouds and black birds soaring on wind cur- rents. Judging from the sounds of laughter, splashing water and distant cheers, the race went on without them. She raised her head and turned to look at him while still floating on her back in the chocolaty water. Her gown clung to her. “My name’s Suraya. And who are you?” Beads of water sparkled in her hair. “I’m Hameed, from Tennessee.” She flipped upright to tread water and looked at him closely, taking his measure. He blinked once, then again, and ran a hand through his hair. “Is your family name Rahman?” She smiled and her eyes glowed. “Yes. I think we’re hav- ing tea this afternoon.” He took her hand and felt the warmth. “Shall we swim to shore together?”