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in the gentle breeze. The curtain felt like leather, or at least a waterproofed material of some type, almost the same consistency of suede or the chamois his father had him use to dry the family automobile. Motioning slowly, the American pointed to the knife that hung on one of the younger men’s belt. It had a wooden handle and a razor thin, long, sharp blade. With his other hand, he pointed to the curtain at the opening of the shelter. He held his hand out for the knife. After the older man nodded, the younger one handed the knife to Byrnes, handle first.
    While the men watched, Byrnes first poured the entire contents of the nearly empty gas can into the half-full can. Using the knife, Byrnes carved a large square of the leather from the bottom of the curtain. He grabbed one of the fishnets on a short bamboo pole. Fashioning a pouch from the leather-like material, he pushed the piece of curtain into the fishnet. Leaning over the side of the sampan, Byrnes dipped the pouch into the ocean. As he suspected, the covering was waterproof. A puddle of seawater remained in the pouch.
    After dumping the seawater back into the ocean, Byrnes wrung the pouch as dry as possible. Changing his mind about using the original square and net, he laid them on the deck and cut another large square from the curtain. He fashioned another pouch in a second fishnet and pantomimed pouring a small amount of gasoline from the half-full can into the pouch. The old man nodded, and one of the young men  poured several ounces of gasoline onto the leather. Byrnes squeezed the piece of curtain, forcing gasoline through it. The fuel dripped from the outside of the pouch. He wrung the pouch again between his sunburned hands. When he was convinced the gasoline had soaked through the material and not dissolved it, he nodded. The young man filled the pouch again, while Byrnes held the pole so the pouch hung over the large opening in the empty gas can. From the underside of the material, gasoline dripped into the can.
    Byrnes held the can between his legs. When the leather cup was full, he yelled, “Stop!” The startled man stopped pouring. The contaminated liquid in the leather pouch drained slowly into the gasoline can, all except a small amount of water. Byrnes tossed the water over the side and, after repositioning the pouch over the can, he nodded, imploring the man to pour more contaminated gasoline into the pouch. Pouch full again, he yelled, “Stop!”
    “Dung lai,” the old man said then and each time the pouch filled. Once they finished filtering the contaminated fuel, Byrnes pointed to the fuel tank on the outboard. The two young men lifted the engine from its mount and poured the gasoline from the tank into Byrnes’s jerry-rigged filter. Then they tightened the engine back onto the stern of the small boat using the two clamp bracket screws that held it in place.
    Byrnes pointed to the spark plug. He made a motion of unscrewing it and pulling it out, thinking it might have been fouled with oil when the men turned the engine over. The old man went into the shelter and returned with a spark plug wrench. Carefully, he unscrewed the sparkplug and handed it to Byrnes. The American inspected the plug. He dried it with his now dry T-shirt, noting there was no oil on it. Using the younger man’s knife, he scraped gently at the ground and center electrodes until they appeared silver instead of black. He handed the spark plug back to the old man, who reinserted it into the engine and tightened it in place.
    Under the direction of the old man, one of the younger men set the choke and yanked on the starter cord. Nothing happened, except a brief clap from the engine that Byrnes thought promising. The man pulled the rope again. The engine sputtered, ran for thirty seconds longer than it had before and quit. Impatient the old man stepped forward. He repositioned the choke to half open and pulled the rope himself. Byrnes saw the sinews in the old man’s