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emergency rations stored in the lifeboat. They had their foul-weather clothes in addition to their life jackets. Bethany pulled wreckage from the water and made a primitive lean-to that protected them from the sun. She had no idea of their location, but she knew mostly open water lay to the west whereas if she headed east, she couldn’t fail to miss the coastline of the United States or Mexico. The trick was to get there. So she used her foul-weather coat to rig a sail, and she used more wreckage to make a rudder, and when the wind didn’t cooperate, she rowed. Tell your acquaintances about how you handled the emergency rations, Bethany.”
    Bethany’s cheeks reddened with embarrassment.
    “Don’t be modest,” the voice said. “This is the time for everybody to get to know one another. Tell them about the rations.”
    “Well, I . . . ”
    “Do it,” the voice emphasized. “Tell them.”
    “I’ve never been much of an eater.”
    “That’s an understatement. You’re anorexic, Bethany.”
    “Damn you!”
    “No secrets,” the voice said.
    “All right,” she yelled. “I’m anorexic. So what? I was fat when I was a kid. People mocked me, and my mother never stopped nagging about my weight. Food makes me sick to look at it. In that damned rubber boat, I told myself, ‘Hey, it’s no big deal about the rations. I hardly ever eat anyhow.’ So I divided the food into daily amounts, and I gave the little girl most of it. I needed to be awfully lightheaded before I allowed myself to eat.”
    “Now tell them about the water.”
    Bethany stared at her hands.
    “Don’t be modest.”
    Bethany stayed quiet.
    “Very well,” the voice said. “I’ll do the honors. When the meager supply of water was gone, they faced a bigger emergency than the dwindling food supply. A person can survive three weeks without food but only three days without water. Bethany and the little girl had plenty of water around them, of course, but the salt content would eventually have killed them. Their only hope was rain, but the sun blazed relentlessly. Bethany deflated her life jacket and tied it over her head as a sunguard while the little girl lay under the shelter Bethany had rigged. At last, Bethany didn’t have the strength to row. The meager sail provided their only momentum. They drifted for two weeks before a container ship en route to Los Angeles noticed them. But how did you survive that long, Bethany? How did you solve the water problem?”
    “You know so much about this. Why don’t you tell them?”
    “I’m sure they’d rather hear it from you.”
    Bethany studied the group and sounded exhausted, as if suffering the ordeal yet again. “I used the little girl’s foul-weather coat to make a soft pail. I put seawater in it. Then I covered the pail with her deflated life jacket. I held the edges tight with my hands. God, it hurt. After doing that all day, my hands ached so bad, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep the seal tight.”
    “And why was a tight seal important?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Because it gives you nightmares, Bethany? But talking might help. Think of this as therapy.”
    “Who the hell are you?”
    “Someone with the power to let you out of this building. Why was a tight seal important?”
    Bethany murmured something.
    “Say it so the others can hear you, Bethany. You can see they’re interested.”
    “Evaporation.”
    “Yes.”
    Bethany exhaled audibly. “The heat of the sun on the pail and the life jacket caused vapor to rise from the sea water. The vapor collected on the underside of the life jacket, where it was wrapped over the pail. I waited a long time. Then I eased the jacket away. There were usually about ten drops of water clinging to the underside. I had to be gentle turning it, or else the drops would fall. The point is, the collected vapor didn’t have salt in it. The little girl and I took turns licking the drops. I can still feel the rough surface of the