The wise and wondrous weight of words

The wallet was brown, weathered, undistinguished. It held insufficient currency notes, a tattered phone diary, a dried flower (who gave it to me, I can’t remember) but also words. They were printed on a piece of A4 paper, folded and faded and tucked into a compartment.

I lived then in India and what was on the paper had occurred in Washington. In January 1982, a plane had crashed and fallen into the freezing Potomac River. Only a few people survived the tragedy, yet a remarkable act took place in the water. Rescue was difficult till a helicopter appeared and a flotation ring was dropped to the survivors. Incredibly, one man kept passing the lifeline to the next person. And then to another. Again and again.