Free Insane City by Dave Barry

his knees and carefully laid her on her back on the
    sand. She was still clasping the baby to her chest. The boy crouched next to her, tugging at her dress,
    pleading in what sounded to Seth like French. The woman did not respond. The boy’s tone became more
    urgent, his words rising to a wail. Seth’s still-foggy brain raced to remember something, anything , about
    first aid for drowning victims.
    Blow into her mouth.
    Seth leaned close to the woman’s face. In the early-morning light, her lips were a ghastly gray.
    Pinch her nostrils shut.
    Hesitantly, he put his hand on her nose and squeezed it. He put his mouth on hers. Her skin was cold.
    She’s dead.
    He blew into her mouth, pulled his mouth away, waited a second, blew into her mouth again.
    You don’t know what you’re doing. She’s dead.
    The boy was sobbing now, gripping the woman’s dress with both hands.
    Seth inhaled, blew into the woman’s mouth again, paused.
    He heard a moan. But not from the mother. From the baby.
    The boy heard it, too. Quickly he snatched the baby, untangling it from the woman’s arms. The baby
    started crying, its high-pitched squalls mingling with the boy’s sobs.
    Seth inhaled and leaned down to the woman again, putting his lips on hers, blowing his breath into
    her.
    He felt her move, heard her make a retching sound. He pulled his head back as she jerked violently
    and vomited water, an astonishing quantity. The boy, still holding the baby, started shouting. The woman
    rolled on her side, vomited even more water. Her eyes opened. She looked at Seth, her expression fearful.
    “It’s OK,” said Seth. “It’s OK.”
    The woman looked around frantically. Her eyes fell on the boy and the baby. With a wail she
    reached for them, grabbing the boy, pulling him and the baby close, the three of them crying, two of them
    out of joy.
    Seth watched for a few moments, then touched the woman’s arm. She looked at him warily.
    “I’ll go get you some help,” he said. “Stay here. I’ll be right back, OK?”
    The woman’s expression was uncomprehending. Seth stood and made a Stay here gesture. He rose
    and ran up the beach toward the walkway. Ahead, up on the lawn, he saw a hotel maintenance worker
    holding a rake.
    “Hey!” Seth yelled.
    The man looked his way.
    “I need help!” Seth shouted. “Some people almost drowned!”
    The man dropped his rake and trotted toward Seth.
    “Over here,” said Seth, leading the man down the beach.
    The woman was still holding the boy and the baby. She was still crying but calmer now, trying to
    quiet the baby. She looked up as Seth and the worker approached. Her eyes focused on the worker, whose
    skin, like hers, was dark.
    He said something to her, not in English. She answered in a flood of words, interrupted by choking
    sobs. The man said something else; another long answer.
    “What’d she say?” said Seth.
    “She is from Haiti,” said the man, pronouncing it A -tee. “She is looking for her sister.”
    “OK,” said Seth, “but maybe we need to get her to a hospital?”
    The man studied Seth for a few seconds, then said, “She does not want to go to the hospital.”
    “Why not? They can help her.”
    “Yes, they can help her, and then she will have to go back to Haiti.”
    Seth looked out at the pathetic little boat rolling in the surf upside down.
    “Oh,” he said.
    “Yes,” said the man.
    “Then what does she want to do?” said Seth.
    The man talked with the woman again.
    “She wants to find her sister,” he said. “Her sister lives here, in Miami.”
    “Where?”
    “She doesn’t know the address. She had it on a paper in her pocket, but she lost that in the sea. She
    was supposed to meet her sister, but the men who were supposed to bring her here did not take her to the
    meeting place. They just put her in that boat.”
    “Can we call the sister?”
    “She doesn’t have a phone.”
    “Then how can she find her?”
    “She told me her sister’s name. When I