Perusina, Perusino, and Franz in Sauce

Franz was the first to notice.

Not because he was particularly early. Franz was never particularly early. He had just accidentally rolled off the jetty because Perusino had been juggling a mango at breakfast.

"That was on purpose," Perusino said.

"The mango?" Perusina asked.

Franz dripped onto the wooden planks of Laguna Azul and shook himself. "I'd like to report: the lake tastes funny."

Perusina knelt at the edge. Before them lay the lagoon of Sauce. It was supposed to gleam blue. So blue that the sky could live in it. But today, a grey-green streak stretched across the water, as if someone had painted into it with a dirty brush.

On the shore, children were collecting small wooden fish for a festival. Each wooden fish belonged to a boat. The cleanest boat was to receive the blue fish in the afternoon. But the most important wooden fish was gone: a small, bright blue one, with silver dots.

"The winner fish is gone!" a boy cried.

Perusino put the mango down. "That sounds like a case."

Franz sneezed. "And like lake water in my nose."

Perusina pointed to the grey-green streak. "They're connected."

They walked along the shore. Between reeds and boats lay plastic cups, a torn bag, and a thin, shiny trail on the water.

Perusina fished out a piece of packaging with a stick. It was sticky. Not like mud. More like oil.

"Who does something like that?" Perusino asked.

Then a boat creaked behind them.

The boy from the festival jumped in. "I'll look for the fish out on the water!"

"Wait!" Perusina called.

Too late. The boat pushed off from the jetty and drifted out.

Perusino looked at Perusina. Perusina looked at Perusino. Franz looked at the mango.

"Not the mango," Perusina said.

A minute later, all three were in a second boat. Perusino rowed left, Perusina right, Franz sat in front like a very wet captain.

The wind pushed them across the lagoon. The water gurgled against the hull. The grey-green streak widened. Small bubbles rose.

"Up ahead!" Perusino cried.

Something blue hung between two floating plants. Perusina leaned forward and pulled out the wooden fish. It was smeared.

Franz sniffed. "Fish. Paint. Gasoline. And... fried food?"

"Gasoline?" the boy in the other boat asked.

Then an old engine hummed on the shore.

A man stood next to a small campsite. There were canisters, nets, broken life jackets, and garbage bags. A boat engine idled, though no one was in it.

Next to the engine, something dark dripped into a shallow puddle. From there, it flowed over the ground towards the lagoon.

Perusina became completely silent.

"That's not a magic trail," she said. "That's dirt."

They rowed to the shore. The man was startled when he saw them. "I was going to clean that up later."

"Later is too late," Perusina said.

Perusino jumped out of the boat, slipped in the mud, and landed on his bottom. "I was going to do that later too."

Franz stood in front of the engine and growled as seriously as a little fox could growl.

The man looked at the puddle, then at the lagoon. Children from the festival came running. Two fishermen followed them. A woman brought a bucket of sand, another man a shovel. Together, they stopped the drip, put sand around the puddle, and collected cups, bags, and packaging from the shore.

The boy held up the smeared wooden fish. "What about the competition?"

Perusina took a leaf and carefully wiped the fish. The blue reappeared. Not perfect. But visible.

"Today, the cleanest boat doesn't win," she said. "Today, the boat that helps with the cleanup wins."

In the afternoon, all the boats slowly traveled across Laguna Azul. Not as a race. As a search party. Children collected trash from the reeds. Fishermen showed where not to dock. The man with the engine apologized and brought a canister with a tight lid.

As the sun set lower, the lagoon turned blue again. Not everywhere. But enough for the sky to cautiously reflect in it.

Franz lay on the jetty, drying.

Perusino held up the mango. "To celebrate, I won't juggle."

"Very good," Perusina said.

The mango rolled off anyway.

Franz opened an eye. "If it falls into the lake, you'll handle it without me."