Back in the storm: the helicopter carrying Krugman and the tons of cash is buffeted by the wind, rain and lightning. Struggle as he might, the pilot begins to lose control; lower and lower they go toward the crashing waves. Sensing a catastrophe the pilot sends his second in command to begin dumping the heavy cargo despite the Chairman’s direct orders. With the door opened, he begins rolling the barrels into the ocean. The craft perceptively begins to gain altitude with each splash.
Sensing the change in pressure from the opening of the door, Krugman goes to the cargo bay still wearing the orange life preserver he put on at takeoff (long before any threat of weather). Seeing the copilot dumping the millions of dollars of cash into the ocean, adrenaline pumping, Krugman yells and lunges trying to save the final few barrels of urgent fiscal stimulus. As his luck would have it, just as he begins his rush the helicopter hits an especially nasty patch of turbulence. His feet no longer anywhere near the floor of the chopper, Krugman hits the ceiling and literally flies cleanly out the open door with the last of the containers into the howling hurricane.
In shock, but not that long, as the helicopter was mere feet above the waves, Krugman slams into the cold ocean water. Salt water fills his mouth as a massive wave crashes over his head. Certain he is about to die, Krugman takes solace in the fact that he was doing his best to help the masses as his life flashes before his eyes. In another instant his face is flattened by the hard black sand of Banga Banga and his consciousness leaves.
Miraculously the economist is tossed by a second wave high onto the shore to safety.
The next morning is perfect, sunny and still, as if there had never been a cloud in the sky. The Bangans are combing the beach for anything useful that might have washed up in the storm (honestly they are mostly looking for shark’s teeth). Though they missed the motionless banker on the way out, he is spotted by a young boy an hour or so later on the way back to the village.
The older Bangans are sure that the man is dead. He awakens in short order, prompted mainly by the rough manner in which his shoes (a novelty for the Bangans) are removed. A disappointed middle aged fisherman reluctantly gives the cursing and sputtering castaway his $1000 loafers back.
The first few days are very comfortable for Krugman. He is catered to and is left to rest. The sushi he is offered is not Tokyo, or even New York, worthy but filling and tasty nonetheless. After a week of recuperating and demonstrating that he is healthy the food service comes to a slow halt. Having nearly mastered the Banga language, he asks a few of the natives why he is no longer being given food. The answer he gets back is that since he is now healthy he must work. He explains in his best Banga accent that he doesn’t know anything about fishing or farming. Eventually, and quite grudgingly, he finds work as a rice farmer. Tired after his daily work, though no longer desperately hungry, he begins to be resigned to this new life of poverty.
Upon the full moon the Bangas have a tribal meeting (which he loosely translates as ‘Shark Lagoon or perhaps ‘Tank’). Krugman is invited and out of sheer boredom he goes. In this meeting there is a panel of older chieftans being presented with investment opportunities. As the Bangans have simple tastes and a working cash economy, they have some small savings that need to be allocated between the local industries.
He sees these half naked islanders are more sophisticated than he gave them credit for.
At the next meeting Krugman makes his own presentation and suggests that the way to a richer life is for the sharks to loan more money at lower rates.
They ignore his advice not wanting to take unnecessary risks with their hard earned money.
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