Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
Mangshi. She was holding a sign: “Welcome Bibi Chen Group.” I
was delighted to see this, but it certainly took my friends aback. Ben­
nie quickly introduced himself as the tour leader taking my place.
“Oh, Miss Bibi is not able to come?” Miss Kong inquired.
“Not able,” Bennie confirmed, and hoped the others had not
heard this exchange. If the tourism office here was unaware that the
original organizer of this trip was dead, what else had they neglected
to note?
The guide faced the group: “My name is Kong Xiang-lu. You may
call me Xiao Kong or Miss Kong,” she said. “Or if you prefer, my
American nickname is Lulu. Again, nickname is Lulu. Can you say
this?” She paused to hear the correct answer.
“Lulu,” everyone mumbled.
“Sorry?” Lulu cupped her ear.
“Lulu!” they filled in with more enthusiasm.
“Very good. When you need something, you just shout Lulu.” She
said it again, in a singing voice: “Luuu-lu!”
Privately, as they walked toward the bus, Lulu told Bennie, “I saw
report of your difficulties at Stone Bell Temple.”
Bennie became flustered. “We didn’t mean—that is, we had no
idea...”
She held up her hand like the Buddha asking for meditative si­
lence. “No idea, no worries.” Bennie noted that everyone in China
who spoke any English was saying that phrase, “No worries.” Some
Aussies must have come through, all of them solicitously murmuring
“No worries” at every turn. Lost your luggage? No worries! Your
room’s crawling with fleas? No worries!
Bennie wanted to believe that Lulu’s declaration of “No worries”
was genuine, that she had solved all their problems. He had been
hoping for a sign that their luck had turned, and by the minute he felt
she was presenting it. She offered a clear plan, knew all the routines,
and could speak the same dialect as the driver.
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