Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
Moff, Harry, Rupert, and Dwight sprinted up the road, crouching
slightly in a protective posture. Roxanne, Wyatt, and Wendy fol­
lowed. Adrenaline sharpened their eyesight, and heightened their
hearing. They were on a mission.
“Come back!” Heidi shouted, a futile request.
“No worries,” Lulu said. “That sound, it is only pig not people.”
“My God, what’s happening to it?”
“Getting ready for a dinner,” Lulu answered. She drew a finger
across her throat. “Zzz.”
“Gross. People can be so mean and they don’t even know it,” Esmé
said. She patted the puppy in the sling.
The group continued walking to the top of the hill. The screams
had subsided into bleating. The pig’s voice grew weaker, softer. Then
it stopped. Heidi felt sick. Death had come.
At the fork in the path, they took the route that was more narrow,
believing it would lead to something less seen and more special. To
Bennie, the village looked like rural Appalachia. It was a cluster of
small hills, winding up-and-down paths that would accommodate
slim-hipped people walking in single file. Two or three houses clung
to each hill, and around each compound were gardens and animal
pens. Smoke from coal fires rose, as did gnats, muddying the air.
Along the steeper inclines were steps fashioned out of a chunk of
rock or a slim sheath of wood, just wide enough to accommodate a
foot. Upright sticks had been pounded into the sides of the path to
allow passersby to gain footing as they traversed this thoroughfare
on rainy, muddy days.
They came to a pen that contained enormous pigs with coarse
hair. As the visitors approached, the pigs wagged their tails and
snorted. Outside the pen, pink piglets roamed freely like pet dogs,
seeking handouts from barefooted girls of nine or ten, who carried in
one arm their bare-bottomed siblings. “Run, run,” Heidi whispered
to the piglets. “You’re doomed.”
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