Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
remained undigested, thanks to the Zanthoxylum berries of the pre­
vious night’s dinner, which had anesthetized his gut into stasis. I
shall not describe what those contents were, save to say they included
many colorful things, which the piglets sought out and squabbled
over and devoured.
A minute later, Dwight felt slightly less doomed. Death had passed
him by. Five minutes later, he was able to stand up weakly. But he was
a changed man. He felt defeated, all his bravado gone. Once again
he was the boy who had been beaten up by the neighborhood kids,
had the wind knocked out of him by a punch to his stomach, then
another, and another.
“Dwight, honey?” Roxanne was asking quietly. “We’re going back
to the bus. Can you walk by yourself?”
He looked up and shook his head, unable to speak. “Can we get a
cart?” he heard Vera asking someone.
“No worries, I ask right now,” Lulu answered.
Vera added, “We can pay. Here. See if this is enough.” This was her
forte, taking charge in a crisis.
Lulu started shouting to the owners of the house, who shouted
back cooperatively with numerous suggestions and, at first, refusals
of any compensation. An honorary gift for the deceased? Oh, in that
case, it would be too polite, too good to be true.
Soon a two-wheeled cart was brought over, pulled by the water
buffalo that had allowed the sword-fighting boys to jump on its
back. Dwight nearly wept with gratitude. Harry and Moff kindly
helped lift him. Roxanne’s face was drawn into motherly concern,
and she stroked his brow. She still loved him. He wanted to weep.
The wonder of love had never felt stronger.
As the foreigners left the village, the members of the household
thanked their dead matriarch for bringing them such good luck: ten
U.S. dollars, and for nothing more than taking the cart down to the
end of the road. Happiness for all.
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