Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
“You don’t want to get caught,” Marlena said, and Esmé replied in
her blandest voice, “Tell me about it.”
“Wawa, promise-promise me you won’t leave the room. Promise?”
Esmé sighed heavily. “Quit it, Mom. I’m not a wawa anymore. I
know what to do. You don’t have to tell me.” She kept her eyes fo­
cused on the puppy. “Come on, Pup-pup, eat something. It’s good for
you....”
Marlena left reluctantly. In the lobby, Lulu roused her charges like
a cheerleader. “Is everybody hungry?”
“Hungry,” they said in unison, then made for the door.
As the bus took off, Lulu switched on the microphone. “I already
telling you we call this town Ruili, yes, Ruili. But also is known as
Shweli in Burmese, Shweli.” Several people turned to their seatmates
and said in a monotone, “Shweli.”
“To Dai people, Ruili means ‘foggy.’”
“Foggy,” the passengers echoed mindlessly.
“But some say this can mean ‘heavy mist’...”
“Mist.”
“. . . or ‘fine drizzle.’”
“Jizzle,” they said, imitating her pronunciation.
“This misty drizzle sometimes will fall in only one small location—
one block, one building—but across street it is dry, not one wet spot.
Very unusual, you agree?”
“Agree.”
“Some local people make joke and say maybe this is urine from
airplane passing by.” She pointed upward.
And her guests looked at the sky, contemplating this possibility. In
China, many notions previously thought to be impossible could not
be so easily dismissed. Lulu laughed. “Joke! We only make joke.”
Lulu instructed the driver to go through the “city center,” to give
the tourists a quick idea of what downtown Ruili had to offer. She
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