Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
warning? Wendy tugged on Wyatt’s shirt. “I want to follow that
woman.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to tell me something. She needs help.” The woman
was now receding into the crowd, slipping away, disappearing. “Come
on,” Wendy said, and she maneuvered her way into the crowd, while
the rest of the travelers pushed toward the food tent.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Harry said aloud to Marlena. “We’re just a few
miles in and the national dress is completely different.” He gestured
to a man riding by on a bicycle. “I can’t figure out how those chaps
keep their skirts from falling off.”
“The Scots wear skirts,” Marlena said. “I also heard they wear no
underwear.”
“Did I ever you tell I’m half Scot?”
Marlena gave him a half-frown, half-smile. Esmé was nearby.
At an open-air stall, two women squatted atop reams of cloth,
beckoning to the tourist ladies. As soon as Roxanne and Heidi
glanced their way, the older of the women began quickly to unwind
a bolt of cloth, brushing her fingertips across the weave. Vera went
over immediately and admired the purple and deep burgundy, the in­
tricate patterns in gold and silver. The younger seller tossed down
more bolts to the older seller, who unwound them. “Pretty, yes, so
pretty,” Vera said, and nodded. “Pity-pity, so pity,” the Burmese woman
tried to repeat.
More and more bolts of cloth tumbled open, and Roxanne, who
stood beside Vera, fingered a hand-loomed cotton gingham, deep
blue with an iridescent sheen. “One thousand?” she said, reading a
scrap of paper on which the seller had scribbled. She turned around
and said: “Dwight, honey, how much is a thousand kyats?”
“Less than three dollars.” He was standing five feet away, behind
other women who were leaning in to inspect the wares.
“Wow. For one yard of cloth like this?” Roxanne said.
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