Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
Rupert pointed to Grease, and said to Moff: “Hey, that’s the guy
who asked me back there to show him my card trick. What’s he do­
ing here?”
“Can’t be the same guy,” Moff said.
“Why not?”
“Because that guy was there, and this guy is here.”
“Well, we were there, and now we’re here.”
Rupert waved his arm back and forth in the truck driver’s direc­
tion. When Grease saw him, he waved back tentatively.
“See?” Moff said. “Not the same guy.”
Black Spot returned to the tourists. “Now we are climbing into the
truck, we are going to a very special place. Up there. Very nice peo­
ple.” He pointed toward the mountain.
“Cool,” Wyatt said. “I love to see how people really live.”
“Me, too,” Vera agreed. “Real life.”
“Is that where we’re having lunch?” Rupert said.
“Yes, we are fooding there,” Black Spot said. “Very special lunch
we are making for you.”
My friends peered in. The truck’s sides were made of broad timber
planks, and over the top was suspended a dark rubberized tarp to
provide, they supposed, protection from sun and rain. Both sides of
the truck bed were lined with wicker benches, dented in spots, and in
the middle of the floor were two monstrous twelve-volt batteries, a
funny long contraption into which one of the batteries was set, and
baskets and knotted-rope slings of food supplies.
“There aren’t any seat belts,” Heidi observed.
“There aren’t any seats!” Vera grumped with a disparaging look at
the low benches.
“We’re probably not going that far,” Wyatt said.
“I’m sure Bibi wouldn’t have picked something that wasn’t both
interesting and safe,” Vera said. Heidi was standing at the back of
the truck, and she listened intently to assess what she was getting
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