Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
backs of Salt and Fishbones and hooted. “These people sure are
friendly with those guys,” Bennie remarked. “Walter must take
people up here a lot.” My compatriots were disappointed to think
that the formerly “rare opportunity” might be a common tourist
destination.
“What tribe are they?” Vera asked Black Spot.
“They are Karen,” he said. “All good people. The Karen are the
original people of Burma. Before there are Bamar or others tribe
coming to Burma, the Karen people are already here.”
“Kah-REN,” Roxanne repeated.
“You like Karen people?” Black Spot asked with a grin.
“They’re great,” she said, and this was followed by a chorus from
my friends, affirming the same opinion about a people they as yet
knew little about.
“Good. Because I am Karen, too.” Black Spot pointed to the other
boatmen. “They are Karen, too. Same. Our families are living here in
No Name Place.”
“No wonder you knew the way up here so well,” Bennie said.
“Yes, yes,” Black Spot said. “Now you are knowing this.”
A few of my friends suspected that Walter and Black Spot had a
deal going on under the table. But if they did, what did it matter?
This was an interesting place.
With a throng of Karen people trailing behind them, my friends
came into a larger clearing, an area about fifty feet in diameter. Above,
the sky was barely visible through the overlapping tree canopies. The
campsite was partially covered with mats. Close to the center was a
stove made of stacked rocks, with a maw for feeding wood. Flanking
that were teak logs used as tables, on top of which were assorted
bowls of food. The surprise Christmas lunch. Fantastic.
They glanced about. At the edges were rounded huts the size of
children’s tree houses. Upon closer inspection, my friends saw that
they were tree houses, each the hollow of a tree base just large
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