Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
able to keep down a bit of nourishment. But now their San Francis­
can palates were being restored and they yearned for foods with
more variety. They did not complain to their jungle hosts—that
would have been ungracious—but among themselves they lamented
the thrice-daily offerings of rice and the deplorable fermented sauces
and dried creatures. They figured the tribe had an underground
larder where food supplies rotted to the precise degree of slimy nas­
tiness. They were grateful, however, that there was plenty of food. As
they ate, birds cried to one another, shaking the leaves as they flut­
tered about to claim a branch above potential food droppings. The
branch above Bennie made for the best territory, since he often
spilled things.
Loot and Bootie were hunched at the edge of the camp smoking
cheroots, and the old grandmothers who had given wormwood tea
to the sick were happy to see their foreign friends heartily eating the
meal they had prepared with American tastes in mind. They kept an
eye on the Younger White Brother, who was seated in front of them.
“I wish we had something different to eat for a change,” Bootie
heard Rupert grumble.
“Like what?” Esmé said.
“Top Ramen,” he said.
“We don’t have noodles.”
“Then I wish we had noodles.”
A few minutes later, Bootie told Black Spot what the Younger
White Brother had said. He nodded. He was on his way into town to
get more supplies, the fermented fish and spices the grandmothers
had asked for, betel-nut leaves, and cheroots. He would find noodles.
“THIS IS REALLY WEIRD,” Rupert said that night at dinner. “I was
just thinking about noodles, and here they are.”
It was probably one of the tribe’s staples, the others guessed,
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