Papa hooked another, and another, and another. One, two, three, four! There! A bunch landed with a loud thud, shaking the ground.

Papa smiled and placed the fruits in two separate baskets attached to a long bamboo. He balanced the bamboo across his shoulders and headed to the drop-off site. As he approached, I watched from behind some shrubs. He jogged right past me, panting. Hem! Hem! Hem! The ground shook after him.

“Papa,” I whispered.

When Papa returned, he gathered his tools and waded across a stream to the next row.

“Wait up, Papa,” I called.

He scratched his head. “Berdu?”

“Uh, hu.”

“You could get hurt.”

Sweat glided down his face.