Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
The man laughed slightly. “Oh no, not dollars. CD.”
Certificate of deposit? Bennie was surprised at how sophisticated
the bribes had to be in this wayward part of Asia. Don’t panic, he
told himself. You’ll figure it out. He could call his broker back home.
Then again, maybe this Walter guy would take more money instead of
certificates. “And how much in CDs was it again?” Bennie squeezed his
eyes shut in preparation for hearing the answer.
“Oh, this is most embarrassing to even mention,” Walter said.
“It’s just that Miss Chen told me yesterday she would be bringing me
a CD, and I was quite excited to hear that it would be the musical
Phantom of the Opera.”
Bennie nearly wept. Compact disc.
“And I have brought her one with Burmese dance music, which
I hope she will like, that is, that she would have liked, if indeed she
has died.”
“Ten CDs,” Bennie suggested. “How does that sound?”
“Oh no, no! Really, that is far too many. The Phantom is quite
enough, I think. That is what Miss Chen said she was bringing. Ten
is, well, it is awfully considerate of you to even suggest it. Western
music is terribly hard to come by.”
“Ten it is,” Bennie said firmly. “I insist. It is, after all, Christmas.”
Walter said he would make the necessary phone call right away. He
would meet Bennie at the border.
After they hung up, Bennie thrust his hands deep into his luggage
to drag out the CDs he had brought. He flipped through a stack en­
cased in vinyl sleeves: There it was: The Phantom of the Opera.
What luck that he happened to have that exact one. And how about
these? Diana Krall. Sarah Vaughan. Gladys Knight. He would cull a
larger variety from the others, Dwight, Harry, Moff. They should
contribute something. They got themselves into this fix. In fact, if
Walter was delighted with ten, what would he do for twenty? He’d
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