Adam Johnson - The Orphan Master's Son

They came to three easels surrounded by musicians in tuxedos. And here in his tuxedo stood Dak-Ho, the state movie producer. Because of his resonant tenor’s voice, he’d performed the voice-overs on all her movies. Dak-Ho removed the linen from the first easel, and here was the lobby card for Sun Moon’s next movie. It depicted a ravishing Sun Moon, barely contained in her uniform, wrapped in the embrace of a naval officer, the two of them shrouded by a halo of torpedoes. But surprise, citizens, the officer she embraces wears a South Korean uniform!

“ The Demon Fleet ,” Dak-Ho announced, his voice robust and deep.

The orchestra began playing a theme for the movie-to-be that was tense and brooding.

“In a world of danger and intrigue,” Dak-Ho continued, “one woman will discover that a pure heart is the only weapon that can repel the imperialist menace. The sole survivor of an illegal South Korean assault on her submarine, Sun Moon is ‘rescued’ by her sneak-attacker’s gunship. As a captive of the dashing ROK captain, she is pressed to reveal the defenses of the DPRK fleet. Slowly, however, she begins showing her handsome captor how he is actually the imprisoned one—jailed by the manipulations of the American regime. In the stunning climax, he turns his guns toward the real enemy.”

The Dear Leader smiled broadly. “The submarine we’ll use for the opening scenes is already moored in the Taedong,” he said. “And as we speak, there’s an entire naval detachment in the disputed waters searching for the appropriate ROK gunship to capture.”

The Dear Leader snapped his fingers, and the sheet came off the second lobby card.

Soaring violins began a refrain that was strong and inspiring.

“ The Floating Wall ,” Dak-Ho began, but the Dear Leader cut him off.

“This is a bio-pic about the first female Pubyok,” the Dear Leader said, pointing at the beautiful, determined woman on the movie poster. He indicated the way her badge shone brightly and her eyes were fixed on a better horizon. “In this role, you will get results—cracking cases and proving that a woman can be as strong as any man.”

The Dear Leader turned to her for a reaction.

Sun Moon pointed to the poster. “But her hair,” she said. “It’s so short.”

“Did I mention it’s a true story?” he asked. “A woman really was hired at Division 42 not long ago.”

Sun Moon shook her head. “I cannot act with hair of this length,” she said.

“The character is Pubyok,” the Dear Leader said. “So it must be short. You’ve never been one to shy from authenticity, you practically live your roles.” He reached and touched her hair. “It’s beautiful, but sacrifices must be made.”

The last movie poster remained veiled as Sun Moon’s face saddened. Despite her best efforts, she began to weep. Arms crossed, she started walking away.

Look, citizens, at how delicate are her sensibilities. The attentive citizen can see that no one else is pure enough to play these roles, that if anyone thieved Sun Moon from us, they would be stealing these powerful characters as well. Why, the movies themselves would be swiped from posterity. Kidnapped would be the very future of our nation’s cinema, which belongs not only to our patriotic citizens, but to the entire world!

The Dear Leader neared her. “Please say that these are tears of joy.”

Weeping, Sun Moon nodded.

“What is it?” he asked. “Come, you can tell me.”

“I weep only that my mother won’t be able to make the premiere of Comfort Woman ,” she said. “Since retiring to Wonsan, she never writes, not once. I was just imagining her at the reception for Comfort Woman , seeing her own mother’s story large across the screen.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll solve this. Your mother probably lacks only for typing paper, or perhaps the stamp deliveries to the east coast have been delayed. I’ll make a call tonight. Trust me, I can make anything happen. You’ll have typed letters from your mother by sunset tomorrow.”

“Is it true?” she asked. “Can you really do anything?”

With his thumbs, the Dear Leader wiped away her tears. “It’s hard to believe how far you’ve come,” he said. “Sometimes I forget that. Do you remember when I first laid eyes on you?” He shook his head at the memory of some long-ago moment. “You weren’t even named Sun Moon then.” He reached into her hair and touched her ear. “Remember that you have no secrets from me. That’s what I’m here for, I’m the one you reveal yourself to. Just tell me what it is you need.”

“Please,” she said. “Give me the joy of seeing my mother at the premiere.”

Citizens, citizens. Ours is a culture that respects the elderly, that grants them their need of rest and solitude in the final years. After a life of labor, haven’t they earned some remote quietude? Can’t the greatest nation on earth spare a little silence for the aged? Certainly, we all wish our parents were spry forever, that they’d never leave our side. But Sun Moon, listen to the people cluck their tongues at you. See how selfish it is to burden your mother with an arduous journey, one on which she might perish, simply to satisfy your own personal pleasures? But we throw up our hands. Who can deny Sun Moon? Ever the exception, so pure of emotion is she.

“She’ll be sitting in the front row,” the Dear Leader told her. “I guarantee.”

Citizens, if the Dear Leader says it, that settles it. Nothing could prevent Sun Moon’s mother from attending that movie premiere now. Only an utterly unforeseeable occurrence—a train mishap, possibly, or regional flooding—could stand in the way of this joyous reunion. Nothing short of a diphtheria quarantine or a military sneak attack could keep Sun Moon’s dreams from coming true!

In a gesture of socialist support, the Dear Leader placed his hand upon her.

“Haven’t I followed all the rules?” he asked.

She was silent.

“I have to have you back,” he said to her. “We must return to our arrangement.”

“It was an agreement,” she said.

“So it was, and haven’t I lived up to my side, haven’t I followed your rules?” he asked. “That I never force you to do anything, isn’t that rule number one? Answer me, have I ever gone against your will? Can you name one thing I’ve made you do?”

She shook her head.

“That’s right,” he told her, his voice rising. “That’s why you must choose to come back, you must choose right now. The time has come.” His voice had turned sharp, such was his paternal concern for her. He gave himself a moment of pause and soon his charming smile returned. “Yes, yes, you’ll have a new set of rules, I’m sure. They’ll be whoppers, impossibly complicated rules—already I can imagine the joy on your face when you spell them out to me, but I agree to them right now, I accept all your new rules in advance.” He held his arms wide with possibility. “Just come back. It will be like old times. We’ll play Iron Chef with the kitchen staff, and you’ll help me open my fan mail. We’ll ride my train to no place in particular and spend all night in the karaoke car. Inventing new kinds of sushi rolls, don’t you miss that? Remember playing chang-gi by the lake? We could have a tournament, this weekend, while your children zoom past on my Jet Skis. Did you bring it?”

“It’s in the car,” she said.

The Dear Leader smiled.

“Where were we in our series?” he asked. “I can’t remember our tally.”

“When we left off, I think I was down a few games.”

“You weren’t letting me win, were you?” he asked.

“Assure yourself, I show no mercy,” she said.

“That’s my Sun Moon.”