Adam Johnson - The Orphan Master's Son

“We are all yours,” Ga said.

“Recently,” the Dear Leader said, “I have discovered there is an operation by which a Korean eye can be made to look Western.”

“For what purpose?” Sun Moon asked.

“Yes, for what purpose,” the Dear Leader echoed. “Unknown, but the operation exists, I’ve been assured of it.”

Ga felt this conversation veering into a territory where wrong moves could unknowingly be made. “Ah, the miracles of modern medicine,” he said in a general way. “Too bad they should be applied for cosmetic purposes when so many are born lame and cleft in South Korea.”

“Well spoken,” the Dear Leader said. “Still, these medical advances might have a social application. This very dawn, I assembled the surgeons of Pyongyang and posed to them the question of whether a Western eye could be turned Korean.”

“And the answer?” Sun Moon asked.

“Unanimous,” the Dear Leader said. “Through a series of procedures, any woman could be made Korean. Head to toe , they said. When the doctors were done, she would be as Korean as the handmaids in King Tangun’s tomb.” He addressed Sun Moon as they walked. “Tell me,” he said. “Do you think this woman, this new Korean—would she be considered a virgin?”

Ga began to speak, but Sun Moon cut him off. “A woman, by the love of the right man, can be made more pure than the womb that produced her,” she answered.

The Dear Leader regarded her. “I can always count on you for the thoughtful response,” he said. “But seriously, if the procedures were successful, if she was restored, through and through, would you use the term “modest” to describe her? Could you call her Korean ?”

Sun Moon didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not,” she said. “This woman would be nothing but an imposter. ‘Korean,’ this is a word written in blood on the walls of the heart. No American could ever use it. So she has paddled her little boat, so some sun has beat down on her. Have the people she loved faced death so that she might live? Is sorrow the only thing that connects her to all who came before? Has her nation been occupied by Mongolian, Chinese, and Japanese oppressors for ten thousand years?”

“Spoken as only a true Korean could,” the Dear Leader responded. “But you have such venom for this word ‘imposter.’ It’s so ugly when you say it.” He turned to Ga. “Tell me, Commander, what is your opinion of imposters? Do you think that, over time, a replacement could become the real thing?”

“The substitute becomes genuine,” Ga said, “when you declare it so.”

The Dear Leader raised his eyebrows at the truth of this.

Sun Moon shot her husband a vicious look. “No,” she said, then turned to the Dear Leader. “No one can have feelings for an imposter. An imposter will always be a lesser thing, it will always leave the heart hungry.”

People emerged from the bow of the aircraft. Ga saw the Senator, as well as Tommy and Wanda and a few others, all accompanied by a contingent of security personnel in blue suits. Right away, they were assaulted by flies from the lavatory lagoon.

Petulance crossed the Dear Leader’s face. To Sun Moon, he said, “And yet last night you pleaded for the safety of this man—an orphan, a kidnapper, a tunnel assassin.”

Sun Moon turned and stared at Commander Ga.

The Dear Leader took her attention back with his voice. “Last night, I had a roster of gifts and delights prepared for you, I canceled an opera for you, and you thanked me by begging on his behalf? No, do not pretend a dislike of imposters.”

The Dear Leader looked away from her, and Sun Moon followed his face, desperate to get him to lock eyes with her. “It is you who made him my husband,” she said. “It is because of you that I treat him so.” When he finally looked at her, she said, “And it is you who can unmake it.”

“No, I never gave you away. You were taken from me,” the Dear Leader said. “In my own opera house, Commander Ga refused to bow. Then he named you as his prize. In front of everyone, he called your name.”

“That was years ago,” Sun Moon said.

“He called for you and you answered, you stood and you went with him.”

Sun Moon said, “The man you speak of is dead now. He’s gone.”

“And yet you don’t return to me.”

The Dear Leader stared at Sun Moon to let that sink in.

“Why do we play these games?” she asked. “I’m right here, the only breath-drawing woman on earth worthy of you. You know that. You make my story a happy one. You were there at the start of it. And you are the end of it.”

The Dear Leader turned to her, ready to listen more, doubt still in his eyes.

“And of the Girl Rower?” he asked. “What do you propose for her?”

“Hand me a knife,” Sun Moon said. “And let me prove my loyalty.”

The Dear Leader’s eyes went wide with delight.

“Withdraw your fangs, my mountain tiger!” he declared. He stared into her eyes. More quietly, he said, “My beautiful mountain tiger.” Then he turned to Commander Ga. “That’s quite a wife you have,” he said. “Outside, peaceful as the snows of Mount Paektu. Inside, she’s coiled like a rock mamushi, sensing the imperial heel.”

The Senator with his entourage presented himself. Bowing slightly to the Dear Leader, he said, “Mr. General Secretary of the Central Committee of the Workers’ Party of Korea.”

The Dear Leader responded in kind: “The Honorable Senator of the democratic state of Texas.”

Here, Commander Park came forward, shuttling several young gymnasts before him. Each child carried a tray bearing a glass of water.

“Come, it is a warm day,” the Dear Leader said. “You must refresh yourselves. Nothing invigorates like the restorative waters of the sweet Taedong.”

“The most medicinal river in the world,” Park said.

One of the children raised a glass to the Senator, who had been staring at the sight of Commander Park, at the way the sweat beaded on his face, then ran diagonally along the ridges of his scars. The Senator took the glass. The water had a cloudy, jade tint.

“I’m sorry for the location,” the Senator said, taking a tiny sip before returning the glass. “The pilot feared the plane was too heavy for the tarmac near the terminal. Apologies, too, for circling so long. We kept calling the control tower for landing instructions, but we couldn’t raise them on the radio.”

“Early, late, here, there,” the Dear Leader said. “These words have no meaning among friends.”

Commander Ga translated for the Dear Leader, adding his own words at the end: “Were Dr. Song here, he would remind us that it is the American airports that impose control, while all are at liberty to land in North Korea. He would ask if that wasn’t the more democratic transportation system.”

The Senator smiled at this. “If it isn’t our old acquaintance Commander Ga, Minister of Prison Mines, master of taekwondo.”

A wry smile crossed the Dear Leader’s face.

To Ga, he said, “You and the Americans look like old friends.”

“Tell me,” Wanda said. “Where is our friend Dr. Song?”

Ga turned to the Dear Leader. “They ask after Dr. Song.”

In broken English, the Dear Leader said, “Song-ssi have become longer no.”

The Americans nodded with respect that the Dear Leader would respond personally with the sad news and that he would do so in the language of his guests. The Senator and the Dear Leader began speaking quickly of national relations and the importance of diplomacy and bright futures, and it was difficult for Ga to translate fast enough. He could see Wanda staring at Sun Moon, at her perfect skin in a perfectly white choson-ot , the jeogori of which was so fine it seemed to glow from within, all while Wanda herself wore the woolen suit of a man.