Adam Johnson: The Orphan Master's Son

When all were smiles, Tommy intervened and addressed the Dear Leader in Korean. “From the people of the United States,” he said, “we offer a gift—a pen of peace.”

The Senator presented the pen to the Dear Leader, adding his hopes that a lasting accord would soon be signed with it. The Dear Leader accepted the pen with great fanfare, then clapped his hands for Commander Park.

“We offer a gift as well,” the Dear Leader said. “We, too, have a gift of peace,” Ga translated.

Commander Park advanced with a pair of rhinoceros-horn bookends, and Ga understood that the Dear Leader wasn’t here to toy with the Americans today. He meant to inflict pain.

Tommy advanced to intercept the gift while the Senator himself pretended not to see it.

“Perhaps,” the Senator said, “it is time to discuss the matter at hand.”

“Nonsense,” the Dear Leader said. “Come, let us rejuvenate our relations over music and food. Many surprises lie ahead.”

“We’re here for Allison Jensen,” the Senator said.

The Dear Leader bristled at the name. “You’ve been flying for sixteen hours. A lifting of the spirits is in order. What person has too little time for children’s accordions?”

“We met with Allison’s parents before we left,” Tommy said in Korean. “They’re quite worried for her. Before we proceed, we’ll need assurances, we’ll need to speak to our citizen.”

“Your citizen?” the Dear Leader snapped. “First you will return what was stolen from me. Then we will discuss the girl.”

Tommy translated. The Senator shook his head no.

“Our nation rescued her from certain death in our waters,” the Dear Leader said. “Your nation trespassed into our waters, illegally boarded our ship, and stole from me. I get back what you thieved before you get back what I saved.” He waved his hand. “Now for entertainment.”

A troupe of child accordion stars raced forward, and with expert precision, began playing “Our Father Is the Marshal.” Their smiles were uniform, and the crowd knew the moments to clap and shout “Eternal is the Marshal’s flame.”

Sun Moon, her own children behind her, was glued to the little accordionists, all working in perfect unison, their whole being contorted to project glee. Silently, she began to weep.

The Dear Leader took note of her tears, and the fact that she was once again vulnerable. He signaled to Commander Ga that it was time to prepare for Sun Moon’s song.

Ga led her past the crowds to the edge of the runway, where there was nothing but grass, strewn with rusted airplane parts, all the way to the electric fence that surrounded the airfield.

Slowly, Sun Moon turned, taking in the nothingness around them.

“What have you gotten us into?” she asked. “How are we going to get out of this alive?”

“Calm,” he said. “Deep breaths.”

“What if he hands me a knife, what if it’s some kind of loyalty test?” Then her eyes went wide. “What if I’m given a knife and it’s not a test?”

“The Dear Leader’s not going to ask you to kill an American, in front of a senator.”

“You still don’t know him,” she said. “I’ve seen him do things, before my eyes, at parties, to friends, to enemies. It doesn’t matter. He can do anything, anything he wants.”

“Not today. Today, we’re the ones who can do anything.”

She laughed a scared, nervous laugh. “It sounds good when you say things like that. I really want to believe them.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Did you really do those things?” she asked. “Did you really hurt people, kidnap them?”

Commander Ga smiled. “Hey, I’m the good guy in this story.”

She laughed in disbelief. “You’re the good guy?”

Ga nodded. “Believe it or not, the hero is me.”

And here they saw, nearing them at only a couple of kilometers an hour, Comrade Buc atop a low-belly hoist made for lifting aircraft engines. Suspended from its chains was Sun Moon’s changing station.

“I needed a bigger machine,” Buc called to them. “We spent all night building this thing. No way I was leaving it behind.”

When the temple was dropped, the wood shuddered and groaned, but Sun Moon’s silver key turned in the lock. The three of them stepped inside, and Buc showed them how the back wall of the changing station opened on a hinge, like a corral gate, big enough to allow the blades of a forklift to enter.

Sun Moon reached to Comrade Buc. With her fingertips, she touched his face and stared into his eyes. It was her way of saying thanks. Or maybe it was good-bye. Buc held her gaze as long as he could, then turned and ran toward his forklift.

Sun Moon changed before her husband without shame, and while she was tying her goreum , she asked him, “You really have no one?” When he didn’t answer, she asked, “No father for guidance, no mother to sing to you? No sisters at all?”

He adjusted the tail of her bow.

“Please,” he said. “You must perform now. Give the Dear Leader exactly what he wants.”

“I can’t control what I sing,” she said.

Soon, in blue, she was with her husband at the Dear Leader’s side. It was the climax of the accordion number, which found the boys stacked on each other’s shoulders three high. Ga saw that Kim Jong Il’s eyes were lowered, that children’s songs—bouncy, boundless of enthusiasm—truly spoke to him. When the song was finished, the Americans made a clapping motion from which no sound came.

“We must have another song,” the Dear Leader announced.

“No,” the Senator said. “First our citizen.”

“My property,” the Dear Leader said.

“Assurances,” Tommy said.

“Assurances, assurances,” the Dear Leader said. He turned to Commander Ga. “Might I borrow your camera?” he asked.

The smile on the Dear Leader’s face scared Ga anew. Ga took the camera from his pocket and handed it to the Dear Leader, who moved through the crowd toward his car.

“Where’s he going?” Wanda asked. “Is he leaving?”

The Dear Leader climbed into the back of the black Mercedes, but the car didn’t move.

Then the phone in Wanda’s pocket beeped. When she examined its screen, she shook her head in disbelief. She showed it to the Senator and Tommy. Ga motioned for the little red phone. Wanda handed it to him, and there was a picture of Allison Jensen, the Girl Rower, in the backseat of a car. Ga nodded at Wanda, and right in front of her, slipped the phone in his pocket.

The Dear Leader returned, thanking Ga for the use of his camera. “Assured?” he asked.

The Senator made a signal, and a pair of forklifts backed out of the plane’s cargo bay. In tandem, they carried the Japanese background radiation detector housed in a custom crate.

“You know it won’t work,” the Senator said. “The Japanese built it to discover cosmic radiation, not uranium isotopes.”

“All my top scientists would beg to differ,” the Dear Leader told him. “In fact, they’re unanimous in their opinion.”

“One hundred percent,” Commander Park said.

The Dear Leader waved his hand. “But let’s speak of our shared status as nuclear nations another time. Now let’s have some blues.”

“But where’s the Girl Rower?” Sun Moon asked him. “I must sing the song to her. She’s who you told me to write it for.”

A cross look appeared on the Dear Leader’s face. “Your songs are mine,” he told her. “I’m the only one you sing for.”

The Dear Leader addressed the Americans. “I’ve been assured the blues will speak to your collective American conscience,” he said. “Blues is how people lament racism and religion and the injustices of capitalism. Blues is for those who know hunger.”