Adam Johnson - The Orphan Master's Son

When she didn’t speak, he went on. “Your husband had an electronic device. He went down the rows of men, pointing it at their chests. When held up to most men, the box was silent. But for some, it made a staticky sound. This was what happened to me, when he aimed the device at my lungs, it crackled. He asked me, What part of the mine do you work in? I told him the new tier, down in the subfloor. He asked me, Is it hot down there , or cold? I told him Hot.

“Ga turned to the Warden. That’s enough proof , yes? From now on , all work will focus on that part of the mine. No more digging for nickel and tin .

“ Yes , Minister Ga , the Warden said.

“It was only then that Commander Ga seemed to notice the tattoo on my chest. A disbelieving smile crossed his face. Where did you get that? he asked me.

“ At sea , I said.

“He reached out and held my shoulder so that he could get a good look at the tattoo over my heart. I hadn’t bathed in almost a year, and I’ll never forget the look of his white, buffed fingernails against my skin. Do you know who I am? he asked. I nodded. Do you want to explain that tattoo to me?

“All the choices that came to me seemed like bad ones. It’s pure patriotism , I finally said, toward our nation’s greatest treasure .

“Ga took some pleasure in that answer. If you only knew , he told me. Then he turned to the Warden. Did you hear that? Ga asked him. I think I have discovered the only damn heterosexual in this whole prison .

“Ga took a closer look at me. He lifted my arm and noticed the burn marks from my pain training. Yes , he said in recognition. Then he took hold of my other arm. He turned it so he could study the circle of scars. Intrigued, he said, Something happened here .

“Then Commander Ga took a step back, and I could see his rear foot go light. I lifted my arm just in time to block a lightning-fast head kick. That’s what I was looking for , he said.

“By resetting his teeth, Commander Ga made a piercing whistle, and we could see that on the other side of the prison gate, Ga’s driver opened the trunk to his Mercedes. The driver pulled something out of the trunk, and the guards opened the gate for him. He came our way, and whatever he had, it was extremely burdensome.

“ What’s your name? Ga asked me. Wait , I don’t need it. I’ll know you by this . He touched my chest with a lone finger. He said to me, Have you ever seen the Warden set foot in the mine?

“I looked at the Warden, who glared at me. No , I told Commander Ga.

“The driver came to us, carrying a large white stone. It must have weighed twenty-five kilos. Take it , Commander Ga told the Warden. Lift it up , so everyone can see it , and with much difficulty, the Warden worked the stone up to his shoulder, where it perched, bigger than his head. Commander Ga then pointed the detector at the stone, and we all heard the machine go wild, ticking with energy.

“Commander Ga said to me, Look how it’s white and chalky. This rock is all we care about now. Have you seen some rock like it in the mine? I nodded. That made him smile. The scientists said this was the right kind of mountain , that this stuff should be down there. Now I know it is .

“ What is it? I asked him.

“ It’s the future of North Korea , he said. It’s our fist down the Yankees’ throat .

“Ga turned to the Warden. This inmate is now my eyes and ears around this place , he said. I’ll be back in a month , and nothing will happen to him in the meantime. You’re to treat him how you’d treat me. Do you hear? Do you know what happened to the last warden of this prison? Do you know what I had done to him? The Warden said nothing.

“Commander Ga handed me the electronic machine. I want to see a white mountain of this when I return , he said. And if the Warden sets this rock down before I get back , you’re to tell me. For nothing is he to let go of that rock , you hear? At dinner , that rock sits on his lap. When he sleeps , it rises and falls on his chest. When he takes a shit , the rock shits , too . Ga pushed the Warden, who stumbled to keep his balance under the load. Then Commander Ga made a fist—”

“Stop,” Sun Moon said. “That’s him. I recognize my husband.”

She was quiet a moment, as if digesting something. Then she turned to him in the bed, bridging the space between them. She lifted the sleeve of his nightshirt, fingered the ridges of the scars on his biceps. She put her hand flat on his chest, spreading her fingers across the cotton.

“It’s here?” she asked. “Is this the tattoo?”

“I’m not sure you want to see it.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid it will frighten you.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “You can show me.”

He pulled off his shirt, and she leaned close to observe in the low light this portrait of herself, forever fixed in ink, a woman whose eyes still burned with self-sacrifice and national fervor. She studied the image as it rose and fell on his chest.

“My husband. A month later he came back to the prison, yes?”

“He did.”

“And he tried to do something to you, something bad, didn’t he?”

He nodded.

She said, “But you were stronger.”

He swallowed.

“But I was stronger.”

She reached to him, her palm coming lightly to rest on his tattoo. Was it this image of the woman she once was that made her fingers tremble? Or did she feel for this man in her bed who’d quietly started weeping for reasons she didn’t understand?

I ARRIVED home from Division 42 tonight to discover that my parents’ vision had become so bad that I had to inform them night had fallen. I helped them to their cots, placed side by side near the stove, and, once settled, they stared at the ceiling with their blank eyes. My father’s eyes have gone white, but my mother’s are clear and expressive, and I sometimes suspect that maybe her vision isn’t as ruined as his. I lit a bedtime cigarette for my father. He smokes Konsols—that’s the kind of man he is.

“Mother, Father,” I said. “I have to go out for a while.”

My father said, “May the everlasting wisdom of Kim Jong Il guide you.”

“Obey the curfew,” my mother said.

I had Comrade Buc’s wedding ring in my pocket.

“Mother,” I said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, son.”

“How come you never found a bride for me?”

“Our first duty is to country,” she said. “Then to leaders, then to—”

“I know, I know,” I said. “Then to Party, then to the Charter of the Workers’ Assembly, and so on. But I was in the Youth Brigade, I studied Juche Idea at Kim Il Sung University. I did my duty. It’s just that I have no wife.”

“You sound troubled,” my father said. “Have you spoken to our housing block’s Songun advisor?” I saw the fingers twitch on his right hand. When I was a boy, one of his gestures was to reach out with that hand to ruffle my hair. That’s how he would reassure me when neighbors went away or we witnessed MPSS men pulling citizens off the subway. So I knew he was still in there, that despite the distemper of his patriotism, my father was still my father, even if he felt the need to hide his true self from everyone, even me. I blew out the candle.

When I left, though, when I stepped out into the hall and closed the door and turned the lock, I didn’t walk away. Quietly, I placed my ear to the door and listened. I wanted to know if they could be themselves, if they could let down their guard when they were finally alone in a dark and silent room and could speak as husband and wife. I stood like that a long time, but heard nothing.