Adam Johnson - The Orphan Master's Son

“Commander Ga grabbed the man in a way that made him wince in fear.

“ Stop , I told him.

“Commander Ga turned to me, amazement on his face. That’s right. That’s what you say to him. Stop. I knew you were the only real man here .

“Commander Ga took a step toward me, and I took a step back.

“ Don’t do this , I said.

“ That’s right , that’s exactly what you say . Commander Ga had a strange light in his eyes. But he doesn’t listen , that’s the point. He’s stronger than you are , and he keeps coming .

“ Who keeps coming?

“ Who? Ga asked, then gave a smile. Him .

“I began moving backward. Please , I said. Please , there’s no need for this .

“ Yes , Commander Ga said. Yes , you’re resisting , you’re doing everything to keep it from happening , it’s clear you don’t want it , that’s why I like you , that’s why I’m teaching you the test. But what if it’s going to happen anyway? What if your words mean nothing to him? What if when you fight him , he fights harder?

“Commander Ga closed on me, and I took a swing. It was a weak punch. I was scared to really hit him. Ga batted my fist to the side, then nailed me with a crisp jab. What if you fight all the way , he asked, but it’s just going to happen? What does that make you?

“I landed a swift leg kick that made Commander Ga lose his footing, and excitement crossed his face. Ga flashed a high kick that came so fast it swiveled my head—I’d never seen a kick so fast.

“ This isn’t going to happen , I said. I’m not going to let it happen .

“ That’s why I chose you . Ga doled a searing left kick to my midsection, and I could feel my liver bruise over. Of course you’re going to give it your all , of course you’re going to struggle with all your might. You don’t know how I respect you. You’re the only one , in all this time , that’s really fought back , you’re the only one who knows me , who really understands me . I glanced down and saw that the Commander was aroused, his prick fiercely curving. Still, there was a sweet, childlike smile on his face. I’m about to show my soul , the big scar on my soul , Ga said, advancing upon me, his hips charging for a kick. It will hurt—I won’t lie to you , it’s never going to stop hurting , really. But think of it—soon we’ll both have the same scar. Soon , we’ll be like brothers that way .

“I backed away to his right, until I was under the droplight that illuminated the chamber. With a jumpkick, my foot swept through the bulb, and in the flash, a mist of glass hung frozen in the air. Then it was dark. I could hear Commander Ga shuffling. That’s how people move when they’re not used to the dark.”

“And then what happened?” Buc asked.

“Then I went to work,” Ga answered.

Sun Moon spent that evening in the bedroom. Commander Ga made the children cold noodles for dinner, which the boy and the girl kept dangling above Brando’s nose so they could witness the dog’s powerful teeth snapping them down. Only when the dishes were cleared did Sun Moon emerge in her bathrobe, puffy-faced, smoking. She told the children it was time to sleep, then spoke to Ga.

“I must see this American movie,” she said. “The one that’s supposed to be the best.”

That night, the children slept with the dog on a pallet at the foot of the bed, and when Pyongyang went black, they lay side by side on the bed and inserted Casablanca into the laptop. The battery indicator said they had ninety minutes, so there would be no stopping.

Right away, she shook her head at the primitive nature of black-and-white photography.

He translated on the fly for her, converting the English to Korean as fast as he could, and when the words wouldn’t come, he simply had to move his fingers, and they transcribed the lines.

For a while, her face was sour. She criticized the movie for moving too quickly. She labeled everyone in it an elite, drinking all day in fancy clothes. “Where are the common people?” she asked. “With real problems?” She laughed at the premise of a “letter of transit” that allowed anyone who possessed it to escape. “There is no magic letter that gets you out.”

She told him to stop the movie. He wouldn’t. But it was giving her a headache .

“I cannot tell what this movie glorifies,” she said. “And when will the hero make his appearance? If no one breaks into song soon, I am going to bed.”

“Shh,” he said to her.

It was hurting her to watch, he could tell. Every image was a challenge to her life. The complicated looks and shifting desires of the characters were breaking her down, yet she had no power to stop it. As the beautiful actress Ingrid Bergman spent more time on screen, Sun Moon began questioning her, coaching her. “Why doesn’t she settle down with the nice husband?”

“The war is coming,” Ga told her.

“Why does she gaze at the immoral Rick that way?” she asked, even as she gazed at him, too. Soon, she stopped seeing the ways he profiteered off others and filled his safe with currency and spread bribes and lies. She only saw how he reached for a cigarette when Ilsa entered the room, how he drank when she left it. The ways in which no one seemed happy spoke to Sun Moon. She nodded at how all the characters’ problems originated in the dark capital of Berlin. When the movie went back in time to Paris, where the characters smiled and wanted only bread and wine and each other, Sun Moon was smiling through her tears, and Commander Ga stopped translating for whole passages when all that was needed were the emotions crossing the faces of this man Rick and the woman Ilsa who loved him.

At the end of the movie, she was inconsolable.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she did not respond.

“My whole life is a lie,” she said through tears. “Every last gesture. To think I acted in color, every garish detail captured in color.” She rolled to him, so she was looking up into his eyes. She grabbed his shirt, wrenching the fabric in both hands. “I must make it to the place where this movie was made,” she said. “I have to get out of this land and make it to a place where real acting exists. I need a letter of transit and you must help me. Not because you killed my husband or because we will pay the price when the Dear Leader casts you aside, but because you are like Rick. You are an honorable man like Rick in the movie.”

“But that was just a movie.”

“No it wasn’t,” she said, defiance in her eyes.

“But how would I get you out?”

“You are a special man,” she said. “You can get us out. I’m telling you you must.”

“But Rick made his own decision, that was his to make.”

“That’s right, I have told you what I need of you, and you have a decision to make.”

“But what about us?” he asked.

She looked at him as if now she understood how it would work. That she now knew her fellow actor’s motivation, and the plot would follow from that.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“When you say, get us out, do you mean us , does that include me?”

She pulled him closer. “You are my husband,” she said. “And I am your wife. That means us.”

He stared into her eyes, hearing the words he hadn’t known he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.

“My husband used to say that one day it would all end,” she said. “I’m not waiting for that day.”