The Orphan Master's Son (44 page)

“That woman,” she said. “I haven't been able to get her out of my head.”

He'd thought, by the look on her face, that she was somehow blaming
herself for things, which was something the Captain said his wife always did. But the moment she mentioned that woman, he knew exactly what Sun Moon was talking about.

“That was foolish, that talk about lobotomies,” he said. “There is no such prison. People start rumors like that out of fear, out of not knowing.”

He took a drink of beer. He opened and closed his jaw, moved it side to side to assess the damage to his face. Of course there was a zombie prison—he knew it must be true the second he'd heard it. He wished he could ask Mongnan about it—she'd know, she'd tell him all about the lobotomy factory, and she'd tell it in a way that made you certain you were the luckiest person in the world, that your lot in life was pure gold compared to others'.

“If you're worried about your husband, about what happened to him, I'll tell you the story.”

“I don't want to talk about him,” she said. She bit one of her fingernails. “You mustn't let me run out of cigarettes again, you must promise.” She retrieved a glass from the cupboard and set it on the counter. “This is the time of evening when you pour me some rice wine,” she told him. “That is one of your duties.”

With the lamp, he went down into the tunnel to retrieve a bottle of rice wine, but he found himself looking at the DVDs instead. He ran his fingers along the movies, looking for one of hers, but there were no Korean films, and soon titles like
Rambo
,
Moonstruck
, and
Raiders of the Lost Ark
flipped the switch in his brain to read English and he couldn't stop skimming the rows. Suddenly, Sun Moon was by his side.

“You left me in the dark,” she said. “You have a lot to learn about how to treat me.”

“I was looking for one of your movies.”

“Yes?”

“But there aren't any.”

“Not one?” She studied the rows of titles. “All these movies he had and not one by his own wife?” she asked, confused. She pulled one off the shelf. “What movie is this?”

Ga looked at the cover. “It's called
Schindler's
List.
” “Schindler” was a difficult word to say.

She opened the case and looked at the DVD, how its surface shined against the light.

“These are stupid,” she said. “Movies are the property of the people, not for a single person to hoard. If you'd like to see one of my films go to the Moranbong Theater, they never stop playing there. You can see a Sun Moon film with peasant and politburo alike.”

“Have you seen any of these?”

“I told you,” she said. “I'm a pure actress. These things would only corrupt me. I'm perhaps the only pure actress in the world.” She grabbed another movie and waved it at him. “How can people be artists when they act for money? Like the baboons in the zoo who dance at their tethers for heads of cabbage. I act for a nation, for an entire people.” She looked suddenly crestfallen. “The Dear Leader said I was going to act for the world. You know he gave me this name. In English, Sun means
hae
and Moon means
dal
, so I'd be night and day, light and dark, celestial body and its eternal satellite. The Dear Leader said that would make me mysterious to American audiences, that the intense symbolism would speak to them.”

She stared at him.

“But they don't watch my movies in America, do they?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don't believe they do.”

She returned
Schindler's
List
to the shelf. “Get rid of these,” she said, “I don't want to see them again.”

“How did he watch them, your husband?” he asked. “You don't have a player.”

She shrugged.

“Did he have a laptop?”

“A what?”

“A computer that folds up.”

“Yes,” she said, “but I haven't seen it in a while.”

“Wherever the laptop is hiding,” he told her, “I bet your cigarettes are there, too.”

“It's too late for wine,” she said. “Come, I will turn down the sheets.”

The bed faced a large window that displayed the darkness of Pyongyang. She left the lamp burning on a side table. The children slept on a pallet at the foot, the dog between them. On the mantel above, out of the children's reach, was the can of peaches Comrade Buc had given them. In the low
light, they undressed, stripping to their undergarments. When they were under the sheets, Sun Moon spoke.

“Here are the rules,” she said. “The first is that you will begin work on the tunnel, and you will not stop until there is a way out. I'm not getting trapped again.”

He closed his eyes and listened to her demand. There was something pure and beautiful about it. If only more people in life said,
This is what I must have
.

She eyed him, to make sure he was listening. “Next, the children will reveal their names to you only when they decide.”

“Agreed,” he said.

Far below, dogs began baying in the Central Zoo. Brando whimpered in his sleep.

“And you cannot ever use taekwondo on them,” she said. “You will never make them prove their loyalty, you will never test them in any way.” She trained her eyes on him. “Tonight you discovered that my husband's friends are happy to hurt you in public. It is still within my power to have one person crippled in this world.”

From the botanical gardens down the hill came an intense blue flash that filled the room. There's no arc quite like a human meeting an electric fence. Sometimes birds set off the fence in Prison 33. But a person—a deep-humming blue snap—that was a light that came through your eyelids and a buzz that entered your bones. In his barracks, that light, that sound, woke him up every time, though Mongnan said after a while you stop noticing.

“Are there other rules?” he asked.

“Only one,” she said. “You will never touch me.”

In the dark, there was a long silence.

He took a deep breath.

“One morning, they lined up all the miners,” he said. “There were about six hundred of us. The Warden approached. He had a black eye, a fresh one. There was a military officer with him—tall-brimmed hat, lots of medals. This was your husband. He told the Warden to have us all remove our shirts.”

He paused, waiting to see if Sun Moon would encourage the story or not.

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.