The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [103]
“She ducked under the ox, already hanging long and red. With a tight grip, Mongnan began stroking him. The ox smelled my hands, looking for more ginger, and I looked into its wet, black eyes. There was a man a few years back, Mongnan said, from under the ox. He had a little razor, and he would make cuts in the beast’s hide, to drink the blood when it leaked. That was a different animal. The beast didn’t complain, but the blood trickled out and froze, which the guards noticed, and that was the end of the little man. I photographed his body after the punishment. I went through all his clothes looking for that razor, but I never found it.
“The ox snorted—its eyes were wide and uncertain, and it swung its head from side to side as if looking for something. Then it closed its eyes, and soon Mongnan emerged with a jar, nearly full and steaming. Mongnan drank half at one go and handed it to me. I tried to take a sip, but when a little rope of it went down my throat, the rest hung on, and it all swam down at once. The ox knelt again. You’ll be strong for three days, she said.
“We looked at the lights glowing in the guard buildings. We looked toward China. This regime will come to an end, she said. I have studied every angle, and it cannot last. One day all the guards will run away—they’ll head that way, for the border. There will be disbelief, then confusion, then chaos, and finally a vacuum. You must have a plan ready. Act before the vacuum is filled.
“We began to make our way back toward the barracks, our stomachs full, our pockets full. When we heard the dying man again, we shook our heads.
“Why won’t I tell them what they want to know? the dying man moaned, his voice reverberating through the barracks. What am I doing here? What is my crime?
“Allow me, Mongnan said. She cupped her hands and moaned back, Your crime is disturbing the peace.
“Oblivious, the dying man moaned again. Who am I?
“Mongnan made her voice low and moaned, You are Duc Dan, the camp’s pain in the ass. Please die quietly. Die in silence, and I promise to take a flattering last photo of you.”
In the cafeteria, one of the Pubyoks pounded the table. “Enough,” he shouted. “Enough of this.”
Commander Ga stopped his story.
The old interrogator knotted his hands. “Don’t you know a lie when you hear one?” he asked us. “Can’t you see the way this subject is playing you? He’s talking about Kim Duc Dan, trying to make you think he’s in prison. Interrogators don’t go to prison, that’s impossible.”
Another old-timer stood. “Duc Dan’s retired,” he said. “You all went to his going-away party. He moved to the beach in Wonsan. He’s not in jail, that’s a lie that he’s in jail. He’s painting seashells right now. You all saw the brochure he had.”
Commander Ga said, “I haven’t gotten to the part about Commander Ga yet. Don’t you want to hear the story of our first encounter?”
The first interrogator ignored him. “Interrogators don’t go to prison,” he said. “Hell, Duc Dan probably interrogated half the people in Prison 33, that’s where this parasite got Duc Dan’s name. Tell us where you heard this name. Tell us how you know about his milky eye. Confess to your lie. Why won’t you tell us the truth?”
The Pubyok with the shoe stood. He had jagged scars in his neat gray hair. “Enough storytime,” he said, and looked at our team with a disgust that left no doubt about his thoughts on our methods. Then he turned toward Ga. “Enough fairy tales,” he said. “Tell us what you did with the actress’s corpse, or by the blood of Inchon we’ll make your fingernails tell us.”
The look on Commander Ga’s face made the old men grab him. They poured piping hot pu-erh in his facial wounds before dragging him off, leaving us to race to our office to begin filling out the forms