The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [117]
“So, who is this soldier?”
The Dear Leader started to sort through boxes, opening some, tossing others aside, looking for something. One box was filled with barbecue tools, Ga observed. Another was filled with South Korean Bibles. “The orphan soldier? An average citizen, I suppose,” the Dear Leader said. “A nobody from Chongjin. Ever visit that place?”
“Never had that pleasure, Dear Leader.”
“Me, either. Anyway, this soldier, he went on a trip to Texas—had some security skills, language talents, and so on. The mission was to retrieve something the Americans took from me. The Americans, it seems, had no intention of returning this item. Instead, they subjected my diplomatic team to a thousand humiliations, and when the Americans visit us, I will subject them to a thousand in return. To do this right, I must know exact details of this visit to Texas. The orphan soldier, he is the only one who knows these.”
“Certainly there were other diplomats on the visit. Why not ask them?”
“Sadly, they are no longer reachable,” the Dear Leader said. “The man I speak of, he is currently the only one in our nation who’s been to America.”
Then the Dear Leader found what he was looking for—a large revolver. He hefted it around in the direction of Commander Ga.
“Ah, I suddenly remember,” Ga said, looking at the pistol. “The orphan soldier. A lean, good-looking man, very smart and humorous. Yes, he was certainly in Prison 33.”
“So you know him?”
“Yes, we often spoke late into the night. We were like brothers, he told me everything.”
The Dear Leader handed Ga the revolver. “Do you recognize this?”
“It looks just like the revolver the orphan soldier described, the one they used in Texas to shoot cans off the fence. A forty-five-caliber Smith & Wesson, I believe.”
“You do know him—now we are getting somewhere. But look closer, this revolver is North Korean. It was constructed by our own engineers and is actually a forty-six-caliber, a little bigger, a little more powerful than the American model—do you think it will embarrass them?”
Inspecting it, Commander Ga could see that the parts had been hand-milled on a lathe—on the barrel and cylinder were notches the smith had used to align the action. “It most certainly will, Dear Leader. I would only add that the American revolver, as my good friend the orphan soldier described it, had little grooves on the hammer, and the grips were not pearl, but carved antler of deer.”
“Ah,” the Dear Leader said. “This is exactly the kind of thing we’re looking for, exactly.” Then, from another box, he produced an Old West—style gun belt, hand-tooled and low-slung, and this he placed himself around Commander Ga’s waist. “There are no bullets yet,” the Dear Leader said. “These the engineers are at pains to produce, one shell at a time. For now, wear the gun, get the feel. Yes, the Americans are going to see that we can make their guns, only bigger and more powerful. We are going to serve them American biscuits, but they will discover that Korean corn is more hearty, that honey from Korean bees is more sweet. Yes, they will trim my lawn and they will ingest whatever foul cocktail I concoct, and you, Commander Ga, you will help us construct an entire Potemkin Texas, right here in Pyongyang.”
“But Dear Lea—”
“The Americans,” he said with a flash of anger, “will sleep with the dogs from the Central Zoo!”
Commander Ga waited a moment. When he was sure the Dear Leader felt he had been heard and understood, he said, “Yes, Dear Leader. Just tell me when the Americans visit.”
“Whenever we want,” the Dear Leader said. “We haven’t actually contacted them yet.”
“My good friend the orphan soldier, once when I visited his prison, he told me that the Americans were very reluctant to make contact with us.”
“Oh, the Americans are coming,” the Dear Leader said. “They’re going to deliver what they took from me. They’re going to get humiliated. And they’re going home with nothing.”
“How?” Ga asked.