The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [125]
She gazed toward Pyongyang, as if the answer were there. He watched emotions cross her face like weather—uncertainty, like clouds blotting the sun, gave way to a wince of regret, eyes twitching, as with the first drops of rain. She was a great beauty, it was certainly true, but he saw now that what made him fall in love with her in prison was this, the way what was felt in her heart came instantly to her face. That was the source of her great acting, this thing that couldn’t be faked. You’d have to have twenty tattoos, he realized, to capture her moods. Dr. Song had made it to Texas, where he’d eaten barbecue. Gil had gotten to sip scotch and make a Japanese bartender laugh. And here he was, on Commander Ga’s balcony with Sun Moon, tear streaks on her face, backdropped by Pyongyang. It didn’t matter what happened to him now.
He leaned toward her. That would make the moment perfect, to touch her. Everything would be worth it if he could wipe a tear from her cheek.
She eyed him warily. “You said the husband of your almost wife. You said he disappeared, that he went off into the light. Did you kill him?”
“No,” he told her. “That man defected. He escaped on a life raft. When we went to look for him, the morning sun off the ocean was so bright, it was like the light had swallowed him. He had the image of his wife tattooed on his chest, so he would always have her, even if she didn’t have him. But don’t worry, I won’t let you become a hazy memory.”
She didn’t like the answer or the way he told it, he could tell. But his story was part of her story now. It couldn’t be helped. He reached to touch her cheek.
“Stay away from me,” she said.
“Your own husband, if you want to know, it was the darkness for him,” he said. “Your husband went off into the dark.”
From somewhere below came the sound of a truck engine. Vehicles rarely came up the mountain, so Ga peered down into the woods, hoping to catch sight of it through a break in the trees.
“You don’t have to worry,” Ga said to her. “The truth is that the Dear Leader has an assignment for me, and when that’s over, I expect you won’t see me again.”
He looked at her, to see if she’d registered what he’d said.
“I’ve worked with the Dear Leader for many years,” she told him. “Twelve motion pictures. I wouldn’t be so sure about what he does or doesn’t have in mind.”
The sound grew until the engine was unmistakable, a heavy diesel with a low grind in the gearing. From the house next door, Comrade Buc stepped out onto his balcony and stared down into the woods, but he didn’t need to spot the truck for a grim look to cross his face. He and Ga caught each other’s eyes in a long, wary glance.
Comrade Buc called to them, “Come join us, there’s little time.”
Then he went inside.
“What is it?” Sun Moon asked.
Ga said, “It’s a crow.”
“What’s a crow?”
At the railing, they waited for the truck to pass into a visible stretch of road. “There,” he said when the black canvas of its canopy flashed through the trees. “That’s a crow.” For a moment the two of them watched the truck slowly climb the switchbacks toward their house.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
“There’s nothing to get,” he said. “That’s the truck that takes you away.”
In 33, he’d often fantasized about what he’d have grabbed from the aircraft hangar if he’d had even a minute’s notice that he was headed for a prison mine. A needle, a nail, a razor, what he wouldn’t have given for those things in prison. A simple piece of wire, and he’d have had a bird snare. A rubber band could have triggered a rat trap. How many times he longed for a spoon to eat with. But now he had other concerns.
“You take the kids into the tunnel,” Ga said. “I’ll go and meet the truck.”
Sun Moon turned to Ga with a look of horror on her face.
“What’s happening?” she asked. “Where does that truck take you?”
“Where do you think it takes you?” he asked. “There’s no time. Just take the kids down. It’s me they