The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [149]
Finally, citizens, Sun Moon has shared her convictions with her husband!
Savor the glow, citizens, for in the next installment, we take a closer look at this “Commander Ga.” Though he is remarkable at satisfying the political needs of a woman, we will look closely at the ways in which he has defiled all seven tenets of North Korean Good Citizenship.
SUN MOON announced that the day to honor her great-uncle was upon them. Even though it was Saturday, a workday, they’d make the walk to the Revolutionary Martyrs’ Cemetery to lay a wreath. “We’ll make it a picnic,” Commander Ga told her. “And I’ll cook my favorite meal.”
Ga had refused to let any of them eat breakfast. “An empty stomach,” he told them, “is my secret ingredient.” For the picnic, Ga brought only a pot, some salt, and Brando on a lead.
Sun Moon shook her head at the sight of the dog. “He’s not legal,” she said.
“I’m Commander Ga,” he told her. “If I want to walk a dog, I walk a dog. Besides, my days are numbered, right?”
“What’s that mean?” the boy asked. “His days are numbered.”
“Nothing,” Sun Moon said.
They walked downhill under the Fun Fair’s idle gondola. With the children of Pyongyang hard at work, the lift chairs creaked in place above them. The zoo, however, was crowded with peasants bused in for their once-a-year trip to the capital. The four of them cut through the woods, dense this time of year, and left Brando tied to a tree so as not to offend any of the veterans paying their respects.
This was the first time he’d entered the cemetery. Sun Moon ignored all the other markers and led them right to the bust of her great-uncle. The bust depicted a man whose face looked Southern in its angles and abruptness of brow. His eyes were almost closed in an expression of certainty and calm.
“Ah,” Ga said. “It’s Kang Kung Li. He charged across a mountain bridge under enemy fire. He took the door off Kim Il Sung’s car and carried it as a shield.”
“You’ve heard of him?” she asked.
“Of course,” Ga said. “He saved many lives. People who break the rules in order to do good are sometimes named after him.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Sun Moon said. “I fear the only people named after him these days are a few measly orphans.”
Commander Ga wandered the rows in stunned recognition. Here were the names of all the boys he’d known, and looking at their busts, it seemed as though they’d made it to adulthood—here they had mustaches and strong jaws and broad shoulders. He touched their faces and ran his fingers in the hangul characters of their names carved in the marble pedestals. It was as if, instead of starving at nine or falling to factory accidents at eleven, they’d all lived into their twenties and thirties like normal men. At the tomb of Un Bo Song, Commander Ga traced the features of the bronze bust with his hand. The metal was cold. Here Bo Song was smiling and bespectacled, and Ga touched the martyr’s cheek, saying, “Bo Song.”
There was one more bust he needed to see, and Sun Moon and the children trailed him through the tombs until he came to it. The bust and the man faced one another but bore no resemblance. He hadn’t known what he’d feel when he finally faced this martyr, but Ga’s only thought was, I’m not you. I’m my own man.
Sun Moon approached him. “Is this martyr special to you?” she asked.
“I used to know someone with his name,