The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [152]
He put his hand over his chest, remembering how the Captain had worked the image of Sun Moon into his skin.
“I could have given him his wife back,” he told her, weeping.
“But he wasn’t your father,” she said. She took his chin and tried to lift his head so she could get through to him, but he pulled his head back to her breast. “He wasn’t your father,” she said, stroking his hair. “What’s important now is that you let go of all your illusions. It’s time to see the truth of things. Like the fact that he was right, that you have to get out of here.”
In the pot, little flakes of fish were floating off the spine, and Sun Moon, lost in thought, slowly stirred. Ga thought of how difficult it was to come to see the lies you told yourself, the ones that allowed you to function and move forward. To really do it, you needed someone’s help. Ga leaned over to smell the broth—it cleared his mind, this perfect meal. Eating such a meal at sunset, after a day of logging the ravines above 33, it was the definition of being alive. He removed Wanda’s camera and took a photo of the boy and the girl and the dog and Sun Moon, all of them casting their eyes the way people do into a fire.
“My stomach’s growling,” the boy said.
“Perfect timing,” Commander Ga answered. “The soup’s ready.”
“But we don’t have bowls,” the girl said.
“We don’t need them,” he told her.
“What about Brando?” the boy asked.
“He’ll have to find his own lunch,” Ga said and removed the loop of rope from the dog’s neck. But the dog didn’t move—he sat there, staring at the pot.
They began passing a single spoon around, and the taste of the charred fish was magnificent with the yarrow and hint of shiso.
“Prison food’s not so bad,” the girl said.
“You two must be wondering about your father,” Commander Ga said.
The boy and the girl didn’t look up; instead, they kept the spoon in motion.
Sun Moon threw him a harsh look, warning him that he was in dangerous territory.
“The wound of not knowing,” Ga said to her. “That’s the one that never heals.”
The girl cast him a thin, measured glance.
“I promise to tell you about your father,” Ga went on. “After you’ve had more time to adjust.”
“To adjust to what?” the boy asked. “To him,” the girl told her brother.
“Children,” Sun Moon said, “I told you, your father’s just on a long mission.”
“That’s not true,” Commander Ga said. “But I’ll tell you the whole story soon.”
Quietly, through her teeth, Sun Moon said, “Don’t you take their innocence.”
From the woods came a rustle. Brando stood at attention, his hair bristling.
The boy got a smile on his face. He had seen all of the dog’s tricks and here was a chance to try one out. “Hunt,” the boy said.
“No,” Ga called, but it was too late—the dog was already sprinting into the trees, his bark describing a hectic path through the brush. He barked on and on. And then they heard the shriek of a woman. Ga grabbed the rope lead and began running. The boy and the girl were right behind him. Ga followed the small stream for a while, and he could see that the water was muddy from the dog. Soon, he came upon a family, backed against a boulder by Brando’s barking. The family was eerily like theirs—a man and woman, a boy and girl, an older aunt. The dog was very agitated, snapping its teeth in mock charges, shifting its attention from one ankle to another, as if it would take all their legs in turn. Slowly Ga approached, slipped the loop around the dog’s neck.
Ga backed the dog up and took a look at the family. Their fingernails were white with malnutrition, and even the girl’s teeth had gone gray. The boy’s shirt hung empty on him as from a wire hanger. Both women had lost much hair, and the father was nothing but cords under taut skin. Ga suddenly realized the father had something behind his back. Ga rattled the rope around the dog’s neck to get it lunging.
“What are you hiding?” Ga shouted. “Show it. Show it before I let the dog loose.”
Sun Moon came up breathing heavily as the man produced a dead squirrel, its tail snapped away.
Ga couldn’t tell if they’d stolen