The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [163]
Comrade Buc was busy lighting a fire in the pit, but mostly he was making smoke. From where he sat atop the corral, Ga could see eels gulping air along the surface of the fishing pond and hear the flap of a Texas state flag, hand-painted on Korean silk. The ranch looked enough like Texas to make him think of Dr. Song. But when he thought of what had happened to Dr. Song, the place suddenly looked nothing like America. It was hard to believe the old man was gone. Ga still saw him sitting there in the dark moonlight of a Texas night, holding his hat against the wind. He could still hear Dr. Song’s voice in the aircraft hangar, A most fascinating journey, never to be repeated.
Comrade Buc splashed more fuel oil on the fire, raising a dark column.
“Wait till the Dear Leader brings the Americans out here,” Buc said. “When the Dear Leader’s happy, everyone’s happy.”
“About that,” Ga said. “Don’t you think your work’s about done here?”
“What?” Buc asked. “What do you mean?”
“Looks like you got your hands on all the stuff you had to get. Shouldn’t you move on to the next project and forget about all of this?”
“You upset about something?” Comrade Buc asked him.
“What if it turns out the Dear Leader isn’t happy? What if something goes wrong and he ends up very unhappy? Have you thought of that?”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Buc said. “To not let that happen.”
“And then there’s Dr. Song, who did everything right, and look what they did to him.”
Buc turned away, and Ga could tell that the man did not want to talk about his old friend.
Ga said, “You’ve got a family, Buc. You should get some distance from this.”
“But you still need me,” Buc said. “I still need you.” Buc walked to the fire pit and retrieved the Dear Leader’s branding iron, which had just begun to heat. Buc used both arms to heft the thing—he held it up for Ga’s inspection. In English, the letters running backward, the brand read: “PROPERTY OF THE DEMOCRATIC PEOPLES REPUBLIC OF KOREA.”
The letters were big, making the brand almost a meter long. Red hot, it would sear an animal’s entire side.
“It took the guys at the foundry a week to make this,” Buc said.
“So?”
Buc looked impatient. “So? I don’t speak English. I need you to tell me if we spelled it right.”
Commander Ga carefully read the letters in reverse. “It’s right,” he said. Then he slipped through the corral rungs and went to the ox, tethered by a ring in its nose. He fed the beast watercress from a bin, then rubbed the black plate between its horns.
Comrade Buc neared, and by the way he warily eyed the large animal, it was pretty clear he’d never been commandeered to help with the harvest.
“You know how I told you about defeating Commander Ga in a prison mine?”
Buc nodded.
“He was lying there naked, and he looked pretty dead. A friend told me to drop a large rock on his skull.”
“Wise friend,” Buc said.
“But I couldn’t do it. Now, I keep thinking, you know—”
“—that Commander Ga is still alive? Impossible. If he were alive, we’d know it, he’d be on top of us right now.”
“I know he’s dead. The only point is this,” Ga said. “I keep having this feeling that something bad is ahead. You’ve got a family. You should think about them.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?” Buc asked.
“I’m just trying to help you,” Ga told him.
“You’re planning something, I can tell,” Buc said. “What are you up to?”
“I’m not,” Ga said. “Let’s just forget I said anything.”
Buc stopped him. “You’ve got to tell me,” he said. “Look, when the crow came, I opened my house, we extended our exit plan to you. I’ve said nothing to anyone about your real identity. I gave you my peaches. If something’s up, you have to tell me.”
Ga didn’t say anything.
“Like you said, I have a family. What about them?” Buc asked. “How am I supposed to protect them if you leave me in the dark?”
Commander Ga looked around the ranch, at the pistols, the pitchers for lemonade, the gift baskets on the picnic