The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [176]
“I only have room in my heart for the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea,” she said.
The Dear Leader smiled. “That’s my Sun Moon,” he said. “That’s the girl I miss. Come, look, I have a present for you.”
From behind the bar, the Dear Leader produced an American musical instrument.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s called a gui-tar. It’s used to perform American rural music. It’s said to be especially popular in Texas,” he told her. “It’s also the instrument of choice for playing ‘the blues,’ which is a form of American music that chronicles the pain caused by poor decision making.”
Sun Moon ran her delicate fingers across the strings of the guitar. It produced a muted groan, as if a vibrant gayageum had been wrapped in a blanket and doused with a bucket of water. “The Americans have much to be sad about,” she said, plucking another string. “But listen to it. I can make no song with this.”
“But you must, you must,” said the Dear Leader. “Please make it perform for me.”
She strummed. “I regret that my heart …” she sang, “… is not as big as my love …”
“That’s it,” he said.
She strummed. “For the most democratic nation …” she went on, “… the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Now less birdlike. Sing with the heat of your blood.”
On the bar, she placed the guitar flat on its back, the way a proper stringed instrument is played. She tried to finger the strings so that different notes might sound.
“The Yankees are happy,” she sang and strummed hard. “The Yankees are sad.”
The Dear Leader beat the rhythm on the bar top with his fist.
“Our nation doesn’t see the difference,” she belted. “Satisfaction’s all we’ve ever had.”
Together, they laughed. “I miss all this,” he said. “Remember how we used to speak of movie scripts late into the night? How we professed our love of country and embraced reunification?”
“Yes,” she said. “But all that changed.”
“Did it? I used to wonder if,” the Dear Leader said, “if something happened to your husband on one of his many dangerous missions, if we’d become friends again. Of course your husband is alive and well and your marriage is better than ever, I’m sure. But if something had happened to your husband, if he’d been lost on one of his many heroic missions for our nation, would I have been right to think that we would become close again, that we would again stay up into the night sharing notions of Juche and Songun scholarship?”
She pulled her hand from the guitar. “Is something going to happen to my husband? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Is there a dangerous mission you must send him on?”
“No, no, banish the thought,” said the Dear Leader. “Nothing could be further from the truth. Of course I could never say for sure. It must be stated that the world is a dangerous place, and the future is known only to high-ranking officials.”
Sun Moon said, “Your fatherly wisdom always did have the power to soothe my female fears.”
“It is one of my gifts,” replied the Beneficent Leader Kim Jong Il in all his Glory. “I must make note,” he continued, “that you do call him husband.”
“I don’t know what else to call him.”
The Dear Leader nodded. “But you do not answer my question.”
Sun Moon crossed her arms and turned from the bar. She took two steps, then turned back. “I, too, yearn for our late-night conversations,” she said. “But those days are past, now.”
“But why?” the Dear Leader asked. “Why must they be past?”
“Because I hear you have a new confidante now, a new young pupil.”
“I see someone has been speaking to you, sharing certain things.”
“When a citizen is given a replacement husband, it is her duty to share certain things with him.”
“Have you?” the Dear Leader asked. “Have you been sharing with him?”
“Only high-ranking officials know the future,” she said, and smiled.
The Dear Leader nodded in appreciation. “See, that’s what I’ve missed. That right there.”
Sun Moon took a first sip of her drink.
“So who is this new pupil?” she asked. “Does she appreciate your subtleties, your humor?