The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [193]
“A chamber pot,” the boy said. “How did that happen?”
“How do you think?” Ga answered.
“Yech,” the boy said.
“Poor Brando didn’t know who had turned out the lights,” Ga said. “Everything echoed inside the pot. He wandered down the road, bumping into things, but the scientists thought he had come to take the tests. How brave of a dog to voluntarily face a bear, the scientists thought. And how smart to put on armor!”
Both the boy and the girl laughed large, natural laughs. Gone was the worry on their faces, and Ga decided that perhaps it was better for the story to have no purpose, that it be nothing other than the thing it was, spontaneous and original as it wandered toward its own conclusion.
“The scientists hugged each other in celebration,” Ga continued. “Then they radioed Pyongyang, reporting that they’d found the most extraordinary dog in the world. When the American spy satellites intercepted this message, they—”
The boy was tugging Ga’s sleeve. The boy was still laughing, there was a smile on his face, but he had turned serious somehow.
“I want to tell you something,” the boy said.
“I’m listening,” Ga said.
But then the boy went silent and looked down.
“Go on,” the girl said to her brother. When he wouldn’t answer, she said to Ga, “He wants to tell you his name. Our mother said it was okay, if that’s what we wanted to do.”
Ga looked at the boy. “Is that it, is that what you want to tell me?”
The boy nodded.
“What about you?” Ga asked the girl.
She, too, glanced down. “I think so,” she said.
“There’s no need,” Ga said. “Names come and go. Names change. I don’t even have one.”
“Is that true?” the girl asked.
“I suppose I have a real one,” Ga said. “But I don’t know what it is. If my mother wrote it on me before she dropped me off at the orphanage, it faded away.”
“Orphanage?” the girl asked.
“A name isn’t a person,” Ga said. “Don’t ever remember someone by their name. To keep someone alive, you put them inside you, you put their face on your heart. Then, no matter where you are, they’re always with you because they’re a part of you.” He put his hands on their shoulders. “It’s you that matter, not your names. It’s the two of you I’ll never forget.”
“You talk like you’re going somewhere,” the girl said.
“No,” Ga said. “I’m staying right here.”
The boy finally lifted his eyes. He smiled.
Ga asked, “Now, where were we?”
“The American spies,” the boy said.
SAD NEWS, citizens, for our nation’s oldest comrade has died at the age of one hundred and thirty-five. Have a safe journey to the afterlife, old friend, and remember fondly your days in the most contented, most long-lived nation on earth! Consider taking a moment today, citizens, to offer a respectful gesture for an older person in your housing block. Carry their ice blocks up the stairs or surprise them with a bowl of chive-blossom soup. Remember: not too spicy!
And a warning, citizens, against touching any balloons that float across the DMZ. The Minister of Public Safety has determined that the gas which floats these balloons and the propaganda messages they carry is actually a deadly nerve agent meant to slay innocent civilians who encounter them.
But there is good news, citizens! The city’s notorious windshield-wiper thief has been apprehended. The presence of all citizens is requested tomorrow morning in the soccer stadium. And more good news—shipments of sorghum have begun arriving from the countryside. See your ration stations for ample portions of this delicious starch. Not only does sorghum fortify the bowel, it also assists with male virility. Distillation of sorghum into goryangju liquor is not allowed this year. Be prepared for random crockery inspections.
Perhaps the best news of all, citizens: the next installment of this year’s Best North Korean Story is here. As we near our tale’s conclusion, already there are cries from the populace for more! But