The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [205]
“Well, you won’t have to worry ever again,” I told them. “Because today you’re going to meet the real me.”
I sank the opener into the can and began to cut a slow circle.
My father sniffed the air. “Peaches?” he asked.
“That’s right,” I said. “Peaches in their own sweet liquor.”
“From the night market?” Mother asked.
“Actually, I stole them from the evidence locker.”
My father inhaled deeply. “I can just see them, plain as day, the thick juice they’re in, the way they glow in the light.”
“It’s been so long since I’ve tasted a peach,” my mother said. “We used to get a coupon for a can every month in our ration book.”
My father said, “Oh, that was years ago.”
“I suppose you’re right,” my mother answered. “I’m just saying that we used to love peaches, and then one day you couldn’t get them anymore.”
“Well, allow me, then,” I told them. “Open.”
Like children, they opened their mouths. In anticipation, my father closed his milky eyes.
I stirred the peaches in their can, then selected a slice. Passing the bottom of the spoon across the edge of the can, I caught the dripping syrup. Then I reached and slipped the slice into my mother’s mouth.
“Mmm,” she said.
I fed my father next.
“That, son,” he said, “was a peach.”
There was silence, except for the blaring loudspeaker, as they savored the moment.
In unison, they said, “Thank you, Dear Leader Kim Jong Il.”
“Yes,” I said. “You have him to thank.”
I stirred the can again, hunted down the next slice.
“I have a new friend,” I said.
“A friend from work?” my father asked.
“Yes, a friend from work,” I said. “The two of us have become quite intimate. He’s given me hope that love is out there for me. He’s a man who has true love. I’ve studied his case very closely, and I think the secret to love is sacrifice. He himself has made the ultimate sacrifice for the woman he loves.”
“He gave his life for her?” my father asked.
“Actually, he took her life,” I told him and popped a peach in his mouth.
There was a quake in my mother’s voice. “We’re happy for you,” she said. “As the Dear Leader says, Love makes the world go ’round. So don’t hesitate. Go find that true love. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine. We can take care of ourselves.”
I spooned a slice into her mouth. It caught her by surprise and she coughed.
“Perhaps, from time to time,” I said, “you have seen me writing in my journal. It’s actually not a journal—it’s a personal biography. As you know, that’s what I do for a living, write people’s biographies, which we keep in what you might call a private library. A guy I work with, I’ll call him Sarge, says the problem with my biographies is that no one ever reads them. This brings me to my new friend, who told me that the only people in the world who would want to read his biography were gone.”
I dished out new slices with ample syrup.
“People,” my father said, “meaning the lady that your friend loves.”
“Yes,” I said.
“The lady that your friend killed,” Mother said.
“And her kids,” I said. “There is a tragic aspect to the story, there’s no denying it.”
I nodded my head at the truth of that. It would have made a good subtitle for his biography—Commander Ga: A Tragedy. Or whatever his name was.
The peaches were half gone. I stirred them in their can, selecting a new slice.
“Save some for yourself,” my father said.
“Yes, that’s enough,” my mother said. “I haven’t tasted sweet in so long, my stomach cannot handle it.”
I shook my head no. “This is a rare can of peaches,” I said. “I was going to keep them for myself, but taking the easy way, that’s not the answer to life’s problems.”
My mother’s lip started to quiver. She covered it with her hand.
“But back to my problem,” I said. “My biography, and the difficulty I’ve had writing it. This biographer’s block I’ve been suffering from—I see it so clearly now—came from the fact that deep down, I knew no one wanted to hear my story. Then my friend, he had the insight that