The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [215]
The Dear Leader responded in kind: “The Honorable Senator of the democratic state of Texas.”
Here, Commander Park came forward, shuttling several young gymnasts before him. Each child carried a tray bearing a glass of water.
“Come, it is a warm day,” the Dear Leader said. “You must refresh yourselves. Nothing invigorates like the restorative waters of the sweet Taedong.”
“The most medicinal river in the world,” Park said.
One of the children raised a glass to the Senator, who had been staring at the sight of Commander Park, at the way the sweat beaded on his face, then ran diagonally along the ridges of his scars. The Senator took the glass. The water had a cloudy, jade tint.
“I’m sorry for the location,” the Senator said, taking a tiny sip before returning the glass. “The pilot feared the plane was too heavy for the tarmac near the terminal. Apologies, too, for circling so long. We kept calling the control tower for landing instructions, but we couldn’t raise them on the radio.”
“Early, late, here, there,” the Dear Leader said. “These words have no meaning among friends.”
Commander Ga translated for the Dear Leader, adding his own words at the end: “Were Dr. Song here, he would remind us that it is the American airports that impose control, while all are at liberty to land in North Korea. He would ask if that wasn’t the more democratic transportation system.”
The Senator smiled at this. “If it isn’t our old acquaintance Commander Ga, Minister of Prison Mines, master of taekwondo.”
A wry smile crossed the Dear Leader’s face.
To Ga, he said, “You and the Americans look like old friends.”
“Tell me,” Wanda said. “Where is our friend Dr. Song?”
Ga turned to the Dear Leader. “They ask after Dr. Song.”
In broken English, the Dear Leader said, “Song-ssi have become longer no.”
The Americans nodded with respect that the Dear Leader would respond personally with the sad news and that he would do so in the language of his guests. The Senator and the Dear Leader began speaking quickly of national relations and the importance of diplomacy and bright futures, and it was difficult for Ga to translate fast enough. He could see Wanda staring at Sun Moon, at her perfect skin in a perfectly white choson-ot, the jeogori of which was so fine it seemed to glow from within, all while Wanda herself wore the woolen suit of a man.
When all were smiles, Tommy intervened and addressed the Dear Leader in Korean. “From the people of the United States,” he said, “we offer a gift—a pen of peace.”
The Senator presented the pen to the Dear Leader, adding his hopes that a lasting accord would soon be signed with it. The Dear Leader accepted the pen with great fanfare, then clapped his hands for Commander Park.
“We offer a gift as well,” the Dear Leader said. “We, too, have a gift of peace,” Ga translated.
Commander Park advanced with a pair of rhinoceros-horn bookends, and Ga understood that the Dear Leader wasn’t here to toy with the Americans today. He meant to inflict pain.
Tommy advanced to intercept the gift while the Senator himself pretended not to see it.
“Perhaps,” the Senator said, “it is time to discuss the matter at hand.”
“Nonsense,” the Dear Leader said. “Come, let us rejuvenate our relations over music and food. Many surprises lie ahead.”
“We’re here for Allison Jensen,” the Senator said.
The Dear Leader bristled at the name. “You’ve been flying for sixteen hours. A lifting of the spirits is in order. What person has too little time for children’s accordions?”
“We met with Allison’s parents before we left,” Tommy said in Korean. “They’re quite worried for her. Before we proceed, we’ll need assurances, we’ll need to speak to our citizen.”
“Your citizen?” the Dear Leader snapped. “First you will return what was stolen from me. Then we will discuss the girl.”
Tommy translated. The Senator shook his head no.
“Our nation rescued her from certain death in our waters,