The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [219]
“Like in our movie,” she said, and smiled in disbelief.
“That’s right,” he told her. “The golden thing that gets you to America.”
“Listen to me,” she said. “There are four barrels here, one for each of us. I know what’s going through your head, but don’t be stupid. You heard my song, you saw the look on his face.”
“Aren’t you coming with us?” the girl asked.
“Hush,” Sun Moon told her.
“What about Brando?” the boy asked.
“He’s coming,” Ga told them. “The Dear Leader’s going to give him back to the Senator, saying that his nature is too vicious for the peace-loving citizens of our nation.”
The kids didn’t smile at this.
“Will we ever see you again?” the girl asked.
“I’m going to see you,” Ga said, and handed her the camera. “When you take a picture, it shows up on my phone, here.”
“What should we take pictures of?” the boy asked.
“Anything you want to show me,” he said. “Whatever makes you smile.”
“Enough of this,” Sun Moon said. “I did what you asked, I put you in my heart. It’s the only thing I know, not to separate, for everyone to stay together, no matter what.”
“You’re in my heart, too,” Ga said, and at the sound of Comrade Buc’s forklift, he pounded the lids onto the barrels.
The dog found this development quite distressing. Whimpering, Brando circled the barrels, looking for a way in.
Into the fourth barrel, Commander Ga shook out the remaining contents of the guitar case. Photographs fluttered inside, thousands of them, all the lost souls of Prison 33, each with names, dates of entry, dates of death.
Ga swung open the back wall of the temple, then guided Buc in with hand signals.
The color was gone from Buc’s face. “Are we really doing this?” he asked.
“Swing wide around the crowd,” Ga told him. “Make it look like you’re coming from the other direction.”
Buc lifted the pallet and shifted into reverse, but he held the forklift there.
“You’re going to confess, right?” Buc asked. “The Dear Leader’s going to know this is your doing?”
“Trust me, he’ll know,” Ga said.
When Buc backed into the light, Ga was horrified to see how clear it was that people were in the barrels, at least the outlines of them, like willow worms shifting in their white cocoons.
“I think we forgot air holes,” Buc said.
“Just go,” Ga told him.
Out on the runway, Ga found the Dear Leader and Commander Park orchestrating teams of children rolling barrels onto forklift pallets. The children’s motions were choreographed, but without the music of a band behind them, the pantomime resembled the tractor-assembly robot on display at the Museum of Socialist Progress.
With them was the Girl Rower in her golden dress. She stood silently by Wanda’s side, wearing heavy sunglasses behind which her eyes could not be seen. It gave her the effect of looking deeply drugged. Or maybe, Ga thought, that surgery had been done to her eyes.
The Dear Leader came near, and Ga could see that his smile had returned.
“Where is our Sun Moon?” he asked.
“You know her,” Ga said. “She must look perfect. She’ll fuss until perfection is found.”
The Dear Leader nodded at the truth of that. “At least the Americans will soon see her undeniable beauty as she bids farewell to our gruff visitor. Side by side, there will be no question of who is superior. At least I will have that satisfaction.”
“When do I return the dog?” Ga asked.
“That, Commander Ga, will be the final insult.”
Several forklifts raced past Tommy and the Senator, heading off toward the ramp of the plane. The two took an interest in the strange cargo going by—one barrel glowed the vinalon blue of labor-brigade jumpsuits, while another was the nightmare maroon of barbecue beef. When a forklift went past bearing fertilizer toilets, Tommy asked, “Just what kind of aid is this?”
“What does the American say?” the Dear Leader asked Ga.
Ga said, “They’re curious about the variety of aid to be found in our shipment.”
The Dear Leader spoke to the Senator. “I assure you, the only items included are ones that might be needed by a nation plagued with social ills. Do