The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [225]
Dipping his finger in a bloody wound, Commander Ga wrote inspirational slogans on the plane’s windows, and to give Sun Moon some measure of resolve, he wrote in red, backward, a reminder of the Dear Leader’s eternal love for her, nay, of his love for every citizen of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea! Through the windows, the Americans made angry gestures at Commander Ga, but none had the guts to climb out on the wing and fight him like a man. Instead, they accelerated the plane to astounding speeds, executing emergency maneuvers and aerial acrobatics to shake loose their tenacious guest, but no barrel roll was going to stop a determined Commander Ga! He dropped low and gripped the wing’s leading edge as the plane rose over the blessed mountains of Myohyang and over sacred Lake Chon, nestled in the frozen peaks of Mount Paektu, but finally he lost consciousness over the garden city of Chongjin.
Only the powerful reach of North Korean radar allows us to tell the rest of the story.
In the cold, thin air, Commander Ga’s frozen fingers kept a firm grip, yet the canines had taken their toll. Our comrade was fading. That’s when Sun Moon, hair disheveled, face bruised, came to the window and with the power of her patriotic voice sang to him, repeating verses of “Our Father Is the Marshal” over and over until, at just the right moment in the song, Commander Ga muttered, “Eternal is the Marshal’s flame.” Wind pulled freezing strings of blood from his lips, but the good Commander roused, repeating “Eternal is the Marshal’s flame” as he stood.
Braving the great winds, he made his way to the window, where Sun Moon pointed to the sea below. There, he saw what she saw: an American aircraft carrier aggressively patrolling our sovereign waters. He also saw a chance to finally evade the ghosts of past acts of cowardice. Commander Ga gave Sun Moon a crisp, final salute, then dove off the wing, making a missile of himself as he barreled downward, sailing toward the conning towers of capitalism, where, in the bridge, an American captain was surely plotting the next illegal sneak attack.
Do not imagine Ga falling forever, citizens. Picture Ga in a cloud of white. See him in a perfect light, glowing like an icy mountain flower. Yes, picture a flower towering white, so tall that it reaches down to pick you. Yes, here is Commander Ga, picked in his prime and lifted high. And there emerge—all is shining, all is bright—the clasping arms of Kim Il Sung himself.
When one Glorious Leader hands you to the next, citizens, you truly live forever. This is how an average man becomes a hero, a martyr, an inspiration to all. So do not weep, citizens, for look: a bronze bust of Commander Ga is already being placed in the Revolutionary Martyrs’ Cemetery! Dry your eyes, comrades, for generations of orphans to come will now be blessed with the name of both a hero and a martyr. Forever, Commander Ga Chol Chun. In this way, you’ll live forever.
FOR STEPHANIE—
my sun,
my moon,
my star and
satellite
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Support for this book was provided by the National Endowment for the Arts, the Whiting Foundation, and the Stanford Creative Writing Program. Portions of this book first appeared in the following publications: Barcelona Review, Electric Literature, Faultline, Fourteen Hills Review, Granta, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Playboy, Southern Indiana Review, Yalobusha Review, and ZYZZYVA. The author is also indebted to the UCSF Kalmanovitz Medical Library, where much of this book was written.
Thanks to my traveling companions in North Korea: Dr. Patrick Xiaoping Wang, Willard Chi, and the esteemed Dr. Joseph Man-Kyung Ha. Kyungmi Chun, Stanford’s Korean Studies Librarian, proved especially helpful, as was Cheryl McGrath of Harvard’s Widener Library. The support of the Stanford writing faculty has been invaluable to me,