The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [3]
Jun Do nodded his head. “It is,” he said. “But I’m not an orphan.”
Officer So’s eyes fell upon the red taekwondo badge on Jun Do’s chest.
“Fair enough,” Officer So said and tossed him a sack.
In it were blue jeans, a yellow shirt with a polo pony, and shoes called Nikes that Jun Do recognized from long ago, when the orphanage was used to welcome ferry-loads of Koreans who had been lured back from Japan with promises of Party jobs and apartments in Pyongyang. The orphans would wave welcome banners and sing Party songs so that the Japanese Koreans would descend the gangway, despite the horrible state of Chongjin and the crows that were waiting to transport them all to kwan li so labor camps. It was like yesterday, watching those perfect boys with their new sneakers, finally coming home.
Jun Do held up the yellow shirt. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked.
“It’s your new uniform,” Officer So said. “You don’t get seasick, do you?”
He didn’t. They took a train to the eastern port of Cholhwang, where Officer So commandeered a fishing boat, the crew so frightened of their military guests that they wore their Kim Il Sung pins all the way across the sea to the coast of Japan. Upon the water, Jun Do saw small fish with wings and late morning fog so thick it took the words from your mouth. There were no loudspeakers blaring all day, and all the fishermen had portraits of their wives tattooed on their chests. The sea was spontaneous in a way he’d never seen before—it kept your body uncertain as to how you’d lean next, and yet you could become comfortable with that. The wind in the rigging seemed in communication with the waves shouldering the hull, and lying atop the wheelhouse under the stars at night, it seemed to Jun Do that this was a place a man could close his eyes and exhale.
Officer So had also brought along a man named Gil as their translator. Gil read Japanese novels on the deck and listened to headphones attached to a small cassette player. Only once did Jun Do try to speak to Gil, approaching him to ask what he was listening to. But before Jun Do could open his mouth, Gil stopped the player and said the word “Opera.”
They were going to get someone—someone on a beach—and bring that someone home with them. That’s all Officer So would say about their trip.
On the second day, darkness falling, they could see the distant lights of a town, but the Captain would take the boat no closer.
“This is Japan,” he said. “I don’t have charts for these waters.”
“I’ll tell you how close we get,” Officer So said to the Captain, and with a fisherman sounding for the bottom, they made for the shore.
Jun Do got dressed, cinching the belt to keep the stiff jeans on.
“Are these the clothes of the last guy you kidnapped?” Jun Do asked.
Officer So said, “I haven’t kidnapped anyone in years.”
Jun Do felt his face muscles tighten, a sense of dread running through him.
“Relax,” Officer So said. “I’ve done this a hundred times.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, twenty-seven times.”
Officer So had brought a little skiff along, and when they were close to the shore, he directed the fishermen to lower it. To the west, the sun was setting over North Korea, and it was cooling now, the wind shifting direction. The skiff was tiny, Jun Do thought, barely big enough for one person, let alone three and a struggling kidnap victim. With a pair of binoculars and a thermos, Officer So climbed down into the skiff. Gil followed. When Jun Do took his place next to Gil, black water lapped over the sides, and right away his shoes soaked through. He debated revealing that he couldn’t swim.
Gil kept trying to get Jun Do to repeat phrases in Japanese. Good evening—Konban wa. Excuse me, I am lost—Chotto sumimasen, michi ni mayoimashita. Can you help me find my cat?—Watashi no neko ga maigo ni narimashita?
Officer So pointed their nose toward shore, the old man pushing the outboard motor, a tired Soviet Vpresna, way too hard. Turning north and running with the coast, the boat would lean shoreward as a swell