The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [34]
Later in the night, after the power was out and the moon had set, Jun Do went on his roof in the absolute darkness and felt his way to the stove flue. He hoped to rig an antenna that would extend from the flue with the pull of a rope. Tonight, he was just running the cable, and even that had to be done under cover of total dark. He could hear the ocean out there, feel the offshoreness of it in the air on his face. And yet, when he sat on the pitch, he could make out none of it. He’d seen the sea in the daylight, been upon it countless times, but what if he hadn’t? What might a person think was out there in the unfathomably grand darkness that lay ahead? The finless sharks, at least, had seen what was below the ocean, and their consolation was that they knew toward what they were descending.
At dawn, the shock-work whistles sounded, usually Jun Do’s signal to go to bed. The loudspeaker came on and began blaring the morning announcements.
“Greetings, citizens!” it began.
There was a knock at the door, and when Jun Do answered, he found the Second Mate. The young man was quite drunk, and he’d been in a vicious fight.
“Did you hear the news?” the Second Mate asked. “They made me a Hero of the Eternal Revolution—that comes with all the medals and a hero’s pension when I retire.”
The Second Mate’s ear was torn, and they needed to get the Captain to give his mouth some stitches. The swelling on the boy’s face was general, with a few bright, isolated knots. Pinned on his chest was a medal, the Crimson Star. “Got any snake liquor?” he asked.
“How about we step down to beer?” Jun Do responded before popping the caps off two bottles of Ryoksong.
“I like that about you—always ready to drink in the morning. What’s that toast? The longer the night, the shorter the morning.”
When the Second Mate drank from his bottle, Jun Do could see there were no marks on his knuckles. He said, “Looks like you made some new friends last night.”
“Let me tell you,” the Second Mate said. “Acts of heroism are easy—becoming a hero is a bitch.”
“Let’s drink to acts of heroism, then.”
“And their spoils,” the Second Mate added. “Speaking of which, you have got to check out my wife—wait till you get a load of how beautiful she is.”
“I look forward to it,” Jun Do told him.
“No, no, no,” the Second Mate said. He went to the window and pointed to a woman standing alone in the fish-cart lane. “Look at her,” he said. “Isn’t she something? Tell me she’s not something.”
Jun Do peered through the window. The girl had wet, wide-set eyes. Jun Do knew the look on her face: as if she desperately wanted to be adopted, but not by the parents who were visiting that day.
“Tell me she’s not outrageous,” the Second Mate said. “Show me the more beautiful woman.”
“There’s no denying it,” Jun Do said. “You know she’s welcome to come in.”
“Sorry,” the Second Mate said, and plopped back in his chair. “She won’t set foot in this place. She’s afraid of ghosts. Next year, I’ll probably put a baby in her—then her breasts will swell with milk. I can tell her to come closer if you want a better look. Maybe I’ll have her sing. You’ll fall out the window when you hear that.”
Jun Do took a pull from his beer. “Have her sing the one about true heroes refusing all rewards.”
“You’ve got a screwed-up sense of humor,” the Second Mate said, holding the cold beer bottle against his ribs. “You know the children of heroes get to go to red-tier schools? Maybe I’ll have a whole brood and live in a house like this. Maybe