The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [37]
In the galley, they reclined Jun Do upon the table and had him take off his shirt. When the Pilot saw Jun Do’s naked chest, he said, “Ah, a virgin,” and everyone laughed.
“Look,” Jun Do said, “I’m not so sure about this. I’m not even married.”
“Relax,” the Captain said. “I’m going to give you the most beautiful wife in the world.”
While the Pilot and the First Mate flipped through the calendar of the actress Sun Moon, the Captain sprinkled his powdered ink into a spoon and mixed it with drops of water until it was just wetter than paste. The calendar had hung for a long time in the pilothouse, but Jun Do had never really given it much attention because it reeked of the patriotism that came over the loudspeakers. He’d only ever glimpsed a couple of movies in his life, and those were Chinese war movies his unit was shown during bad weather days in the military. Certainly there’d been posters around for Sun Moon’s movies, but they must not have seemed to apply to him. Now, watching the First Mate and Pilot flip through the movie posters, discussing which one had the best image and expression for a tattoo, he was jealous of the way they recalled famous scenes and lines of North Korea’s national actress. He noted a depth and sadness in Sun Moon’s eyes, the faint lines around them bespeaking a resoluteness in the face of loss, and it took everything in him to suppress the memory of Rumina. And then the idea of a portrait, of any person, placed over your heart, forever, seemed irresistible. How was it that we didn’t walk around with every person who mattered tattooed on us forever? And then Jun Do remembered that he had no one that mattered to him, which was why his tattoo would be of an actress he’d never seen, taken from a calendar at the helm of a fishing boat.
“If she’s such a famous actress,” Jun Do said, “then everyone in North Korea will recognize her and know she’s not my wife.”
“The tattoo,” the Captain said, “is for the Americans and South Koreans. To them, it will simply be a female face.”
“Honestly,” Jun Do said. “I don’t even know why you guys do this, what’s the point of tattooing your wife’s face on your chest?”
The Second Mate said, “Because you’re a fisherman, that’s why.”
“So they can identify your body,” the Pilot said.
The quiet Machinist said, “So that whenever you think of her, there she is.”
“Oh, that sounds noble,” the First Mate said. “But it’s to give the wives peace of mind. They think no other woman will sleep with a man who has such a tattoo, but there are ways of course, there are girls.”
“There is only one reason,” the Captain said. “It’s because it places her in your heart forever.”
Jun Do thought about that. A childish question came to him, one that marked him as someone who had never known any kind of love. “Are you placing Sun Moon in my heart forever?” he asked.
“Oh, our young Third Mate,” the Captain said, smiling to the others. “She’s an actress. When you see her movies, that’s not really her. Those are just characters she plays.”
Jun Do said, “I haven’t seen her movies.”
“There you go, then,” the Captain said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“What kind of name is Sun Moon?” Jun Do asked.
“I guess she’s a celebrity,” the Captain said. “Maybe all the yangbans in Pyongyang have strange names.”
They selected an image from Tyrants Asunder. It was a head shot, and instead of staring duty-bound toward a distant imperialist army or looking up to Mount Paektu for guidance, Sun Moon here regarded the viewer with a reverence for all they would have lost together by the time the final movie credits rolled.
The Pilot held the calendar steady, and the Captain began with her eyes. He had a good technique—he’d draw the needles backward, teasing them in and out of the skin with the kind of shimmy you use to cinch a bosun’s knot. That way the pain was less, and the needle tips went in at an angle, anchoring the ink. The Captain used a wet rag to wash away stray ink and blood.