The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [43]
The Captain’s eyes were open and calm and so close to Jun Do’s that it felt they were communicating in some pure, wordless way. The hand on the back of his neck was solid, and Jun Do found himself nodding.
The Captain said, “You never had anyone to guide you, but I’m here, and I’m telling you this is the right thing to do. These people are your family, and I know you’d do anything for them. All that’s left is the proof.”
The shark had been hanging on the line all night and was stupid with death. When it came out of the water, its eyes were white, and on deck, it opened and closed its mouth less as if trying to take in oxygen than as if trying to expel whatever was slowly killing it.
The Captain told the Pilot to get a firm grip on Jun Do’s arm, but no, Jun Do said, he would hold it out himself. The Mate and Machinist hefted the shark, which was not quite two meters, tip to tail.
Jun Do took a deep breath and turned to the Captain. “Sharks and guns and revenge,” he said. “I know I thought it up, but this isn’t a story that anyone could really believe.”
“You’re right,” the Captain said. “But it’s a story they can use.”
After they radioed for help, a shore patrol boat escorted them to Kinjye, where many people had gathered at the fish-hauling ramp. There were a couple of representatives from the Ministry of Information and a pair of reporters from Rodong Sinmun and there were some local security guys you’d never meet unless you drank. Steam poured from the new cannery, which meant they were in a sterilization cycle, so the workers sat on downturned buckets, waiting for a glimpse of the man who had fought the sharks. Even the urchins and cripple kids had come to eye the scene warily through the glass of the live tanks, making their faces look large and distorted as schools of aji swam by.
A doctor approached Jun Do with a unit of blood. The doctor searched for a vein in the wounded arm, but Jun Do stopped him. “If you put the blood in this arm, won’t it all leak out?”
“Look, I only treat heroes,” the doctor said. “So I know my way around blood. And where it’s leaking from is exactly where it should go.” Then he ran the line into a vein behind the knuckle, taping it off and handing the bag to Jun Do to hold high with his good arm. The doctor unwrapped the bloody T-shirt, and there was no denying the wound. The shark’s teeth, like flakes of milk-glass, had gone all the way, and when the troughs of flesh were irrigated, visible at the base of each of them was the white slick of arm bone.
To the reporter and minister, Jun Do gave a brief summary of his encounter with American aggression. They didn’t ask many questions. It was corroboration they seemed interested in. Suddenly, before him was the older man with the flattop and busted hands who had taken away the Second Mate. He wore the same gray suit and up close Jun Do could see his eyelids were very heavy, making it look as if he was resting his eyes while he spoke.
“I’ll need to confirm the details of your story,” he said, and flashed a silver badge that bore the name of no agency. There was only an image of a thick block wall, floating above the ground.
Jun Do was led down a path, his good arm holding the blood bag, the other in a sling. Ahead was the Captain, who was speaking with the wife of the Second Mate. They stood next to a pile of bricks, and she was not weeping. She eyed the old man and then Jun Do, then she turned to the Captain, who put an arm around her to console her. Jun Do looked back to the commotion at the dock, his mates gesturing large as they recounted the story, but they suddenly seemed very far away.
The old man took him to the abandoned cannery. All that was left of the high-ceilinged factory were the giant steam chambers, the lonely gas manifolds, and the rusty tracks embedded in the cement floor. Shafts of light