The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [5]
Jun Do’s squad swept every tunnel under the DMZ once a month, and they worked without lights, which meant jogging for kilometers in complete darkness, using their red lights only when they reached a tunnel’s end and needed to inspect its seals and trip wires. They worked as if they might encounter the South Koreans at any point, and except for the rainy season, when the tunnels were too muddy to use, they trained daily in zero-light hand to hand. It was said that the ROK soldiers had infrared and American night-vision goggles. The only weapon Jun Do’s boys had was the dark.
When the waves got rough, and he felt panicky, Jun Do turned to Gil. “So what’s this job that’s worse than disarming land mines?”
“Mapping them,” Gil said.
“What, with a sweeper?”
“Metal detectors don’t work,” Gil said. “The Americans use plastic mines now. We made maps of where they probably were, using psychology and terrain. When a path forces a step or tree roots direct your feet, that’s where we assume a mine and mark it down. We’d spend all night in a minefield, risking our lives with every step, and for what? Come morning, the mines were still there, the enemy was still there.”
Jun Do knew who got the worst jobs—tunnel recon, twelve-man submarines, mines, biochem—and he suddenly saw Gil differently. “So you’re an orphan,” he said.
Gil looked shocked. “Not at all. Are you?”
“No,” Jun Do said. “Not me.”
Jun Do’s own unit was made up of orphans, though in Jun Do’s case it was a mistake. The address on his KPA card had been Long Tomorrows, and that’s what had condemned him. It was a glitch no one in North Korea seemed capable of fixing, and now, this was his fate. He’d spent his life with orphans, he understood their special plight, so he didn’t hate them like most people did. He just wasn’t one of them.
“And you’re a translator now?” Jun Do asked him.
“You work the minefields long enough,” Gil said, “and they reward you. They send you someplace cushy like language school.”
Officer So laughed a bitter little laugh.
The white foam of the breakers was sweeping into the boat now.
“The shitty thing is,” Gil said, “when I’m walking down the street, I’ll think, That’s where I’d put a land mine. Or I’ll find myself not stepping on certain places, like door thresholds or in front of a urinal. I can’t even go to a park anymore.”
“A park?” Jun Do asked. He’d never seen a park.
“Enough,” Officer So said. “It’s time to get that language school a new Japanese teacher.” He throttled back and the surf grew loud, the skiff turning sideways in the waves.
They could see the outline of a man on the beach watching them, but they were helpless now, just twenty meters from shore. When Jun Do felt the boat start to go over, he leaped out to steady it, and though it was only waist deep, he went down hard in the waves. The tide rolled him along the sandy bottom before he came up coughing.
The man on the beach didn’t say anything. It was almost dark as Jun Do waded ashore.
Jun Do took a deep breath, then wiped the water from his hair.
“Konban wa,” he said to the stranger. “Odenki kesu da.”
“Ogenki desu ka,” Gil called from the boat.
“Desu ka,” Jun Do repeated.
The dog came running up with a yellow ball.
For a moment, the man didn’t move. Then he took a step backward.
“Get him,” Officer So shouted.
The man bolted, and Jun Do gave chase in wet jeans, his shoes caked with sand. The dog was big and white, bounding with excitement. The Japanese man ran straight down the beach, nearly invisible but for the dog moving from one side of him to the other. Jun Do ran for all he was worth. He focused only on the heartbeat-like thumps of feet padding ahead in the sand. Then he closed his eyes. In the tunnels, Jun Do had developed a sense of people he couldn’t see. If they were out there, he could feel it, and if he could get within range, he could home in on them. His father, the Orphan Master, had always given him a sense that his mother was dead, but that