The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [68]
“Blackwater,” Tommy said to Wanda. “They your new outfit?”
They were heading toward a stand of trees from which blew white, vinalon-like fibers.
“Blackwater?”
“That’s what your hat says.”
“It’s just a free hat,” she said. “Right now I think I’m working for a civilian subsidiary of a government contractor to the military. No use trying to keep it straight. I’ve got three Homeland passes, and I’ve never set foot in the place.”
“Headed back to Baghdad?” he asked.
She looked across the Texas hardpan. “Friday,” she said.
The sun was direct when they climbed down from the big truck. Jun Do’s dress shoes filled with sand. A table had been set up with a barrel cooler of lemonade, and three gift baskets, each wrapped in cellophane. The baskets contained a cowboy hat, a pint of bourbon, a carton of American Spirit cigarettes, some beef jerky, a water bottle, sunscreen, a red kerchief, and a pair of calfskin gloves.
“My wife’s doing,” the Senator said.
The Senator invited them to retrieve the hats and gloves from their gift baskets. A motorized saw and weed cutter had been set out, and the Koreans donned safety goggles to cut brush. Dr. Song’s eyes, through the plastic, were seething with indignity.
Tommy pull-started the weed cutter and handed it to the Minister, who seemed to take a strange pleasure in moving the blade back and forth through the dead brambles.
When it was Dr. Song’s turn, he said, “It seems I, too, have the pleasure.” He positioned his goggles, then raced the engine through brush and stubble before stalling the blade in the sand.
“I fear I have little aptitude for groundskeeping,” Dr. Song said to the Senator. “But, as the Great Leader Kim Il Sung prescribes, Ask not what the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea can do for you; ask what you can do for the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.”
The Senator sucked air through his teeth.
Tommy said, “Isn’t he also the great leader who regretted that his citizens had but one life to give for their country?”
“Okay,” the Senator said. “Let’s try our hand at fishing.”
Poles had been laid out at a stock pond fed by well pumps. The sun was relentless, and in his dark suit, Dr. Song looked unsteady. The Senator took two folding chairs from the bed of his truck, and he and Dr. Song sat in the shade of a tree. Though he fanned himself with the hat as the Senator did, Dr. Song did not loosen his tie.
Tommy spoke low and respectfully to the Minister. Jun Do translated.
“Cast beyond the trunk of that fallen tree,” Tommy suggested. “Jiggle the tip of the pole to make your lure dance as you reel in.”
Wanda approached Jun Do with two glasses of lemonade.
“I have once been fishing with cables of electricity,” the Minister said. “Very effective.”
It was the first time the Minister had spoken all day. Jun Do could think of no way to soften this statement. Finally, he translated it to Tommy as, “The Minister believes victory is at hand.”
Jun Do took the lemonade from Wanda, who had an eyebrow raised in suspicion. It let Jun Do know that she was no clear-complexioned stewardess offering drinks to powerful men.
It took the Minister a few casts to get the knack of it, Tommy pantomiming advice.
“Here,” she said to Jun Do. “Here’s my contribution to your gift basket.” She handed him a tiny LED flashlight. “They give ’em away at the trade shows,” she said. “I use them all the time.”
“You work in the dark?” he asked.
“Bunkers,” she said. “That’s my specialty. I analyze fortified bunkers. I’m Wanda, by the way. I didn’t get to introduce myself.”
“Pak Jun Do,” he said, taking her hand. “How do you know the Senator?”
“He visited Baghdad, and I gave him a tour of Saddam’s Saladin Complex. A very impressive structure. High-speed rail tunnels, triple-filtered air, nuke resistant. Once you see someone’s bunker, you know everything about him. You get news of the war?”
“Constantly,” Jun Do told her. He