The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [82]
To all, Dr. Song offered only a bow.
Jun Do approached Wanda. She wore a jogging top, so he could see the power of her chest and shoulders. Her hair, for the first time, was down, framing her face.
“Happy trails to you,” he said to her. “That’s a Texas good-bye, no?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Do you know the response? It’s ‘Until we meet again.’ ”
The Senator’s wife held a puppy, her fingertips moving through the soft folds of its skin.
She considered Jun Do for a long moment.
He said, “Thank you for tending to my wound.”
“I’ve taken an oath,” she said. “To assist all in medical need.”
“I know you don’t believe my story,” he said.
“I believe you come from a land of suffering,” she said. Her voice was measured and resonant, the way she’d spoken when she’d talked about the Bible. “I also believe your wife is a good woman, one that only needs a friend. Everyone tells me I’m not allowed to be that friend to her.” She kissed the puppy, then held it out to Jun Do. “So this is the best I can do.”
“A heartfelt gesture,” Dr. Song said, smiling. “Unfortunately, canines are not legal in Pyongyang.”
She pressed the dog into Jun Do’s hands. “Don’t listen to him, or his rules,” she said. “Think of your wife. Find a way.”
Jun Do accepted the dog.
“The Catahoula is bred to herd,” she said. “So when that puppy’s mad at you, he’ll bite at your heels. And when he wants to show his love, he’ll bite at your heels.”
“We have a plane to catch,” Dr. Song said.
“We call him Brando,” the Senator’s wife said. “But you can name him whatever you like.”
“Brando?”
“Yes,” she said. “See this mark on his haunch? That’s where a brand would go.”
“A brand?”
“A brand’s a permanent mark that says something’s yours.”
“Like a tattoo?”
She nodded. “Like your tattoo.”
“Then Brando it is.”
The Minister began walking toward the Thunderbird, but the Senator stopped him.
“No,” the Senator said. He pointed at Jun Do. “Him.”
Jun Do looked to Wanda, who gave a nodding shrug. Tommy had his arms crossed and wore a satisfied smile.
Jun Do took a seat in the coupe. The Senator joined him, their shoulders almost touching, and slowly they began moving down the gravel road.
“We thought the talkative one was manipulating the dumb one,” the Senator said. He shook his head. “Turns out you were the one all along. Is there any end to you people? And controlling him with yeses and nos at the end of sentences. How dumb do you think we are? I know you’ve got the backward-nation card to play and the I’ll-get-thrown-in-a-gulag excuse. But coming all this way to pretend to be a nobody? Why tell that cockamamie shark story? And what the hell does a minister of prison mines do, exactly?”
The Senator’s accent was getting stronger as he spoke, and though Jun Do couldn’t catch all the words, he knew exactly what the Senator was saying.
“I can explain,” Jun Do said.
“Oh, I’m listening,” the Senator told him.
“It’s true,” Jun Do said. “The Minister is not really a minister.”
“So who is he?”
“Dr. Song’s driver.”
The Senator laughed in disbelief. “Christ a’mighty,” he said. “Did you even consider playing level with us? You don’t want us to board your fishing boats, that’s something to talk about. We sit down in the same room. We suggest that you maybe don’t use fishing boats to smuggle Taepodong missile parts, counterfeit currency, heroin, and so on. Then we reach an agreement. Instead I’m wasting my time talking to the chumps, while you were what, getting a gander?”
“Suppose you had dealt with me,” Jun Do said, even though he had no idea what he was talking about. “What is it you would have wanted?”
“What would I want?” the Senator asked. “I never heard what you had to offer, exactly. We’d want something solid, something