by Adam Johnson
“What happened?” Buc asked him.
“I told her the truth about something,” Ga answered.
“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Buc said. “It’s bad for people’s health.”
Sun Moon held the script with one hand and raised the other high. Cigarette in her mouth, she tried to find her motivation in a line:
“The true first husband of all women is the Great Leader Kim Il Sung!
“The true first husband of all women is the Great Leader Kim Il Sung!
“The true first husband of all women is the Great Leader Kim Il Sung!”
“Did you hear what the Dear Leader wants to do now?” Buc asked him. “He wants to give the Americans a branding demonstration.”
“Ha,” Commander Ga said. “I’m sure the cattle are lining up to volunteer.”
At the sound of his laugh, Sun Moon stopped reading and turned. Seeing him standing there, she threw the script off the balcony and went inside.
Ga and Buc watched the cloud of paper flutter through the trees.
Comrade Buc shook his head in disbelief. “You really upset her,” he said. “You know how long she’s been waiting for this movie?”
“She’ll be rid of me soon enough, and her life will return to normal,” Ga said, and despite himself, there was a sadness to his voice.
“Are you joking?” Buc asked. “The Dear Leader has declared you the real Commander Ga. There’s no way he can get rid of you now. And why would he want to? His nemesis is gone.”
Ga drank from his beer.
“I found his computer,” he said.
“Are you serious?” Buc asked.
“Yeah. It was hidden behind a painting of Kim Il Sung.”
“Is there anything on there you can use?”
“It’s mostly loaded with maps,” Ga said. “There’s a lot of technical data, flowcharts, blueprints, things I can’t make sense of.”
“Those maps are the uranium mines,” Buc said. “Your predecessor was in charge of every excavation site. Plus, he oversaw the entire processing network—ore to refinement. I procured everything for him. You ever try to buy aluminum centrifuge tubes over the internet?”
“I thought being the Minister of Prison Mines was supposed to be a symbolic post, nothing more than signing the paperwork to keep the convict labor coming.”
“That was before the uranium was discovered,” Buc said. “You think the Dear Leader would hand Ga the keys to the nuclear program? If you want, I’ll explain it all. We can go through the laptop together.”
“You don’t want to see it,” Ga said. “There are also pictures.”
“Of me?”
Ga nodded. “And a thousand other men.”
“He didn’t do to me what those photos make it look like.”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, this is something you should hear,” Buc said. “He was going to man-attack me, he said. But once he beat me down, once he had me where he could do anything he wanted, he lost interest. All he wanted then was an image to remember me by. I can’t imagine how good it must have felt, to take the life from that man. He tried to do it to you, right?”
Ga didn’t say anything.
Buc said, “You can tell me, can’t you? How you finished him off? Seeing as you’re in the mood to tell the truth.”
“It’s not a big story,” Ga said. “I was in the bottom level of the mine. The ceilings were low, and there was only one droplight in each chamber. Water rained through cracks in the ceiling, and it was hot, everything was steam. There were several men down there, and we were looking at a vein of white rock. That was the goal, getting the white rock out. Then Commander Ga appeared in the room. Suddenly he was there, dripping with sweat.
“You’ve got to know the men under you, Ga said to me. You’ve got to know their hearts. Victory from without comes from victory within.
“I pretended I didn’t hear him.
“Grab a man, Commander Ga told me. That one there, let’s know the heart of that one.
“I beckoned one of the men over.
“Grab him! Commander Ga shouted. Grab him so he believes it. Take him so there’s no doubt in his mind.
“I approached the man. He saw the look on my face, and I saw the look on his. He turned from me and I took his back, wrapping him with my arms. When I looked back to see if this was sufficient for the Commander, I saw that he was now naked, his uniform a pile on the ground.
“Commander Ga spoke as if nothing was different. You’ve got to do it like you mean it, he’s got to believe there’s no escape. That’s the only way you’ll know if he likes the idea. Commander Ga put his arms around the midsection of another inmate. You’ve got to get ahold of him. He’s got to know you’re stronger, that there’s no way out. Maybe it’s only when you grab him by the backside that he gives in to what he really wants and then his arousal betrays him.
“Commander Ga grabbed the man in a way that made him wince in fear.
“Stop, I told him.
“Commander Ga turned to me, amazement on his face. That’s right. That’s what you say to him. Stop. I knew you were the only real man here.
“Commander Ga took a step toward me, and I took a step back.
“Don’t do this, I said.
“That’s right, that’s exactly what you say. Commander Ga had a strange light in his eyes. But he doesn’t listen, that’s the point. He’s stronger than you are, and he keeps coming.
“Who keeps coming?
“Who? Ga asked, then gave a smile. Him.
“I began moving backward. Please, I said. Please, there’s no need for this.
“Yes, Commander Ga said. Yes, you’re resisting, you’re doing everything to keep it from happening, it’s clear you don’t want it, that’s why I like you, that’s why I’m teaching you the test. But what if it’s going to happen anyway? What if your words mean nothing to him? What if when you fight him, he fights harder?
“Commander Ga closed on me, and I took a swing. It was a weak punch. I was scared to really hit him. Ga batted my fist to the side, then nailed me with a crisp jab. What if you fight all the way, he asked, but it’s just going to happen? What does that make you?
“I landed a swift leg kick that made Commander Ga lose his footing, and excitement crossed his face. Ga flashed a high kick that came so fast it swiveled my head—I’d never seen a kick so fast.
“This isn’t going to happen, I said. I’m not going to let it happen.
“That’s why I chose you. Ga doled a searing left kick to my midsection, and I could feel my liver bruise over. Of course you’re going to give it your all, of course you’re going to struggle with all your might. You don’t know how I respect you. You’re the only one, in all this time, that’s really fought back, you’re the only one who knows me, who really understands me. I glanced down and saw that the Commander was aroused, his prick fiercely curving. Still, there was a sweet, childlike smile on his face. I’m about to show my soul, the big scar on my soul, Ga said, advancing upon me, his hips charging for a kick. It will hurt—I won’t lie to you, it’s never going to stop hurting, really. But think of it—soon we’ll both have the same scar. Soon, we’ll be like brothers that way.
“I backed away to his right, until I was under the droplight that illuminated the chamber. With a jumpkick, my foot swept through the bulb, and in the flash, a mist of glass hung frozen in the air. Then it was dark. I could hear Commander Ga shuffling. That’s how people move when they’re not used to the dark.”
“And then what happened?” Buc asked.
“Then I went to work,” Ga answered.
Sun Moon spent that evening in the bedroom. Commander Ga made the children cold noodles for dinner, which the boy and the girl kept dangling above Brando’s nose so they could witness the dog’s powerful teeth snapping them down. Only when the dishes were cleared did Sun Moon emerge in her bathrobe, puffy-faced, smoking. She told the children it was time to sleep, then
spoke to Ga.
“I must see this American movie,” she said. “The one that’s supposed to be the best.”
That night, the children slept with the dog on a pallet at the foot of the bed, and when Pyongyang went black, they lay side by side on the bed and inserted Casablanca into the laptop. The battery indicator said they had ninety minutes, so there would be no stopping.
Right away, she shook her head at the primitive nature of black-and-white photography.
He translated on the fly for her, converting the English to Korean as fast as he could, and when the words wouldn’t come, he simply had to move his fingers, and they transcribed the lines.
For a while, her face was sour. She criticized the movie for moving too quickly. She labeled everyone in it an elite, drinking all day in fancy clothes. “Where are the common people?” she asked. “With real problems?” She laughed at the premise of a “letter of transit” that allowed anyone who possessed it to escape. “There is no magic letter that gets you out.”
She told him to stop the movie. He wouldn’t. But it was giving her a headache.
“I cannot tell what this movie glorifies,” she said. “And when will the hero make his appearance? If no one breaks into song soon, I am going to bed.”
“Shh,” he said to her.
It was hurting her to watch, he could tell. Every image was a challenge to her life. The complicated looks and shifting desires of the characters were breaking her down, yet she had no power to stop it. As the beautiful actress Ingrid Bergman spent more time on screen, Sun Moon began questioning her, coaching her. “Why doesn’t she settle down with the nice husband?”
“The war is coming,” Ga told her.
“Why does she gaze at the immoral Rick that way?” she asked, even as she gazed at him, too. Soon, she stopped seeing the ways he profiteered off others and filled his safe with currency and spread bribes and lies. She only saw how he reached for a cigarette when Ilsa entered the room, how he drank when she left it. The ways in which no one seemed happy spoke to Sun Moon. She nodded at how all the characters’ problems originated in the dark capital of Berlin. When the movie went back in time to Paris, where the characters smiled and wanted only bread and wine and each other, Sun Moon was smiling through her tears, and Commander Ga stopped translating for whole passages when all that was needed were the emotions crossing the faces of this man Rick and the woman Ilsa who loved him.
At the end of the movie, she was inconsolable.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she did not respond.
“My whole life is a lie,” she said through tears. “Every last gesture. To think I acted in color, every garish detail captured in color.” She rolled to him, so she was looking up into his eyes. She grabbed his shirt, wrenching the fabric in both hands. “I must make it to the place where this movie was made,” she said. “I have to get out of this land and make it to a place where real acting exists. I need a letter of transit and you must help me. Not because you killed my husband or because we will pay the price when the Dear Leader casts you aside, but because you are like Rick. You are an honorable man like Rick in the movie.”
“But that was just a movie.”
“No it wasn’t,” she said, defiance in her eyes.
“But how would I get you out?”
“You are a special man,” she said. “You can get us out. I’m telling you you must.”
“But Rick made his own decision, that was his to make.”
“That’s right, I have told you what I need of you, and you have a decision to make.”
“But what about us?” he asked.
She looked at him as if now she understood how it would work. That she now knew her fellow actor’s motivation, and the plot would follow from that.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“When you say, get us out, do you mean us, does that include me?”
She pulled him closer. “You are my husband,” she said. “And I am your wife. That means us.”
He stared into her eyes, hearing the words he hadn’t known he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.
“My husband used to say that one day it would all end,” she said. “I’m not waiting for that day.”
Ga placed his hand on her. “Did he have a plan?”
“Yes,” she said. “I discovered his plan—passport, cash, travel passes. The plan included only him. Not even his children.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “My plan won’t be like that.”
I WAS AWAKE in the middle of the night. I could feel that my parents were, too. For a while, I heard the boots of a Juche Youth Troop heading toward one of those dark, all-night shock rallies in Kumsusan Square. Heading to work in the morning, I knew I’d pass those girls on the way home, faces blacked by fire smoke, slogans painted down their thin arms. Most of all, those wild eyes. I stared at the ceiling, imagining the nervous hooves of baby goats above, always taking shuffle steps since it was too dark for them to see the edge of the roof.
I kept thinking how much Commander Ga’s biography was like my own. Both our names were essentially unknown—there was nothing by which friends and family could call us, there was no word to which our deepest selves could respond. And then there was the way I was coming to believe that he didn’t know the fates of the actress and her children. True, he seemed to move forward under the belief that all was well with them, but I don’t think he had any idea. Much like myself—I created biographies of my subjects, which basically documented their lives up to the point they met me. Yet I had to admit, I’d never followed up on a single person who left Division 42. Not one biography had an epilogue. Our most important connection was how, to be given a new life, Ga had to take one away. I proved that theorem every day. After years of failure, I now understood that by writing Commander Ga’s biography, maybe I was also writing my own.
I stood at the window. By the merest of starlight, I urinated into a wide-mouthed jar. A sound rose from the street below. And then something happened to let me know, despite the darkness, despite the kilometers between me and the nearest farm, that the nation’s rice stalks were golden-tipped and it was harvest season again: two dump trucks pulled up across Sinuiju Street, and with bullhorns, the Minister of Mass Mobilization’s men rousted all the occupants of the Worker’s Paradise Housing Block. Below, my neighbors in their bedclothes were slowly packed into trucks. By dawn they would be bent over, ankle deep in paddy water, receiving a daylong remedial lesson on the word “toil,” which is the source of all food.
“Father,” I spoke into the dark room. “Father, is it just about survival? Is that all there is?” I could feel the jar warm in my hand as I carefully screwed the lid back on. When the trucks pulled away, the only sound left was the slight whistle of my father breathing through his nose, a sure sign he was awake.
In the morning, another member of my team was missing. I can’t say his name, but he was the one with the thin mustache and the lisp. He’d been out a week, and I had to assume it was more than being pressed into a harvest detail. It was likely I wouldn’t see him again. He was the third this month, the sixth this year. What happened to them, where did they go? How were we going to replace the Pubyok when they retired if we were only a couple of men and a pair of interns?
Nonetheless, we took the gondola to the top of Mount Taesong. While Jujack and Leonardo searched Comrade Buc’s house, Q-Kee and I swept Commander Ga’s residence, though it was hard to focus. Every time you looked up, there through the grand windows was the skyline of Pyongyang below. You had to gasp at the sight of it. The whole house had a dreamlike quality to it—Q-Kee just shook her head at the way these people had their own bedroom and kitchen. They shared a commode with no one. Dog hair was everywhere, and it was clear they kept such an animal simply for personal amusement. The Golden Belt, in its glowing case, was something we were frightened to inspect. Even the Pubyok hadn’t touched it on their initial sweep.
Their garden had been picked clean—ther
e wasn’t so much as a pea to take home to my parents. Had Commander Ga and Sun Moon taken fresh food with them, expecting a journey, perhaps? Or did Ga intend the food for his getaway? In their scrap heap was the rind of a whole melon and the fine bones of songbirds. Had they been more deprived than their fancy yangban house suggested?
Under the house, we found a thirty-meter tunnel stocked with rice sacks and American movies. The escape hatch was across the road, behind some bushes. Inside the house, we discovered some standard hiding compartments in the wall, but they were mostly empty. In one, we found a stack of South Korean martial-arts magazines, very illegal. The magazines were well worn and depicted fighters whose bodies rippled with combat. With the magazines was a lone handkerchief. This I lifted, looking for a monogram. I turned to Q-Kee. “I wonder what this handkerchief is doing—”
“Drop it,” Q-Kee told me.
Right away, I let go, and the handkerchief fell to the floor. “What?” I asked.
“Don’t you know what Ga must have used that for?” she asked me. She looked at me like I was one of the blind new puppies in the Central Zoo. “Didn’t you have brothers?”
In the bathroom, Q-Kee indicated how Sun Moon’s comb and Commander Ga’s razor shared the edge of the sink. She’d come to work sporting a black eye, and I’d pretended not to notice, but in front of a mirror, there was no way to avoid it.
“Did someone try to hurt you?” I asked her.
“What makes you think it wasn’t love?”
I laughed. “That would be a new way to show affection.”
Q-Kee cocked her head and regarded me in the mirror.
She lifted a single glass from the sink ledge and held it to the light.
“They shared a rinse cup,” she said. “That’s love. There are many proofs.”
“Is it proof?” I asked her. I shared a rinse cup with my parents.
In the bedroom, Q-Kee surveyed things. “Sun Moon would sleep on this side of the bed,” she said. “It is closer to the toilet.” Then Q-Kee went to the little table on that side of the bed. She opened and closed its drawer, knocked on the wood. “A smart woman,” Q-Kee said, “would keep her condoms taped to the underside of this table. They wouldn’t be visible to her husband, but when she needed one, all she had to do was reach.”