The Orphan Master's Son by Adam Johnson Page B

speak of his own bravery, but I saw it, I saw all of it—how the Americans boarded in a surprise attack, how an ROK officer led the Americans around like dogs on a chain. I saw them insult our country andparade in our flag, but when they touched the portraits of our Leaders, lightning fast, the Second Mate, in the spirit of true self-sacrifice, drew his knife and took on the entire platoon of American pigs. Within moments, the Americans were retreating for their lives, such was the bravery and revolutionary zeal of the Mate.”
    The Captain came and clapped Jun Do on the back. With that, all of the Nikes went into the sea, leaving a slick of shoes behind. What had taken all night to gather went over in a few minutes. Then the Captain called for the extinguisher.
    The Machinist brought it to the edge of the ship, and everyone watched as it went into the water. Nose first, a flash of red, and it was barreling for the deeps. Then it was time for the life raft, which they balanced on the rail. They took one last look at it, beyond yellow in the afternoon light, and when the First Mate went to push it over, the Captain stopped him. “Wait,” the Captain said and took a moment to gather his resolve. “At least let’s see how it works.” He pulled the red handle, and as promised, it deployed with a burst before it even hit the water. It was so new and clean, double-ringed under a foul-weather canopy, big enough for all of them. A little red light flashed on top, and together they watched as their rescue boat sailed off without them.

    Jun Do slept until they made port in Kinjye that afternoon. The crew all donned their red Party pins. Waiting for them at the dock was a large group—several soldiers, the maritime minister from Chongjin, some local Party officials, and a reporter from the regional office of
Rodong Sinmun
. They’d all heard about the insulting American radio transmissions, though the last thing they were going to do was brave the American fleet to rescue the
Junma
.
    Jun Do told his story, and when the reporter asked his name, Jun Do said it didn’t matter, as he was only a humble citizen of the greatest nation in the world. The reporter liked that. There was an older gentleman at the dock whom Jun Do hadn’t noticed at first. He wore a gray suit and had a flattop of short white hair. His hands, though, were unforgettable—they’d been broken and had mishealed. Really, they looked as if they’d been drawn into the
Junma
’s winch. When it was all over, the older man and the reporter led the Second Mate off to confirm the story and get more quotes.
    With dark, Jun Do made his way down the fish-cart paths that led to the new cannery. The old cannery had had a bad batch of tins and many citizens were lost to botulism. The problem proved impossible to locate, so they built a new cannery next to the old one. He passed the fishing boats, and the
Junma
at her tether, men in button-down shirts already unloading her. Whenever bureaucrats in Chongjin were caught being less than supremely obedient, they’d have to make a pilgrimage down to Wonsan or Kinjye to serve a couple of weeks doing revolutionary labor, like hand-hauling fish night and day.
    Jun Do lived in the Canning Master’s house, a large, beautiful dwelling that no one else wished to occupy because of what had happened to the Canning Master and his family. Jun Do inhabited only one room, the kitchen, which had all that he needed: a light, a window, a table, the stove, and a cot he’d set up. It was only a couple of days a month that he was ashore, and if there were ghosts, they didn’t seem to bother him.
    Spread across the table was the transmitter he’d been building. If he broadcast in short bursts, the way the Americans did from the bottom of the sea, he might be able to use it undetected. But the closer it came to completion, the slower he worked, because what in the world would he