The Orphan Master's Son

by Adam Johnson

Jun Do held the book, felt its soft cover. “I could read some with you,” she said. “Do you know of Christ?” Jun Do nodded. “I’ve been briefed on him.” A pain came to the corners of her eyes, then she nodded in acceptance.

No nation sleeps as North Korea sleeps. After lights-out, there is a collective exhale as heads hit pillows across a million households. When the tireless generators wind down for the night and their red-hot turbines begin to cool, no lights glare on alone, no refrigerator buzzes dully through the dark. There’s just eye-closing satisfaction and then deep, powerful dreams of work quotas fulfilled and the embrace of reunification.

The American citizen, however, is wide awake. You should see a satellite photo of that confused nation at night—it’s one grand swath of light, glaring with the sum of their idle, indolent evenings. Lazy and unmotivated, Americans stay up late, engaging in television, homosexuality, and even religion, anything to fill their selfish appetites.

“You’re a thief,” she said. “You are a thief who came into my life and stole everything that mattered to me.”

“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.”