Free The Orphan Master's Son by Adam Johnson

Someone should have taken that stupid idea out of their heads.”
    The kid sounded new to whatever heavy thinking was going on in hisbrain. Jun Do decided to talk him down a bit. “They already made it halfway,” he pointed out. “Plus, they have to be some pretty serious athletes. They’re trained for this, it’s probably what they love. And when you say boat, you can’t be thinking of this bucket. Those are American girls, their craft is hi-tech, with comforts and electronics—you can’t be picturing them like Party officials’ wives rowing a tin can around.”
    The Second Mate wasn’t quite listening. “And what if you do make it around the world—how do you wait in line for your dormitory toilet again, knowing that you’ve been to America? Maybe the millet tasted better in some other country and the loudspeakers weren’t so tinny. Suddenly it’s
your
tap water that smells not so good—then what do you do?”
    Jun Do didn’t answer him.
    The moon was coming up. Above, they could see a jet rising out of Japan—slowly it began its great veer away from North Korean airspace.
    After a while, the Second Mate said, “The sharks will probably get them.” He flicked his cigarette away. “So, what’s this all about, pointing the antenna and all? What’s down there?”
    Jun Do wasn’t sure how to answer. “A voice.”
    â€œIn the ocean? What is it, what’s it say?”
    â€œThere are American voices and an English-speaking Russian. Once a Japanese guy. They talk about docking and maneuvering. Stuff like that.”
    â€œNo offense, but that sounds like the conspiracy talk the old widows are always trading in my housing block.”
    It did sound a little paranoid when the Second Mate said it out loud. But the truth was the idea of conspiracy appealed to Jun Do. That people were in communication, that things had a design, that there was intention, significance, and purpose in what people did—he needed to believe this. Normal people, he understood, had no need for such thinking. The girl who rowed during the day had the horizon of where she came from, and when she turned to look, the horizon of where she was headed. But the girl who rowed in the dark had only the splash and pull of each stroke and the belief that they’d all add up to get her home.
    Jun Do looked at his watch. “It’s about time for the night rower to broadcast,” he said. “Or maybe it’s the daytime girl you want?”
    The Second Mate suddenly bristled. “What kind of a question is that? What’s it matter which one? I don’t want either of them. My wife is the most beautiful woman in her housing block. When I look into her eyes, Iknow exactly what she’s thinking. I know what she’s going to say before she says it. That’s the definition of love, ask any old-timer.”
    The Second Mate smoked another cigarette and then tossed it in the sea. “Say the Russians and Americans are at the bottom of the ocean—what makes you think they’re up to no good?”
    Jun Do was thinking about all the popular definitions of love, that it was a pair of bare hands clasping an ember to keep it alive, that it was a pearl that shines forever, even in the belly of the eel that eats the oyster, that love was a bear that feeds you honey from its claws. Jun Do visualized those girls: alternating in labor and solitude, that moment when the oarlocks were handed off.
    Jun Do pointed to the water. “The Americans and Russians are down there, and they’re up to something, I know it. You ever hear of someone launching a submarine in the name of peace and fucking brotherhood?”
    The Second Mate leaned back on the winch house, the sky vast above them. “No,” he said, “I suppose not.”
    The Captain came out of the pilothouse and told the Second Mate he had shit buckets to