Surprise!

Waiting - Part 3

Director General Ri Choong-ryeol watched his wife butcher spinach and mushrooms with ungainly chops of a large kitchen knife. He'd never seen her so much as boil water in their home, she happily left those domestic duties to their staff. It had been part of their agreement when she agreed to marry him. She'd been a popular actress, beautiful in appearance, mesmerizing in talent, in great demand by the handful of elite theatres allowed to operate in Pyongyang. He came from a good family but was a mere Captain doing his best to rise up the ranks. When she accepted his proposal it was on the condition she'd have her own income, a household staff and latitude to conduct her life as she pleased. He'd been so besotted he'd have agreed to hang the stars if she'd demanded it. Considering her dearth of kitchen experience, she was doing a decent job.

Jeong-hyeok was handling the complicated work. He'd seasoned the water bubbling on the stove top and stood slicing pan fried beef into thin strips. Choong-ryeol assessed the look of focused concentration on his son's face and concluded the boy's mind was elsewhere. The knife moved expertly, confident swipes progressing in a steady rhythm, but he worked with the studied care of a man who knows he's drunk too much so drives extra slow and checks every street sign twice. Jeong-hyeok was trying to hide his restlessness and if his father didn't know him better he'd have succeeded, but Director General Ri Choong-ryeol had survived decades in the cut-throat North Korean army in large part because of his ability to read people. His taciturn offspring was an open book.

"Let's go for a walk," he commanded, rising stiffly from the armchair where he'd settled in the living room.

Both his wife and son looked up, surprised. "Can you finish the meal?" He asked his wife.

She gave him a derisive look and resumed her clumsy chopping.

"Jeong-hyeok, get my jacket."

His son moved quickly now, bewilderment tucked away behind a stalwart expression. He rounded the kitchen island and retrieved his father's jacket from the hallway closet.

Choong-ryeol slipped into it then waved toward the French doors that opened to the Swiss countryside for his son to precede him.

The air was sweet with the scent of flowers. Habit had Choong-ryeol giving his surroundings a swift scan. In Pyongyang somebody was always watching. Even in his own home he couldn't be sure one of the staff members hadn't been coopted by an enemy. He always felt more comfortable speaking of sensitive things outside where listening devices were harder to hide. It was reassuring to look around and see miles of green rolling out in every direction and no other humans nearby to overhear.

His joints ached when he moved. He had sat too long. He shook his legs out with a sigh at the indignity of ageing and chose a relatively flat stretch of earth to follow. His son respectfully matched his slow pace.

"Is the girl coming?" Choong-ryeol asked gruffly after a few steps.

"Yes."

He nodded. How far had they come that the idea of his son marrying a South Korean girl did not fill him with horror? He remembered the afternoon years ago when Jeong-hyeok had come barreling into their home, squared up to him and yelled in his face. His soft-spoken, compliant son who believed in duty and did whatever his parents bid him had looked ready to swing at his own father. It was the most emotion Choong-ryeol had seen his boy demonstrate since the death of his brother and though the insolence had shocked him, it had pleased him too. The girl had thought her feelings were one-sided. She didn't know their son had been drifting through life, insipid as a ghost, until the force of his feelings for her sparked life back into him.

After Jeong-hyeok's army career ended he'd moved back home and started playing the piano again. Bursts of music at all hours filled with vigor and feelings so raw Choong-ryeol often found himself pausing to listen, able to gauge the boy's mood from the tenor of his music. The boy cooked, giving the kitchen staff the night off so he could try out recipes he found in old cookbooks. He visited with friends he had avoided for years. He planted rows of tomatoes in the garden and complained when the peacock snacked on them.