The carpet’s colours cast me back. To Primary School No. 4 and Kim Jong-Il pulling me into our hideout behind the boxwood hedge. Somehow he’d gotten hold of two candies. Not Korean candy, but something entirely forbidden:
Japanese candy. Morinaga Chewlets. Silky pineapple for him, sweet strawberry for me. I was so excited, I swallowed mine immediately. I began to cry. Jong-Il boldly took his candy out of his mouth, bit half off, stuffed it into my mouth, and punched my head.
He changed, yes. But when I bowed, longest and deepest, it was to that six-year-old boy, my friend.
Images: Korean Central News Agency and
Hi-Chew.
A very sweet image but I fear he may have been more nefarious than this (though who knows as a child?) A new novel - The Orphanmaster's Son, makes the scene sound incredibly awful, actually--worse than I had realized. Adam JOhnson. It is a novel, of course.
ReplyDeleteStill, I love the vignette aspect here. This is a great form. K.