“I haven’t had time to read your latest novel yet,” he whispered to Paul. “I speak a little Korean, but unfortunately not enough for a whole book. On the other hand, I can tell you that you made my partner cry his eyes out. You’re all he’s talked about for the past week. He was deeply moved by your novel. Part of his family lives in North Korea and he told me that your story was incredibly accurate and detailed. How I envy the freedom you have as a writer. Giving voice to viewpoints that people in my position are forced to keep under wraps, due to diplomatic obligations. But allow me to say that with this novel, with this story, you are speaking for all of America.”
Paul frowned at the ambassador for several moments.
“Um . . . Would you mind elaborating on that a bit?” he asked warily.
“My partner is Korean, as I said, and . . . Oh, there he is! I assure you he’s far more eloquent than I am. I’ll let you go ahead and introduce yourself. He’s dying to meet you. In the meantime, I should probably go and welcome our other guests. And, if you don’t mind, I’m going to kidnap your charming friend here to come along as backup. Don’t you worry, I’m harmless,” the ambassador added with a smile.
Mia shot a pleading look at Paul, but their host was already leading her away.
Paul barely had time to come to his senses before a slender and extremely elegant man flung his arms around his neck and pressed his head against Paul’s shoulder.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said. “I’m so honored to meet you.”
“Um . . . Me too,” said Paul, attempting to free himself from the man’s grip. “But for what exactly am I being thanked?”
“For everything! For being who you are, for your words, your deep concern for the fate of my people. Who else cares these days? What your work means to me . . . you can’t even imagine.”
“You’re right, actually, I can’t. Is this some sort of mass prank or what?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” said Paul, exasperated. “I don’t understand anything anymore.”
The two men looked each other up and down.
“I hope you are not shocked by my relationship with Henry, Ms. Barton. We’ve been deeply in love for ten years. We even have a child together, a little boy we adopted, whom we love very dearly.”
“No, no—that’s not it. I grew up in San Francisco and I’m a Democrat. Love whoever you want. What I don’t understand is what you were saying about my book.”
“Did I say something offensive? If that is the case, please excuse me. Your novel is so very important to me.”
“My novel?Mynovel? The one I wrote?”
“Yes, yours, of course,” the man replied, holding up the book he gripped in his hand.
While Paul was incapable of deciphering the Hangul characters, he had no trouble recognizing his photo on the back cover, the same his editor had shown him the day before yesterday. The deep well of confusion filled Paul with doubt. And this doubt grew and grew, until finally he felt as though the ground were giving way beneath his feet.
“Would you agree to sign it for me?” the man pleaded. “My name is Shin.”
Paul took him by the arm.
“Is there someplace nearby where we could talk for a moment in private?”
Shin led Paul down a corridor and into an office.
“We won’t be disturbed here,” he assured Paul, gesturing to a chair.
Paul took a deep breath and tried to find the right words.
“You speak perfect English. And I assume you’re fluent in Korean?”
“Yes, of course. I am Korean,” Shin replied, sitting down opposite Paul.
“Good. And so you’ve read my book?”
“Twice! It had such a powerful effect on me. And every night before I go to sleep, I reread a passage.”
“Fantastic. Shin, I just have a small favor to ask.”
