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Wednesday, January 20, 2021, 10:00 PM Korea Standard Time (8AM Washington Time)
It was after dinner in the Presidential Palace in Pyongyang. The Supreme Representative of the Korean People, who was in fact demonstrably the least representative Korean alive, was just finishing dessert at his huge table. He was dining with two of his twenty deputies, one of whom seemed to be sweating profusely. The two were seated at least twenty feet away from the Supreme Representative.
“Why are you perspiring, Thae-dok?” the Supreme Representative asked, still looking down at his crème brûlée. “Do you have the virus, perchance?”
“I am Thae-song, Dear Respected,” the sweating man replied.
“I always get you two mixed up. I will refer to you from now on as ‘Thae-sweat.’”
“If this pleases you, Dear Respected.”
“It does. Now we must discuss more important matters. Would you like a sanitizing wipe? Perhaps a towel?”
“No, Dear Respected. I am fine. I had the virus long ago.”
“You are not fine.” The Supreme Representative turned to a waiter behind him, clad in a hazmat suit. “Get this man a towel before we all drown in a tsunami of his U.S. Army-virus sweat.”
At this a bead of perspiration rolled down Thae-song’s nose and dripped off its end into his lap. His misery was palpable. The other deputy, grateful for Thae-song’s domination of the Supreme Representative’s attentions, sat back, perfectly composed.
“Maybe I will call you ‘Melting Snowman’ from now on instead.”
Thae-song accepted a proffered towel gratefully. “Yes, Dear Respected.”
Suddenly the Supreme Representative turned to the other deputy. “Thae-dok,” he barked.
Thae-dok jerked a bit, but his face betrayed no perturbation.
“Yes, Dear Leader?”
“Our enemy is being re-inaugurated today in Washington.”
“Yes, Dear Leader.”
“We have signally failed to obtain the concessions from him that my predecessor sought.”
“Yes, Dear Leader.”
“Still,” the Supreme Representative mused, “he has been more forthcoming than we could have expected when he was first elected.”
“This is true, Dear Leader.”
“Why do you keep referring to me as ‘Dear Leader?’ That’s the one thing Thae-sweat here has gotten right this evening. You must refer to me as ‘Dear Respected’ now.”
“Yes, Dear… Respected.”
“I would think that this was made clear at the last Party Congress, when I was elected to be Supreme Representative. You are a Vice Chairman of the Party, are you not?”
“Yes, Dear Respected. My most humble apologies.” Thae-dok bowed jerkily. Across the table, Thae-song seemed to exude relief. His sweating even appeared to abate a bit.
“Anyway, this President is celebrating his re-installation. Apparently, the election was a farce and ended in a tie, and his hand-picked Supreme Court handed him the office anyway. Just as they did for the president before last. And they call our system lawless.”
“Yes, Dear L… Respected.”
The Supreme Representative shot him a hard look, then continued.
“I would like to prepare a most impressive demonstration for this President. In his honor, so to speak.”
“I think this would be most wise,” Thae-dok said. “Perhaps something like another of the letters from our late Dear Leader that he has praised so fulsomely?”
“No, I think we are beyond letters. I think we need something more impressive.”
“A… parade?” offered Thae-song, from across the table.
“No,” said the Supreme Representative. “Something a bit more explosive.”
“Fireworks?” Thae-dok asked, tentatively.
“Of a sort,” the Supreme Representative answered. “I want to conduct a missile test that will leave them in no doubt that I can reach the entirety of their corrupt nation. In particular, all of the President’s golf resorts.”
“An intercontinental long-range missile, then?” Thae-song offered.
The Supreme Representative glowered at him. “Yes, Thae-sweat. An ICBM. I believe this is the only thing that will get their attention. Also, I want another underground test of our latest device. I want this one to be a success. Before the first of April. If it is not, Thae-sweat, you may suffer the same fate as my predecessor’s dear departed uncle.”
Thae-song began to perspire again, visibly.
“Four hundred ravenous dogs. I can show you the videotape again if you wish.”
“That… will not be necessary, Dear Respected.”
“No, I think that we need some post-dessert entertainment.” He clapped his hands. A waiter approached, head bowed.
“Set up the entertainment center with my favorite video,” he said imperiously.
“Yes, Dear Respected,” the waiter said, bowing abruptly, turning, and almost running out of the room.
“This old President,” the Supreme Representative mused. “I think he badly wants to be me, to have the power I have. He cannot, of course, in his ridiculous democratic system, though he has tried, with this virus, to seize some power on an emergency basis. But his obvious… sympathy for us, and our system, has proven useful to us. He is hardly what I would call a friend. And he is, of course, a strange and hideous man in many respects. Such an odd color. Perhaps from his recent illness? But he has shown himself on occasion to be a…” The Supreme Representative paused to seek the correct phrase. “A wobbly lever for our desires.”
Both deputies nodded at this.
“Now let us retire to the video room,” the Supreme Representative said. “It does my digestion wonders. Whenever the doctors try to prescribe me something for my stomach, I tell them, ‘Just let me see my doggies.’ Or should we watch basketball?”
Neither deputy could suppress a momentarily hopeful expression at this suggestion.
“No, I think the dogs. We are going to the dogs! Ha!” the Supreme Representative laughed. Both deputies laughed mirthlessly at this. Another drop fell from Thae-song’s nose as the three men rose from the table.
The Supreme Representative turned to a waiter. “Destroy everything that Thae-sweat has touched,” he barked. “Chairs, tablecloth, napkins, plates, silverware. The rug also. Incinerate it all. And put a tarpaulin over whatever chair he will sit upon in the video room, and burn that tarp afterwards too.”
The waiter bowed quickly, out of reflex, as did Thae-song, sorrowfully and contritely. The three men made their way out of the dining room.
© 2020 Nolan O’Brian