The Senator’s wife popped on latex gloves. “Actually,” she said, “I don’t think a John Doe is a missing person. I think it’s when you have the person, just not his identity.”

“My poor little orphan,” she said. “An orphan’s father is twice as important. Orphans are the only ones who get to choose their fathers, and they love them twice as much.”

“Forty percent?” Dr. Song exclaimed. “Voter turnout in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea is ninety-nine percent—the most democratic nation in the world! Still, the United States needn’t feel shame. Your country can still be a beacon for countries with lower turnouts, like Burundi, Paraguay, and Chechnya.”

“Let me tell you about the Dear Leader,” she said. “When he wants you to lose more, he gives you more to lose.”

Real stories like this, human ones, could get you sent to prison, and it didn’t matter what they were about. It didn’t matter if the story was about an old woman or a squid attack—if it diverted emotion from the Dear Leader, it was dangerous. Jun Do needed his typewriter, he needed to get this down, this was the whole reason he listened in the dark

“Your Captain fought back,” she told him. “He resisted, he wouldn’t let them take his identity. He died free.”

When the Dear Leader wanted you to lose more, he gave you more to lose.

“Are there labor camps here?” he asked. “No,” she said. “Mandatory marriages, forced-criticism sessions, loudspeakers?” She shook her head. “Then I’m not sure I could ever feel free here,” he said. “What am I supposed to do with that?” Wanda asked. She seemed almost mad at him. “That doesn’t help me understand anything.” “When you’re in my country,

Mongnan was meticulous, and the catalog was complete. This box, he suddenly understood, was the closest thing his nation had to the phone book he’d seen in Texas.