Native Speaker by Chang-rae Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

all people. Mayor De Roos himself was making a point of half-complimenting Kwang in the media whenever he could, just the week before calling him “a fervent voice in the wide chorus that is New York.”
    The mayor was a careerist, a consummate professional, and he knew how the game should be run against an ethnic challenger: marginalize him, isolate him, acknowledge his passion but color it radical, name it zealotry.
    â€œThe mayor is no slouch,” Jack said, scanning film beside me. The room was a converted utility closet, with just enough space for two machines and their chairs. “He knows how hot Kwang is running. John Kwang is a media darling, he is untouchable right now, and there is no sense trying to attack him.”
    â€œThe polls say the people are against bilingualism,” I said. “They’re against giving anything more to immigrants.”
    â€œThey are more against the politicos,” Jack answered. “The big players with interests and connections like the mayor. They love Kwang’s style. He has a homemade sword and he is swinging it as hard as he can. He is the dragon-slayer. It doesn’t hurt to have that expression of his, all wisdom and sincerity. Sometimes I think you’ll look like him, Parky, in fifteen years or so.”
    I stopped the microfiche at a photograph in the
Amsterdam News
. Kwang embracing leaders at an NAACP benefit. “Here he is with his wife, May.”
    â€œWhat did Joan find on her?” Jack asked.
    I flipped through her part of the manila paper file. She hadn’t found much. “Born Kwon So-jung, in Seoul. She’s forty. Ewha Women’s University, degree in English literature. Her father was a founder of one of the industrial conglomerates. He died three years ago. Her mother lives alone in Seoul. May has two brothers and a sister, all alive, all older, all living in Korea. She met Kwang in the States, but where and how we don’t know yet.”
    â€œWhen did she marry him?” Jack asked.
    â€œFifteen years ago, the marriage license says in the county of Queens. They have two boys, named Peter and John Jr., ages eight and five. May does volunteer work. The family attends the Korean Presbyterian Church of Flushing. May also leads the children’s Bible study class. Kwang has been an elder of the church for almost twenty years.”
    Jack nodded, his puffy lips extended. I could tell he’d already done some of his own work.
    He said, “Kwang knows his base. He lives and dies on contributions from grocers and dry cleaners. It’s said the congregation freely hands money to him after the service in envelopes. You’ll have to see for yourself.”
    I imagined Kwang in a dark suit and white gloves, his parcels of tribute politely bundled behind him on the dais.
    â€œI wonder if my father ever gave him money.”
    â€œLet’s hope not,” we heard, immediately behind us.
    It was Dennis Hoagland. The grand never-knocker. He was wearing a red rain slicker and a canvas fishing hat pinned with wet flies and nymphs. As usual, Hoagland had waited to come at us from an unseeable angle. His dog, Spiro, unleashed, heeled behind him and yelped once in pain as he lowered himself to the floor.
    â€œIt’s nice to see someone working around here,” Hoagland said, rubbing warmth into his hands. He never seemed to address anyone in particular. “I can’t do any work myself. February is the gloomiest month. It’s never been this cloudy, never. The fucking sun must have died. Do you remember a time as dark and damp as this, Jack?”
    â€œIt’s always sunny where I live.”
    â€œDamn, Jack.” He stepped forward uneasily, then held his position on the threshold. “That sounds right. You live upstate. I live down here near the city, too close to the harbor. The water. It’s like a lake effect.”
    â€œI know nothing about it, boss.”
    â€œHa! Young