Tim Wendel

Yoshi had forgotten how quiet and green the countryside was. It had been almost two months since the submarine and Lui bringing her to Kyoto. Madame Isobe had kept her hidden away for far too long. Spring had blossomed into summer and she had missed so much by spending her days inside the Kabuki Theater.

As the military jeep roared ahead, she saw only random glimpses of the war. Here and there a crater pocketed the ground. But in many of them weeds had already started to grow. Up ahead a stone bridge had been bombed. It lay at an angle, looking like an old man who had gone down the banks to pray and now couldn’t struggle back to his feet. The jeep swooped around oxen pulling carts, small groups of old, tired people walking, with no young ones in sight.

The jeep continued down the bank until it came to a wooden bridge that was undamaged. When the jeep blasted its horn, the people in front of them scattered like birds and they were across.

Overhead the sky was hazy with gray clouds and little wind. The men in uniform, the one driving and the other holding a machine gun across his lap, the muzzle pointed out toward the road, briefly talked among themselves, wondering if it would still happen. Yoshi tried to understand. They talked until Takata noticed that she was eavesdropping and he told them to stop.

“You are lucky,” Takata said to her. “One can only imagine what Ito would have done to you. A beautiful young woman like yourself.”

He told her such things in a conversational tone. Loud enough for the men in front to hear him. As if he was baiting them, wanting them to join the conversation, but neither of them did. On the far side of the bridge, the road became bumpier and Takata allowed himself to slide slightly closer to her.

The air was humid, thick like fog in the morning. The jeep accelerated, going faster as the dirt road widened. Yet no matter how fast they went -- their hair pulled back from their faces, the one soldier in front hanging onto his helmet with one hand, while the other one drove hunched down behind the windshield -- the air never became cool enough to provide any relief. As they moved farther away from the city, Yoshi began to cry and Takata and the soldiers said nothing. The tears were her only weapons. She allowed her fears to swell up inside her again, the tears beginning to flow.

“Hush,” Takata said, leaning closer to her, their shoulders touching, both of them crouched forward in their seats, talking into the calm space immediately in front of them as the wind roared around and over them. “You will understand soon enough why I have brought you along. For months I’ve been saying that somebody from the Saishi factory would try to see what we were doing. But there was nobody until you. You don’t know how discouraging that is for somebody in my field, in science. So, when one does show the least bit of desire, I believe such initiative should be rewarded.”

Yoshi glanced at him, but then she allowed the green land to blur again begin a veil of tears. She couldn’t appear too confident. Not now. Her mind was soaring out of control and she let it go.
Picturing the worst that could happen. That they would kill her or rape her.

As they came around a sharp bend, Takata nudged her and Yoshi saw the military base.

“Quiet now,” he ordered. “We are almost there.”

She stole another glance at his face, hoping to find a hint of kindness in it. He had gray eyes and black hair the color of a raven. His face sloped down to a strong jaw and a chin with a small dimple in its center. She admired how he looked ahead of them with his thin lips turned upward at the far edges in the slightest of smiles. She wanted to believe that that look held a glimmer of hope and benevolence for her.

Once more she tried to think again of what it had been like before the war. Before her family had been sent to Manzanar. But such images were faded and torn at the corners. Whereas a year or so ago, such visions as the waters beyond the Bay Meadows racetrack came into her head anytime she wished, they were now beginning to disappear. Such sweet memories were like mischievous little children who had grown up too fast and now paid no attention to their elders.

“What is your name?” Takata asked and Yoshi wished that he had asked her such a question miles ago. How much better she would have felt about being placed in his custody if the request had come earlier.

“Young lady,” he asked again, leaning closer to her. “What is your name? Our Major Ito likely knows by now. He may have even said it back in Kyoto before we left, but I’m sorry. My mind has been elsewhere today. Monkey mind. That’s what I call it when I try to juggle so much in my head.”

She couldn’t believe it. He had actually apologized to her. The last man who had shown her any kindness had been Starling. Surprisingly, she had no difficulty remembering him. His crooked smile. The voice that stretched and flattened some words almost beyond recognition.

“Yoshi,” she replied.

“Yoshi,” Takata repeated. “Such a peculiar name. Named after the cherry trees. The Yoshino?”

“Yes,” she lied. “Like the cherry trees.”

The jeep came to a stop and the men in front quickly scrambled out. They stood at attention, awaiting Takata’s orders. But the scientist remained seated, next to Yoshi.

“Yoshi,” the scientist in the white smock said. “I still don’t understand why you cry.”

She glared up at him. Tears still welling in her eyes.

“Because you are going to kill me. That’s why you have taken me. I know it.”

Takata smiled. “I see, Yoshi. You can read minds, too. You are quite an accomplished young lady.”

The men in uniform began to smirk, which infuriated Yoshi.

“Stop it,” she said.

“Careful, cherry blossom,” Takata said. “You don’t want to make them angry.”

“Please,” she began, trying to be soft and demure, the way men wanted women to be. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Yoshi, I don’t know how such ideas have floated into your head. Perhaps if it were up to Ito, you would be shot. But I don’t believe in such things. Maybe that makes me a fool, but there are better ways to conduct one’s self – even in war.”

Yoshi closed her eyes and entwined her fingers, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

“You are a feisty one,” Takata said. “That’s heartening to see. I wish more had your spirit.”

Yoshi reopened her eyes, first focusing on the handsome scientist and then glancing past him to the base. They were on the far edge of it. Out in front of them were many more men in green and brown fatigues. All of them seemed busy, getting ready for something.

“Aren’t the others at the Saishi factory ever curious about what happens to the things they create?” Takata asked.

“No, sir. They make jokes and nothing more.”

“But you’re curious, aren’t you, sweet Yoshi? You’re different somehow. That’s why I wouldn’t let Ito punish you or have you.”

Takata stepped out of the jeep.

“Come,” he said. “I believe that curiosity should always be rewarded.”

Takata began to walk away and the soldier with the machine gun nodded for her to follow. Yoshi fell in behind Takata. His white smock blew back in the growing breeze as they filed past groups of soldiers. She followed him out into a large field that seemed to stretch on forever. They were near the sea. She could smell the salt air and it reminded her sweetly of home.

“To bomb America without planes or missiles,” Takata said. He glanced back at her. His eyes glowed with intensity. “To use something as simple as a paper balloon. It will terrify them as much as the attack on Pearl Harbor. Once more, the Americans have no idea of where or when we will strike.”

Yoshi hurried to keep up with him.

“You and the others at the Saishi built a balloon of paper that can travel across the Pacific. Did you ever realize that you were creating something so magical?”

“But it’s thousands of miles across the Pacific to America,” Yoshi said.

“Good, you ask questions.” Takata said. He slowed so she could fall into step beside him.

Takata pointed to the sky. “Believe it or not, there are great winds up there, high above the clouds. Great winds that can carry a balloon to America in three or four days. We discovered those winds. A few of us know they are as powerful as the currents in the sea, as mighty as any of our ancient gods.”

Across the muddy field, Yoshi saw balloon after balloon, easily a hundred in all, being inflated with the same urgency and precision that had been exhibited back at the theater. They needed a big enough place to test the balloons for leaks and poor seams. Yoshi realized that the theater was the only place where they could do such things behind closed doors in Kyoto.

Already several balloons billowed upward and as they came to life, Yoshi saw a smile spread across Takata’s face.

“My heart soars every time I see it,” he said. “Maybe I’m too romantic, but I thought it important that you see it, too, my Yoshi. One needs to reward the inquisitive mind.”

As the first wave of balloons began to rise from the ground, men held tight to their guidelines, looking back at Takata. In disbelief, Yoshi realized that the meadow was filled with soldiers, all of them awaiting his command. She watched as he studied the sky. The meadow, which had been alive with shouts and commands, grew silent save for the crackle and restlessness of the balloons. The strange inventions reminded her of a herd of horses ready to stampede. With faint smile, Takata surveyed his kingdom and raised both of his arms into the air. As he did so, the soldiers released the first wave of balloons into a late-afternoon sky. Everyone briefly paused to watch them rise, prayers were mumbled, and then the men in uniform hurried to ready the next dozen for Takata’s approval.

As the first balloons rose into the sky, the hissing sounds of the next group being inflated filled the air. But Yoshi kept her eyes on the first wave, watching them rise and run with the wind until they were just dark specks high above them.

“That’s why I brought you here,” Takata said, looking over at her. “To see the wonder upon your face.”