Girl Rides the Wind (8 page)

T
he flight
to Yonago was a little cheaper and much faster than taking the Bullet Train from Tokyo Central Station, but Gyoshin Heiji still preferred the train. She didn’t exactly know why, but it may have had something to do with the view the plane afforded of the castle that loomed over the city skyline.

Iizuka-jo
no longer belonged to the family, and in some sense it never had, since they had only ever controlled it through the favor of Tokugawa Ieyasu. The earliest occupants had taken the wrong side in the Battle of Sekigahara and paid for it with their lives, and the new Shogun had placed the gift of the castle in her ancestors’ hands. While no Heiji ever garrisoned the keep, the lords who did owed their position to them. With the Meiji Restoration in the 19th century, her family’s influence at court declined as precipitously as the Tokugawa Shogunate, and now the castle was little more than a reminder of that loss.

A childhood memory came to her – climbing the steeply sloping stone walls of the ruined keep with her brother and her cousins. Done in the ancient
nozurazumi
-style, with gaps between the boulders, there were lots of hand-holds, and they’d come home scuffed and scraped, shrieking flush-faced for joy. When the Prefectural government restored the castle a few years later, they insisted on redoing the walls in
uchikomihagi
-style, with cut stones fitted together to make a smooth surface, ostensibly on the grounds that this was how it would have been done under the Tokugawas, if they’d ever gotten around to a renovation, though everyone knew it was really because this was the style tourists expected to see, even if it isn’t historically accurate.

Cousin Takako, who used to scamper up and down those old walls like a mountain goat, faster and braver than all the boys they knew, danced before Gyoshin’s mind as the plane banked for the final approach to Yonago Airport. Her best friend and confidante, over the years the two girls had hatched various rebellious plans for escaping the tyranny of the old man –
Ojii-san
they called him, as if he were just some stranger and not their grandfather, and patriarch of the clan,
Heiji Nobutada
. She remembered one summer in particular, just before she was to return to the university.

“No, Taka-chan,” she cried out that day. “You can’t.”

“I can and I will,” Taka had replied, in a voice as full of steely resolve as her grandfather’s ever was. “Don’t let
Ojii-san
intimidate you.”

“But he’ll disown you… cast you out of the family. What will you do for money?”

A year older than Gyoshin, she’d gone to university a year early and graduated even earlier. How she longed for Takako-san now, for her courage and her daring. Did grandfather realize the magnitude of the loss she represented to the family… and to himself? What she wouldn’t give to be able to confide in her cousin just one more time.

“He wouldn’t dare, not if you do it, too. Don’t you remember our pact?”

“We were just kids then. Things are different now.”

“Are you saying you don’t love Hiroki-san anymore?”

Just thinking about the lie she uttered next made her gag, and the taste of her own stomach acids at the back of her mouth promised to stick with her for the rest of the day. The plane banked right for its final approach and she clutched at the armrest. Takako died less than a year later, complications of the birth of her daughter – Gyoshin’s niece, or cousin, more accurately, though she didn’t care for such fine distinctions – and
Ojii-san
disowned the baby just as he had her mother.

Worse than disowning the granddaughter, Heiji Nobutada exerted his influence to ruin Takako’s husband’s family as well. The Okamotos’ ramen restaurant went under when the bank suddenly called in a loan, and a few months later their son, Yasahiro, lost his position in the prefectural government and could find no other work. Their finances began to seem desperate, and his death in a car accident a year later completed their plunge into real poverty.

Their daughter, Haru, went to live with her father’s parents, a shining bit of joy amid their otherwise dismal fortunes. Just before she was born, Takako teased Gyoshin with the idea of giving her one of those preposterous names favored by peasants, like Haruhime. “She’ll be our ‘sunlight princess’, and usher in sunnier times.” Gyoshin did what she could for them under the circumstances.

“Why do you even care?” her brother had asked after the accident. “She brought it on herself. Grandfather warned her what would happen.”

“And her daughter? She’s our blood, too.”

“She’s an Okamoto, and besides, you’ll never change his mind about them… or her.”

“Hasn’t he done enough to them?”

Gyoshin scowled at the memory of her brother as she walked across the tarmac to the terminal, a breeze straining to ruffle the severe skirt of her blue suit. The year after she graduated from college, finally bold enough to take some matters into her own hands, she’d found the Okamotos a place managing one of the farms at the southern edge of their extensive land holdings in Tottori. The time would come when agricultural reforms, and worse things, would require them to sell off much of the estate, even if
Ojii-san
had managed to keep the regulators at bay long after less influential families had been forced to comply with the law. But with his attention focused on preserving the cattle and horse ranches, he gave scant attention to a few hundred acres devoted to rice paddies and a cherry orchard.

Haru-chan was enrolled in the village school, and her auntie Go-Go would come visit whenever she could get away from her civil service job. The pleasure of watching the girl scamper like a mountain goat up and down the hillsides behind the orchard was considerable.

“I’m home, Grandfather,” she called up the stairs. Sheets still covered the furniture, and a distant clatter came from the east wing – probably Hana making lunch for the old man. Of course, he wouldn’t answer, even if he had heard. “It is done, Grandfather,” she said, once she’d closed the door to his room with an audible click.

“Gyo-chan,” he croaked out. “My favorite granddaughter.”

“Your
only
granddaughter, you mean,” she said, as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Will the Soga live up to their word?”

“They are as hungry as you are.” She glowered at him for a moment, wishing he had asked her brother to handle this, though she knew perfectly well why he couldn’t be trusted with anything this serious.

“They came up with the money?”

“Yes, Grandfather, another eighty million yen to pay off a destroyer captain.” As she reported the fact, she couldn’t help feeling a revulsion at having to deal with such mercenary types. What sort of noble cause has to manufacture its occasions through the use of such people? “I’m not sure… I mean, what does it say…” She paused to reset herself, wondering the whole time if she could really discuss her misgivings with him.

“And another two hundred million for the General?”

Gyoshin winced as she confirmed the figure. Jin Soga had made a little joke as she showed her the money, stacks of
renminbi
in a silver-sided case, the point of which was to belittle her family’s contribution to the effort – “It’s a good thing your name is still worth something.” But that didn’t sting as much as the reminder of another errand she had this day, and
Ojii-san
probably wouldn’t even have noticed it, content to think that his name could still fetch a price. Gyoshin’s only consolation came in recognizing Jin’s incompletely concealed envy that, poor as they were, the Heiji name still carried more weight than all of her money.

But for all his aristocratic
hauteur
, both his sons had lacked his character, stern and austere, and no amount of his fire-breathing sufficed to lend them any steel. They were more interested in enjoying the perks of their fading social position. Speed-boating around Miho Bay, chasing thrills in fast cars and last-minute junkets around Asia and Europe – the old man expressed his displeasure, but had no other heirs, and despised the more distant cousins – and when the brothers crashed their private plane in a densely populated neighborhood in Takamatsu, the financial settlements practically bankrupted the family. With Takako dead, all that remained of the next generation was Gyoshin and her brother… Grandfather retreated to his bedroom to scheme and dream ever more outlandishly.

“I’ll go check on your lunch,” she said, having heard a slight commotion downstairs and not wishing his attention to be drawn in that direction. From the landing, she heard Hana shushing a little girl, and quickstepped it down the stairs to see the bent old man.

“He’s waiting for you,” she said to the housekeeper, and Hana bowed her head before scuttling back to the kitchen.

“Heiji-san,” the old man said, bowing more deeply than she thought warranted, or safe for his back. “I am sorry to bother you again.” The little girl stood on the front porch, perhaps afraid to come back in after Hana’s initial greeting. Gyoshin took the opportunity to press a folded envelope into his hands, holding them between both of hers, as if afraid he would refuse it. She’d liquidated her savings the day before to raise the funds.

“Hideki-san, welcome,” she said, as she guided him out onto the porch, quietly underscoring how unwelcome he really was there, despite her feelings. “It’s all there, three million yen. Will it be enough?”

Old man Okamoto nodded under grey brows, eyes glistening. “Thank you, Heiji-san. The
Taue-ki
will be delivered next week.”

“Just in time…”

“Yes, just in time for planting.”

“… and for someone’s birthday party,” Gyoshin said, reaching her arms around little Haru from behind and pulling her into a hug. “You can’t hide from your auntie Go-Go.”

Just a year ago, this news would have produced squeals of delight, but now, at almost nine years old, she’d grown much more reserved, too reserved for the carefree childhood Gyoshin wished for her. Probing fingers eventually found a tickle-bone, hiding just under her ribs, and got the preferred response.

“Eee-hee-hee,” she shrieked and squirmed. “Stop it, Auntie Go-Go.”

“So, I can come to your birthday party?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

For the next hour, Gyoshin walked with her niece in the woods that encroached more and more every year on the untended estate, and ran after her awkwardly in business shoes, and held her close when she caught her up. Could she find Taka-chan in her daughter’s eyes? It was practically a religious quest that she owed to her cousin’s memory – she was the strong one, the one to whom the charge of the family ought to have been entrusted. What she wouldn’t give to have her back now.

On the ride over to the Okamoto’s farm, bringing Haru-chan home in the last estate car, she admired the preparation of the rice paddies along the roadside, newly flooded and ready for planting. The irony wasn’t lost on her, that what little remained of the family’s agricultural holdings was managed mainly by the old couple on whom
Ojii-san
had vented his wrath. The
taue-ki
would mechanize the process and preserve them from the backbreaking task of planting individual rice-seedlings.

L
ooking
down from the end of Vulture’s Row, craning their necks to see down the starboard side of the flight deck, CJ and Zaki scanned the firing line, looking for Emily and Kiku. Sergeants Huart, Durant and Ishikawa stood behind a line of Marines and
Jietai
stretched out along the flight deck, also observing another range practice session. Every few minutes, Huart’s team ran across to the port side to replace the targets strung up between two lines, while the self-styled trigger-pullers reloaded and traded positions.

“There they are,” CJ shouted into Zaki’s ear, even though all the firing didn’t produce much noise on the open ocean – it sounded more like salvoes of champagne corks than little explosions from their perch. “On the end.”

CJ ducked into a nearby hatch and Zaki trailed dutifully after, skipping down ladders, and trying not to hit his head on a bulkhead.

“Slow down, CJ,” he called vainly after her. “They’re not going anywhere.”

Out on the flight deck, on the end where the target line had been set closer for pistol practice, they found Emily, with a few Marines hovering nearby.

“I’m such a poor shot,” Kiku moaned, as Sgt Huart showed her the target sheet with only three holes near one edge.

“It looks like you just need to brace yourself better,” Emily offered, as the rest of the shooters began to congregate at the far end of the deck and get a line ready for an FOD walkdown.

“Hold on, guys,” Huart shouted to his team. “Keep the range clear. We still have two more shooters.”

“Not necessary, Sarge,” Emily said. “I think Kiku’s done, and I’m not shooting today.”

“Don’t worry, LT,” he replied. “We brought your 1911 up, in case you wanted to get some rounds in.”

Emily glowered at him, and then noticed the idiot grin on Durant’s face, and Ishikawa’s, too. “Fine,” she said, and held out her hand.

Huart offered her an M9. “You sure you wouldn’t prefer the smaller Berretta?”

Emily took it, squared herself to the range and squeezed off six rounds.

“Not bad,” Huart said. “All six in the silhouette, and three center mass.”

Emily handed him the Berretta and took her 1911 from his other hand and repeated the performance, more or less.

“Not bad at all, LT,” Huart said. “I have to hand it to you. I didn’t think you’d be able to handle the heavier weapon.”

“I’m not really interested in shooting at this distance,” Emily said.

“Too close for you, Ma’am?” he said with a sneer.

“Too far, Sarge. I work better up close and personal.” Durant and Ishikawa snorted at this remark, and Huart turned to look at them in irritation at not being included in whatever the new joke was.

“Can I try?” CJ asked, and when Emily handed her the 1911, she emptied a new clip, standing ramrod straight, with one hand behind her back. “It’s got a nice feel. A little heavier, but the recoil is controlled better than the M9. I see why you like this one, Em.”