The Remembering by Steve Cash Page A

eyes run over the three of us again. Finally, he told Katsuo we were to come back in two hours. The lieutenant would then bring us directly to the captain’s office. “In two hours,” he said, “this matter will definitely be sorted out.” He waited another moment. “Am I clear?”
    Katsuo nodded one last time. After reminding the lieutenant in English to please escort us out of the embassy, Captain Blaine Harrington turned and left the room. I glanced at Sailor and he shook his head back and forth with an expression that told me exactly what he was thinking. Sailor thought I had blown every legitimate chance we might have had. Now it would be a tricky affair for us to leave Japan.
    We found Ikuko and quickly made our way back to the small room we had rented the previous evening. Katsuo removed his robes the moment we entered and sat down on his tatami mat, naked to the waist and barefoot. He crossed his legs and shut his eyes, taking in several long and deep breaths. Gradually his eyes opened and he looked at Sailor. “I believe I have failed you,” he said. “You have my full apologies.”
    “No!” Sailor shot back. “No, Katsuo, not so. You have not failed, do you hear? We could not have anticipated the American captain understanding and speaking Japanese fluently. There was no failure, Katsuo. Your performance was a good one. It should have worked.”
    “He is correct, Katsuo,” Sheela said. “Your actions were the only appropriate ones.”
    Ikuko was fanning her grandfather by waving a towel above his head. Outside, the traffic of Tokyo could be heard all around us. The minutes crept by and we said little. Finally, the two hours were nearly up and we got ready to return. Sailor told Katsuo the formal Shinto robes were no longer necessary, but Katsuo refused to step out of character and put on the heavy uncomfortable robes without complaint. He told Ikuko to stay in the room and kissed her on the forehead. Sailor and I said good-bye to Ikuko, and Sheela gave her an especially long embrace, then we set out for the embassy.
    Once we crossed the courtyard and climbed the steps, we were met outside by the lieutenant, who seemed to be waiting for us. Without delay, he ushered us into the embassy and down the wide hallway toward the captain’s office. As we neared the door, we passed a group of men standing off to one side, laughing and smoking cigarettes. They were all Americans, some civilians, some in uniform. One of the men said, “Well, well, would you look at that?” Sheela and I kept walking and staring straight ahead, but Sailor turned his head in the man’s direction. At the same time, a flashbulb went off. Somewhere among them, a soldier had taken Sailor’s picture. The lieutenant stopped and told the men there would be none of that, then commanded the soldier who snapped the picture to hand over the film. There was some protest from the man, but he was outranked and forced to comply. The lieutenant then asked all of the men to move along. By that time, the door had opened and Captain Blaine Harrington was standing in the doorway. He watched the man hand over the film, then said, “Inside, Lieutenant. Now.” He turned to Katsuo with a false smile. “This way, sir,” he said in Japanese.
    As we walked inside, I noticed another man in the room. He was sitting casually in a chair next to the captain’s desk. I tried not to seem shocked or surprised, but I’m not sure I succeeded. The man was dressed in civilian clothes, which were rumpled and slightly soiled, and he had at least three days’ growth of beard. His eyes reflected a certain kind of maturity and experience that had not been there the last time I’d seen him. He was now thirty-nine years old and looked exactly like his father. It was Jack Flowers. I looked at Sailor and he raised one eyebrow, as if to say, “Let us see where this goes.” We had expected to be quizzed about Jack, but we never expected to see him.
    Before the captain