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that hovered between them. It was there waiting for him when he’d returned from Japan.
    Pushing open the attic door, he pulled a key from his pants pocket, crossed the small crawl space, and used the key to open an old footlocker.
    From within he pulled out a gray metal box filled with yellowed paper, photographs, and signed documents.
    James’s warm brown eyes clouded over. For more thanfifteen years, what had been done had remained sealed away in his attic and in the “eyes only” files of the military.
    But governments change. Policy and administrations change. His son was being interviewed by one of the most renowned publications in the country. Everything would slowly begin to unravel. He knew it as sure as he knew it would rain by the aches in his knees.
    He pulled out a faded picture of a beautiful young geisha, Sukihara—Suki, whom he’d loved like no other. How different would his life have been if he’d remained in Tokyo…?
    Tokyo, April 1960
    The month of April is one of the busiest times in the geisha quarters. In the evenings, the teahouses and restaurants where the geishas—or artistic persons—entertain, are crowded with guests from surrounding cities who have journeyed to Tokyo for the cherry blossoms and the geisha dance festival.
    It was late one April evening when James and his army buddy Larry Templeton, who’d been stationed in Tokyo for two months, decided to venture out and see what all the mystery was surrounding the geishas. Since being stationed in Tokyo, they had seen no more than their barracks and their immediate area. They felt totally isolated. Not only was there the language and cultural barriers to deal with, they were the only two black men they’d seen since their arrival. They started off with two strikes against them; they were the American military in a foreign country and they were black—the lowest men on the totem pole no matter where they went.
    â€œWhaddaya want to do tonight?” Larry asked, lacing up his regulation boots.
    James chuckled in his deep robust voice. “How manychoices do we have, man? It’s not like we’re the most welcomed folks in town.”
    â€œI guess you’re right. But it’s Friday. We have the whole weekend off. There ought to be something.”
    James shrugged his wide shoulders. His dark brown eyes slowly lit up. “How about checking out one of those teahouses I’ve always heard about?”
    â€œHey, why not? How do we get there?”
    James sat down on the edge of his single bed and pulled out a slim map from the drawer.
    â€œFrom what I’ve been hearing the really good ones are in Kyoto.” He unfolded the map and spread it out on the bed. Both young men hovered over the finely drawn lines. James stuck out his index finger and traced a path.
    â€œIt’s a good half-hour drive,” Larry said, straightening up.
    â€œYou have something better to do?”
    â€œVery funny. Let’s go while the night is still young.”
    Â 
    They drove for nearly an hour.
    â€œYou sure you know where you’re going?” Larry taunted.
    â€œIt can’t be too much farther. As a matter of fact, good buddy, there’s the Kamo River now. I do believe we have arrived.” James grinned and pointed to the elaborate structure that was pinpointed by brightly lit lanterns, the only illumination for miles around—giving the entire scene a picture postcard feel.
    â€œHot damn,” Larry exclaimed. “I’m finally gonna meet me a real-life geisha. Wait till I tell the boys back home.” He slapped his thigh and hopped out of the jeep.
    When James and Larry entered the teahouse, it was like nothing they’d anticipated. Although they received cold or indifferent looks from the Japanese and white men who wereensconced in various locations of the establishment, it was the role of the geisha to welcome and entertain every man who crossed