Flying the Dragon (24 page)

He was waiting for her. She couldn’t not go. So she stood on shaky legs and followed Hiroshi’s lead as he bowed, offered incense, and then walked up to the casket. When she finally saw Grandfather, Skye almost smiled in relief. He looked like he always did, except his eyes were closed and he wore a cloud-white kimono.

“Look for us later on our bikes, Grandfather,” she whispered.

Hiroshi nodded. “We’ll show you the way back home.”

A flash of white in Hiroshi’s hand caught Skye’s eye. He laid a tiny kite on the white kimono that was folded next to Grandfather. Then she remembered and slipped her hand into her pocket. She fingered the soft petals of the cherry blossoms as she pulled them out of her pocket, then laid the sprig next to Hiroshi’s kite. “
Arigato gozaimasu,
Grandfather. Thank you.” She released the cherry blossom stem and took a small step back next to Hiroshi, who smiled at her.

“Now we’re supposed to bow,” he whispered.

She smiled back through tears, then bowed her deepest bow.

A few hours later Hiroshi and Skye rode their bikes back from the funeral parlor. They didn’t speak the whole way home, but the silence between them wasn’t angry, for once. The wind was gentle, and Hiroshi pedaled slowly, careful to retrace the same path the family had taken earlier.

When they arrived at his house, Hiroshi and Skye headed straight for the basement workshop. They still had to paint the kite and then test it.

Skye picked up the plain white kite. “What if it doesn’t fly?”

“It will fly.” Hiroshi’s voice sounded more confident than he felt. The kite had to fly. There wasn’t time to make a new one before the competition. Hiroshi had promised Grandfather that he and Skye would enter the contest; he would keep that promise.

Skye set the kite down and walked over to the shelves of paint. “What kind of design do you want to paint?”

Hiroshi looked at the dragon kite hanging on the wall. Its eyes didn’t look fierce anymore—just empty.
I’m sorry you can’t fly in the competition,
Hiroshi thought.
We’d win for sure with you at the end of our string.
But he couldn’t risk losing the dragon if it crashed in the battle. He went to the new kite and inspected it. The glue had dried, the bamboo ribs looked straight, and the
washi
paper fit the frame precisely. It looked good. The line was tied on tight, and the wooden dragon reel was ready. But would the kite fly?

Skye set a jar of brushes on the table next to the kite. “Can you paint another dragon?”

Hiroshi sighed. “I’d like to, but it would never look like Grandfather’s.”

Skye nodded. “I know what you mean.”

Hiroshi drifted back over to the shelves and scanned the paints. When he saw the jar of red powdered paint, he knew.

“I’ve got an idea.” He grabbed a jar of black
sumi
ink and returned to the worktable. “Do you want to help?”

Skye shook her head and took a step back. “I didn’t get any of the family art genes. I can’t even draw a straight line.”

“How about a circle?”

“Even worse. I’ll just watch.”

Hiroshi dipped his brush in the ink and painted a circle on the white
washi
paper. The ink would prevent the paint from bleeding outside of the circle. Next he opened the lid of the powered paint, added water, and stirred it. He tapped the brush three times on the edge of the jar and wiped the excess paint from the bristles, just as Grandfather used to do. He touched the brush to the
washi
paper and started filling in the circle, careful to keep the red paint inside the black line. Then he handed the brush to Skye.

“Here. You can fill in the rest of the circle if you want.”

Skye looked unsure, but took the brush. “All I have to do is paint in the lines, right?”

Hiroshi nodded.

“But what if it drips outside the circle?”

“It won’t if you tap the extra paint off, like this.” He showed her how to cradle the brush with a cupped hand to lead it from pot to kite.

Skye took a breath. “Here goes.” She took so long to finish that Hiroshi thought the paint might dry on the brush. But finally it was done. He stood back to inspect their work—a single, red circle, just off-center. It was nothing like Grandfather’s works of art, but it would have to do.

“It looks good,” Skye said.

Hiroshi nodded. “The symbol of—”

“A winking dragon.” Skye finished. She smiled. “No one else will guess—it’s like a secret.”

Hiroshi smiled, too. “A secret dragon.” A secret dragon that Grandfather’s spirit would surely recognize from the sky. At least Hiroshi hoped so.

Once the paint dried, it was time for a test run. As Hiroshi carried the winking dragon to the park, a light breeze tugged at the kite. He tightened his grip. The kite would have to be patient.

They reached the bottom of the hill, and Hiroshi paused, listening. “Not much wind today,” he said. “I don’t know if we can launch it.” He eyed the lazy clouds overhead.

“Well.” Skye shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out.”

When they reached the top of the hill, Hiroshi felt a whisper of a breeze. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the feeble puffs of air and tried to read the direction of their path.

“So what do you think?” Skye asked. “Is it worth a try?”

Hiroshi nodded. “I think we can do it.” He slipped the backpack off his shoulders and pulled out the reel.

Skye grinned. “This reel knows dragons.”

Hiroshi nodded and fixed the line to the reel. “It will bring us luck—I just know it.”

“I hope so.” Skye took the kite and paced backward until they were several yards apart. She lifted the kite by the bridle.

As soon as Hiroshi felt a small gust of wind, he nodded. Skye released the kite, he ran with the line, and the winking dragon began its crooked climb.

Come on—go up! Fly!
But he could see the breeze wasn’t strong enough. The wind sighed as the kite drifted back down. Skye ran to catch it before it hit the ground. She shook her head as she walked it over.

“How many chances to launch will we get in the battle?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.” Hiroshi shrugged. “Sometimes it takes a few tries.”

Hiroshi studied the clouds that crept across the sky, sleepy and content. “There is some wind up there, but not much. Let’s try again.”

They set up the line and the kite once again. Hiroshi turned his back to the breeze. He unrolled some extra line, then held on with both hands.

“Now!”

Skye let go of the kite and Hiroshi pulled up on the line. The kite climbed higher and higher as Hiroshi shuffled backward, faster and faster. The wind took hold of the winking dragon, and Hiroshi let out more line, surrendering the kite to the sky.

“It worked!” Skye ran up, and Hiroshi grinned, handing her the reel. He grasped the line and practiced a few dives and twists with the kite before allowing it to drift even higher into the sky. Skye clapped and let out a whoop. Hiroshi laughed. They had done it. They’d made a kite that could fly.

But could it fight?

Walking across the wet grass of the National Mall, Skye willed her lunch to stay in her stomach. The Mall, a wide strip of grass, stretched from the steps of the US Capitol building all the way to the pencil-shaped Washington National Monument. Hundreds of kites in every color—some twice as big as Skye—flew near the base of the monument. Skye wanted to stay and see them all, but the
rokkaku
battle area was farther down the hill, and they still needed to register.

They started down the hill toward an area with white open tents, tables, and lines of people. Skye noticed that the nearby cherry trees had lost most of their petals and wondered if she’d have enough time to pluck a few and put them in her pocket for luck.

A loudspeaker announcement drifted across the field: “A brief pilots’ meeting will begin in five minutes at the kite-hospital tent on the south side of the field.”

The cherry blossoms would have to wait.

Skye and Hiroshi followed the signs for fliers while their parents wished them luck and headed for the spectator area. At the kite-hospital tent, Skye looked around at the competition. Old people, mostly—probably her parents’ age. She didn’t see any Japanese people, so she whispered to Hiroshi in Japanese: “What do you think?” She liked having a way to communicate without other people understanding—like a secret code.

Hiroshi looked around. “They’ll have a lot of experience.”

“Yeah, but so do you.”

Hiroshi didn’t look convinced. “No
washi
-paper kites.”

He was right. All of the colorful six-sided kites were made of some nylon-looking material. Instead of bamboo, it looked like they had plastic tubing.

“Okay, time to begin.” A man with a broad smile clapped his hands. He was wearing a baseball cap that said
National Cherry Blossom Kite Festival
and a matching sweatshirt. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he called, “Come on over, folks. We’re ready to get started.”

Skye spotted two girls heading their way. “Hey.” She nudged Hiroshi. “They look our age.”

Hiroshi turned. “You’re right. They won’t be experienced fliers.”

The man in the cap went over the rules—lines no longer than fifty yards, gloves recommended, no intentional physical contact between contestants, three rounds of competition with ten minutes to repair kites in between.

Skye glanced at the sign that read
No Manja! No Cutting Line!
and she frowned.

“Good luck!” the man said. “Please check in with the registration tent and let them know you’re here, and we’ll be getting under way in about fifteen minutes.” All the fliers headed toward the tent, and Skye and Hiroshi followed.

“Did you get all of that?” Skye asked as she filled out her registration form.

Hiroshi nodded. “I think so. It’s the same as the rules back home.”

“So why can’t we cut lines? I thought we were supposed to. And do we need gloves? The guy said ‘no intentional physical contact.’ What if we bump into someone? Does that happen?” Skye’s stomach felt like it was upside down, but Hiroshi seemed calm.

“
Manja
are cutting lines that have been coated in glass or metal so they cut better. We’re allowed to cut other flier’s lines, but we have to use regular line.”

“Oh.” That made sense. Running into a
manja
line sounded painful.

“And gloves—I never wear them. You’ll have the reel, and I’ll work the line with my hands. Some people wear gloves so their hands won’t get cut.”

“Regular line can cut you?”

Hiroshi shrugged. “Not if you’re careful. Grandfather never wore gloves; he always said that if you can feel the line, it will tell you what to do.”

Grandfather.
I don’t know if you can see us, Grandfather, but we sure could use a little assistance today. Mostly it’s me who needs help. But keep an eye on Hiroshi, too, just in case.

“All fliers please report to the field,” the loudspeaker announced.

“Wait,” Skye said. “What about bumping into other people? Does that happen?

“It can. But it would mostly be me, since I’ll be watching the kite, not where I’m going. Just follow me and let me know if I’m about to crash into anyone, okay? I’ll let you know when I need more or less line.”

“Okay. We can do this.” Skye hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. She took one shaky breath, then followed the other fliers to the battle area.

The contestants all spread out inside the roped-off area. Skye counted twenty-two kites on the field. Most people wore gloves, but not the two girls she had seen earlier. She smiled and nodded their way, but they didn’t smile back. Maybe they hadn’t seen her. The reel in her hand felt warm compared to the cool spring air, and she wrapped her fingers around the handles.

Hiroshi inspected the winking dragon. When he looked at Skye, she gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re ready,” he said.

“Right,” she answered, and looked at the sky, hoping for some sign that Grandfather was watching.

The voice over the loudspeaker brought Skye back down to earth. “Good luck, and may the best kite win!”