Isshiki did look good enough in a 1940's style suit to request a mirror and do his best attempt at a self-portrait. It took most of an afternoon, which he split between a self-portrait he wasn't very good at, and making sure his expensive and handmade kimono didn't get shredded by a clueless but well-meaning laundress.
He still had his pack, and when he was sure no one was around, he snapped photographs of everything he could see. A few dozen selfies, stealth pictures taken from the upper floors of the house, a few of the maids and servants, and just about anything he could find. And he kept his things on him at all times; it wasn't that he didn't trust Abiba or the others in the house, but with a smartphone, charging cable, charging stick, and his wallet, he wasn't trusting anyone . Not to mention the other odds and ends of what he'd packed for a day out.
As soon as he was assured that his kimono wouldn't be ruined, he ventured out into San Lorenzo and collected a horde of curious children clustered around him as he settled in front of the church with his inks, sketchbook, and the small easel that the mayor had given him. Acutely aware that they were watching his every move, as curious children often did, he slowed his movements and tried to show off exactly what he was doing.
"Senor," a little boy, his clothes dusty and worn, pressed close. "Where are you from?"
"Japan." And America, he reminded himself. He was one of two worlds, straddling the line between ancient traditions and new ones.
"What is Japan like? Is it far? Where did you learn our words? Did you have to take a boat here? Did you fly?"
"Did you have to fight someone?" Another child piped up, and soon he was being bombarded with questions in rapid-fire Arabic, Turkish, and Spanish, a language he didn't even recognize. His first instinct was to shush them, but he settled for putting his brush down and waiting for their words to dry out. They did when he remained still and silent, their excitement dying away.
"Knowledge," he said, "will only fill a mind when its ears are open, and mouth closed."
A collected ohhhh went up from the children, and he smiled. No wonder his uncle loved teaching.
"Where is Japan?" The first boy demanded and added a belated, "senor."
"Far to the east," calculating the direction, he nodded toward the east. "Across the Sea of Japan." Ten pairs of dark eyes stared at him, whispering translations following the children who didn't speak Spanish. Biting back the urge to quote memes and youtube videos these children would never understand, he returned to his painting.
"What," a soft voice of a toddler broke through the crowd, "is it like?"
Again, the only thing on his mind was Bill Wurtz. "It has mountains," he told them, "forests, beaches, and volcanoes." It had some of the nicest landscapes he'd ever seen, even compared to Yellowstone, but he wasn't about to tell them that. It is a long island."
"A long island?"
He couldn't believe he was fielding questions about Japan's weather. Still, for the next half hour, he tried to explain what a monsoon was, how seasonal rains worked in the subtropical parts of his secondary home and telling them 'yes' he ate regular food, and dispelling some of the stranger assumptions the children had. It wasn't until an older gentleman came from one of the houses, shouting at the children to clear out and leave him alone did he get a second of breathing space.
No wonder his uncle hated teaching.
With his painting of the outside of the church finished, its name written in Spanish and Japanese on the side with one of the lousiest haiku he could come up with, Isshiki ventured inside.
#$#$#
San Lorenzo. A neutral Spanish town making bank on Allied and Axis money even as their mayor decried both sides. It was large, re-named, and something approaching cosmopolitan by the time the 21st century rolled around and became something of a bombed-out nightmare by the time of the Arab Spring.
It was strange to see it so...normal looking. Still permeated with spies, though, and Yusuf navigated the familiar and unfamiliar streets in an effort to find Tully Pettigrew and the strange man his great-great-grandmother had told him to find.
Who was he looking for? What was in the desert that could catch the attention of everyone to such a degree that rumors and spies?
Ah . Hanging on a clothesline is not a piece of clothing he truly recognizes. It's not anything like he's seen outside of television. As far as he can tell, it looks like a kimono...or the parts for one: black jacket, the wide pants, and long a white thing with an impressive amount of embroidery.
He went to investigate and turned as a voice called from a window. "DON'T TOUCH THAT!" A woman slammed her way out of the back door, and he realized that he'd entered the governor's mansions grounds. "Do not! Do you know anything? That belongs to the governor's guest."
"I am here to see him."
"He is not here," she waved him away from the pieces of the kimono. "Do not touch!"
"Do you know where he is?"
"I do not, "she glared. "You will have to find him. Go!" It wasn't worth arguing with her, so he left and winding his way along the streets until he reached the town center. A dozen children were peeking into the church and scattered as he approached. Just inside, standing before the antique statue of Mary, was a priest and a stranger.
It was a Japanese man standing beside the priest and listening intently as the man gestured from the faded statue to the crucifix behind the altar and then to the statue of Joseph on the other side of the church. The notion of explaining Christianity to someone unfamiliar with even the basics was so amusing he nearly burst into laughter at the thought. The man looked politely confused, and the priest looked frustrated.
"Excuse me, my friends." He spoke three languages, and Spanish wasn't one of them. His words caught the attention of the men, who turned.
"Ah, senor!" The priest piped up. "What brings you here, my friend?"
"I am," he paused, "here to ask the location for the hospital." Such as it was at the moment. Who was this man? Dark eyes that could have swallowed every bit of daylight if they were not the stars themselves settled on Yusuf. Beautiful and rugged at the same time, the nearly deferential way he held himself contrasted with a bold stare that Yusuf met evenly. His suit didn't fit, and it doubtlessly wasn't meant to. He was a man of grace and elegance, but strength if the muscles flexing beneath his sleeves meant anything. "Hello," he tried in English, and despite the fact that the man's eyes brightened with the recognition, he muttered something in Spanish to the priest.
"Senor Agawa does not speak English. I am Father Juan, and the Red Cross will arrive tomorrow."
"I understand." Senor Agawa understood English; he was too aware of the conversation not to. So why was he lying?
This bore watching, excusing himself from the church, he found himself alongside town folks as they went about their day, heedless of the insanity around them.
##$#$
The next morning, Fraulein Tulip allowed herself to be escorted to a staff car, pack slung over her shoulders, visibly confused. She was, he allowed himself to think, an excellent spy. Interesting, Focused, with a disarming personality that made men misplace their suspicion. Still, she was good, but he was better. Whatever she was hiding in San Lorenzo would become clear eventually.
It was worth the hot, tedious drive through relatively safe roads. And when his aide pulled the staff car to a stop, coming around back to open the door, her expression did not register any of the recognition he expected.
She turned her head around, taking in the town and the few inhabitants willing to watch German officers. "Nice town," her remark set his teeth on edge, and he waited for a sign. Tilting her hat back on her head, she ambled around the corner, with Dietrich on her heels. Ambling through the streets, she tipped her hat politely at the few women she saw and continued toward the plaza. She received equally curious stares; more than one person leaned from a window to get a better look or angled away from their table to see the enormous American wander past.
"Where are we?" She called, pausing in the shadow of the church before she turned into the plaza. With polite bemusement, she gestured with her hat at the bricks and buildings around her. The men behind her watched her turn, her broad gesture encompassing everything.
"San Lorenzo."
"San...Lorenzo?" Humor sent her voice hitching, a soft bubble of amusement that she hid behind the brim of her hat. He didn't have to see her mouth to know she was smiling; laughter gleamed in her eyes. " Captain ."
He was missing something. He knew he was missing something. "Fraulein Tulip."
"San Lorenzo," her eyes flickered down and to the side, and she stepped into the sunlight of the plaza. A few children playing scattered into their houses and homes, and she caught sight of a few people playing chess in the shade of a bar balcony. "Seńors! ¿Dónde está esto?"
"San Lorenzo?" The oldest, a man with white hair and a hat slung low, peered up from his board at the park ranger. Curiosity opened on his face as he watched Tulip spring her hat between her fingers, grinning broadly.
"San Lorenzo? Honesto?" Since when did she speak Spanish? Dietrich loomed behind the woman, watching true delight smear across her face with a smile.
"Sí, señorita."
"Oh!" She glanced from Dietrich to the men and then to the approaching figure of Mayor Banderas. Heedless or ignoring his vicious scowl, Tulip waved the man down. "Seńor! Seńor!
¿Dónde está esto?" Mayor Banderas, who Dietrich had never seen a smile, paused as the realization that the newcomer wasn't a man and fairly beamed at her. When he replied, affirming that the town really was San Lorenzo, she let out a peal of soft laughter that sent furious indignation roaring through him.
Why was she mocking him? She was a spy and his prisoner, and why was she?
"San Lorenzo!" Tulip exclaimed, and the mayor nodded. Whatever he said next was enough to send the woman hiding behind her hat as she chuckled. Broad shoulders shaking as she did so.
Disliking being the butt of any joke, he prepared to argue with her, only to paused as she lowered the brim of her hat to reveal a broad, affectionate smile lurking around pale lips. The square face was softened by laughter, gentling the harsh planes of her face and the seemingly neutral expression so much so that further thought and anger phased out of him. " Captain ." Curling around his title was the same delighted humor from before, and this time it did not sting. " San Lorenzo...California ."
"Ah," knowing he was flushed with embarrassment he did not care for, Dietrich straightened. "Fraulein." Tulip stepped close, and he nearly rocked back in shock as she swept wide arms around him into a tight embrace. "Thank you," She pulled back, something not dissimilar to affection etched across her face. "Captain."
"There is a San Lorenzo, California?" He cleared his throat, putting distance between himself and the sudden hugs.
"There is," she chuckled before finally turning to look away. "Yes, a San Lorenzo in California."
"Our sister-city!" The mayor cried, and she turned in surprise. "Yes! I speak English, not as beautifully as you speak my tongue, senorita!"
"Thank you," she nodded.
"And which great beauty graces our city today?"His eyes turned to Dietrich for a brief moment, one she seized upon.
"This is Captain Dietrich," she gestured. He forced back his own laughter. The mayor floundered. "And you are?"
"I am the mayor," he pronounced after some deliberation. "Mayor Banderas, señorita. Remember that San Lorenzo is a neutral town, and we will have no part in your violence and war!"
"That should be no trouble," she replied. "I am not certain." Her voice trailed off, and he turned to see what could have derailed her train of thought, only to find himself seized with something approaching bemusement and confusion. Approaching with a confident gait and a proud tilt to his head was a man who could only be Isshiki Agawa. He was not as short as Dietrich had been led to believe Japanese men were. At an impressive six feet, broad shoulders, but a lean figure accentuated by his bizarre clothes; the likes of which Dietrich had never seen outside of National Geographic or cartoons. Black hair, free of any bonds, hung to his chin, framing a young face from which dark, curious eyes peered out. He wore...layers, a black jacket over grayish pants, and even more folds Dietrich couldn't conceive. Around his middle hung a strange white and blue object. Slung at his hip was a sword and a dark blue pouch.
Did all of their Japanese allies dress like this? Surely this was not conducive to warfare? How could you fight in robes and layers of fabric that could get caught on something? What about the sailors? No, he pushed the thoughts away; this had to be formal wear.
"Wow," bold as a brass button on an American uniform, Fraulein Tulip's eyes traced the man over.
" Hola!" Hearing Spanish from the man's mouth was doubtlessly the strangest thing he'd heard today, right in front of finding out that Tulip spoke Spanish as well. The man bowed, and turned to the mayor, and spoke rapidly, his accent punctuating the Spanish oddly. He took the time to glance at his aide, who was staring shamelessly at the man, only to snap to attention when Dietrich snapped his fingers.
"Senor Agawa is a guest of Spain," Mayor Banderas said sternly, not having missed the aide's gaping. "And not to be disturbed. He has already suffered greatly at the hands of the Americans. It is a marvel he reached us alive, so vicious they were."
"Really?" Tulip wondered, the wariness in her eyes fading the longer she and the young man locked eyes.
"Not all Americans are as gracious as you," the mayor told her. "Captain Dietrich, allow me the great honor of presenting Senor Isshiki Awaga of the University of Tokyo and Madrid. One of Japan's greatest poets and artists. We are honored by his presence."
"The honor is mine," he inclined his head and waited for the mayor to translate and to introduce him. After a minute, he gestured to the American who waved.
"Tulip," she said, tilting her hat in his direction. Only a moment's hesitation in his bow that Dietrich easily dismissed, and he nodded.
"Tulip," he echoed, mimicking her name perfectly.
"Howdy, Mr. Agawa."
Despite the obvious tension, Dietrich amused himself by staring at the pair and their vast differences. Both strange in their own right and utterly foreign to the other, hostility was replaced by curiosity, and as he watched the two survey each other, he was struck by just how different they were.
This would certainly bear watching.