Expect the Unexpected

by John A. Broussard

  “I’ve summoned you because I must make an important decision today, one which may have awesome consequences for Japan’s future. I know the three of you well—since boyhood. I trust you. And now I want you to speak from the heart. My other advisors try too hard to please me by telling me what they think I want to hear. It is a luxury neither I nor our country can afford.” He sighed before continuing.

  “I’m sure you have heard many rumors. Here are the facts. The Imperial Fleet has already sailed and is fully armed for an attack upon the American bases in Hawai’i. Admiral Nagumo awaits my final word. I can recall the fleet, or I can tell him to complete his mission, but I must make my decision within the next twenty-four hours. This is too heavy a burden for my shoulders alone. I need your advice. Noboru, I shall turn to you first. Should we attack the Americans or not.”

  The businessman bowed before answering. “You have asked me to speak frankly, and I will. War with America is inevitable. It is vital we strike first.”

  “Mayumi?”

  The monk gathered his robes about him. “I could not disagree more. There are many avenues of compromise open to us short of war with the Americans. Negotiation, patience, a readiness to listen—all other measures should be fully exhausted before we embark on the policy of suffering and disaster which are the inevitable consequences of war.”

  “Takanori?” The Emperor raised his hand as he spoke. “Before you give me your opinion, I must tell you I fully decided when I awoke this morning I would abide by a majority decision from the three of you. I am committed to my resolution, so think carefully before you answer. What side you choose will have enormous consequences for many years to come.”

  The colonel bowed deeply. “The information we have most recently received about the Americans makes only one decision possible. The United States has the largest supply of poison gas in the world on hand. In addition, we have now learned they are researching new weapons—weapons of mass destruction. Every day which passes they become stronger and we become weaker because we depend so heavily on the oil from areas they control. We must act first. A pre-emptive strike is the only way we can prevent them from attacking us when they have superior weaponry.”

  The Emperor’s expression showed no change. “We will do as you say. I will order the fleet to continue to Hawai’i and to do all in its power to destroy American naval strength located in Pearl Harbor. As soon as the planes are in the air we will announce to the world how we have been forced into launching—what was the expression you used?—launching a pre-emptive strike.”

  THE SILVER BALLOON

  It seemed silly to open the airport shop at five in the morning, but when you’re working for someone else, you do as you’re told or move on to another job. Dora unlocked the iron gates, folded them back, twirled the combination lock on the safe, removed the cash box, slipped it into the register and inspected her surroundings. For once the night shift had left everything in good order. With no tidying up needed, there’d be time to get coffee from the automatic dispenser across the waiting room, sit for a few moments at one of the tables outside Vinney’s Take-Out before they opened, and savor the morning cup at her leisure.

  As she locked the register, a woman with a young boy came into the shop. “Early sale,” Dora decided, a bit unhappy to have to forego the coffee and perhaps as much as fifteen minutes of tranquility before the early birds began trickling in for the first West Coast flight. The woman smiled and wandered through the shop. “Just looking,” she said, while the boy chattered up a storm, introducing himself as Seth and proudly proclaiming he was “three.” A pause, then an emphatic, “and a half!”

  He was a charmer, and Dora immediately fell under his spell. The feeling was followed by memories of her own David. He hadn’t been much older than this boy, and there was even a resemblance—dark eyes, dark hair, a big smile and a line of chatter. She and Alec had desperately wanted a child, and their desperation had been rewarded, even though her doctor had warned conception at her age was an uncertain affair at best. And David had been a charmer, too—until leukemia struck. It had been over a year now since they had lost him. Alec still had terrible bouts of depression. Dora somehow fared better, perhaps because she was so concerned about her husband. Even so, Seth brought back memories, pleasant ones mingled with sorrow.

  The woman was more interested in talking than in buying, and Dora didn’t mind. Before long they were both sitting at the table drinking coffee, while Seth busied himself with an orange drink. Mary Lewisohn was from Green Pond, New Jersey, and was off to join her husband in California, who was there attending a company convention. Her own job as a dental hygienist had delayed her departure. The reason for being at the airport so early? A friend had been driving down to catch an early morning shuttle to D.C.

  Dora and Alec had lived briefly in Oak Ridge, a few short miles from the Lewisohn home in Green Pond. While they exchanged stories about suburban living, Seth occasionally chimed in with tidbits of his own. “I’ve mesmerized the whole alphabet,” he announced, launching into a singsong of abc’s. Mary laughed while Dora applauded the performance.

  “It’s amazing how much company Seth has become,” Mary said. “My husband has to travel a lot in his business, and Seth helps to fill the vacuum.”

  Dora was on the verge of telling her about David, but thought better of it. The memories were still too painful—painful enough to make her envy Mary the healthy, happy, precocious child who accompanied them back to the shop. Of the toys and gadgets there, only a metallic helium balloon attracted his attention. It was a silver one with a pale angel painted on its surface. “Can I have that, Mom?”

  Mary shook her head, pointing out the difficulties of taking it on the airplane. Seth seemed unhappy, said nothing, but continued to stare up at the shiny object. His mother then suggested a compromise. “We’ll get it for you when we come back. How will that be?”

  “But it may be gone by then.”

  Dora quickly came up with a solution. Reaching under the counter she found a packet of small “sold” stickers they occasionally used for one or another painting some traveler wanted held or mailed. “We’ll put one of these on it, so it will be here when you get back.” The solution was a satisfactory one. Seth supervised the tagging, and even volunteered a “thank you” with minimal prompting from his mother, who insisted on paying in advance for the balloon.

  By then the waiting room was stirring to life. Customers were coming into the shop. Newspapers and magazines suddenly were in demand. Mary and Seth drifted off to wait for their plane.

  A half-hour later, still busy, but thinking about the charming child, she spotted mother and son heading toward the loading gate. Dora caught Seth’s eye as he looked back at the balloon. Pointing to it, she lifted a thumb. He grinned and returned the gesture.

  Dora heard of the crash long before noon, but the news was jumbled. Even the radio report was confused about the flight number and departure time. It wasn’t until an hour later that it became clear there were no survivors and the plane was the one Mary and Seth had boarded on their way to Los Angeles.

  Dora was horror stricken, and the following days only added to her sadness. A week passed. A week and a half. There were dreams, too. Most of them were nebulous, with a small figure in the background. Then one where—was it David or Seth?—he seemed to be asking her for something.

  On her day off, she told Alec she would be gone much of the day but would be back in time for supper. There was an early bus with connections to Green Pond. Her only luggage was a large shopping bag.

  It hadn’t occurred to her there might be more than one cemetery in the community. As it turned out, she located the right one on the first attempt. It was still early in the morning, and the caretaker was just opening the gates. In answer to her question, he told her the location of the new graves, pointing out the permanent stones were not yet in place.

  The markers were obviously quite temporary. Dora was sure Seth would have be
en unhappy with his. All it said was: “Seth Lewisohn. Age three.” She could hear him insisting, “and a half!”

  Reaching into her shopping bag she took out the silver balloon with the painted angel, was about to remove the “sold” sticker, hesitated, then decided to leave it on. Kneeling down beside the plaque, she tucked the string under one corner, knowing it wouldn’t stay there long. It was calm now, but the wind would be coming up. The balloon would sway back and forth for a time, then work its way loose and slip silently up into the sky. That was the way it should be.

  THE SQUARE WATERMELON

  “What I can’t understand is why you ever got into the seed business in the first place.” Ralph Jackson, senior partner in Jackson, Walsh, Gersheimer and Fritz was making conversation with his firm’s major client, Gerald Worthington, in the latter’s luxurious Chicago office. “You admit yourself, you don’t know the first thing about it,” he added.

  “So when do you have to know anything about a business in order to take it over and make a profit on it? Do you think Iacocca knew anything about manufacturing cars? All it takes is downsizing, good business sense, and a first rate ad agency.”

  Jackson shrugged. “I know less about seeds than you do. And I sure wouldn’t have idea one on how to run Worldwide Seeds, Inc. But I still think it was a bad idea dumping the whole research staff.”

  “Getting rid of those parasites from the top down saved us over twelve million the very first year.”

  “And gave you a lot of headaches fighting the head of the staff. I’m not complaining, mind you, since we won the case but, believe me, it was a close one.”

  “What do you mean ‘close’? We proved Schriner was experimenting with cucumbers while he was with the company. All his bullshit about developing the White Hope on his own time and after he left the company, was just that. Bullshit! We got the patent rights to the White Hope and we recovered all court costs, including your fees. What more could you ask for?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Let’s face it. We won by the skin of a cucumber. If the jury hadn’t bought the idea his experimenting with any cucumbers while he worked for the company gave Worldwide full rights to all the cucumbers he developed, we’d have lost hands down. And they also had to accept the idea any experiments Schriner did on cukes after leaving the company were based on what he did when he worked here.”

  Jackson checked his watch and changed the subject. “How about telling me why you wanted me here today?”

  “It has to do with the Kraut. His attorney—you know him better than I do—Stanley Saroyan wants to see me. He’s got some sort of deal in mind, but he won’t say what it is. I’m not about to talk to him without having you around.”

  “Good idea. But if he starts talking fruits and vegetables, don’t count on me. I have a tough time telling cabbages from lettuce heads.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll handle the business end. You handle the legal end.”

  Jackson gave a barely perceptible shrug to his shoulders, as the intercom announced the arrival of Stanley Saroyan.

  Saroyan was known for his no-nonsense abruptness. He didn’t disappoint his audience this time. After the briefest of greetings, he emptied with some effort the canvas bag he was carrying, and produced a large, box-like green object.

  Jackson backed up in his chair. Worthington leaned forward to examine the item. “What in the hell is this thing?”

  “This thing, Mr. Worthington, is a square watermelon.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Why not? Square tomatoes are already being marketed.”

  Worthington immediately began to suspect the purpose of the visit, and decided to do some advance disparaging.

  “Who the hell would want a square watermelon?”

  “We’ve already tried it on a small sample of watermelon enthusiasts. They were fascinated. Wanted to know where they could buy some.”

  “What’s it taste like? Wet sawdust?”

  “You’ll have a chance to sample it in a minute. But I’d like to tell you a bit more about it first. It’s seedless, virus resistant, a bush variety which can take much more wind than the old vine variety, matures in sixty-five days instead of the usual ninety and is tolerant of long dry spells. But, of course, the best part is you can ship these melons with far less damage, and they take up twenty percent less room than the usual watermelons. And you can advertise how nice they are to store. Consumers won’t have to worry about them rolling off the table or out of the refrigerator.

  Jackson broke in. “Wait a minute. It seems to me I’ve heard about the Japanese raising square watermelons. So what’s so new about this?

  “You’re absolutely right about the Japanese. And do you know how they do it? They raise a standard watermelon in glass cages. I’m sure both of you must have some idea of how capital and labor intensive doing so is. They figure it costs them better than five dollars a pound to raise them. And they market for fifteen to twenty a pound. Can you imagine what the farmer’s margin will be with this melon? There’s nothing special about its cultivation except the seed, and whoever buys what we’ve developed will have exclusive control over marketing the seed.

  “Schriner?”

  Saroyan smiled. “Of course. And all the work on the melon has occurred after he left Worldwide. Since you already have copies of all his lab notes from the cuke case, you know Mr. Schriner never so much as looked at a watermelon while he worked for Worldwide.”

  “So, I suppose he wants to sell this freak to Worldwide.”

  “You’re very astute, Mr. Worthington. I even have the contract in my pocket. You will have exclusive rights to what Mr. Schriner has named Diner’s Delight.”

  “Stupid damn name. How much?”

  “Nine hundred thousand, plus five percent of the sales for the next twenty-years. Seeds an additional five cents per, in whatever quantities you specify.”

  Worthington let out a guffaw. “Sell it to Burpee!”

  “We’ve already approached them. They’ve offered eight hundred and fifty. Mr. Schriner still wanted to give you a chance, just to show you there were no hard feelings. But he said he wouldn’t be surprised if you turned him down. His only request was for you to try a sample.” So saying, the attorney reached into a pocket of the canvas sack and took out a large carving knife. He then carefully sliced off an end of the watermelon, pushed it aside, sliced a generous portion off the remainder, expertly made two diagonal cuts from corner to corner and produced four wedge-shaped pieces.

  “Easier to eat, too,” he commented, as he offered the other two a piece and took one himself. “See, you’ve got a flat rind, instead of a curved one, which will keep you from getting juice all over your cheeks.”

  Jackson said nothing after tasting it, simply checking out his client’s reaction. Even though no watermelon enthusiast himself, he was ready to admit this was by far the best one he’d ever tasted, especially since the excellent flavor was uniform, right down to the rind. The expression on Worthington’s face clearly indicated Jackson’s appraisal was not far off.

  “So how is he going to supply me seed for a seedless watermelon?

  Jackson considered it a good question.

  Saroyan seemed surprised by it. “But, Mr. Worthington, you already sell seedless watermelon. I’m certainly no expert in the field, but I do know two separate strains of watermelon are needed to produce a seedless one. Let’s call them A and B. A is crossed with B. The result, C, produces seeds the farmer will plant to get D—Diner’s Delight. Which, of course, is an additional advantage to you. Farmers can’t produce their own seeds. They’ll have to come to you—or to Burpee—if we should sell to them.”

  “And Schriner absolutely guarantees to sell those seeds to Worldwide, and only to Worldwide, if I sign this contract.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And he can’t go planting the seeds and then marketing the melon. Right?”

  “Exactly. You will have complete and exclusive commercial rights t
o the seed and, since he’s not in the fruit marketing business, he won’t be raising any for any other purpose.”

  Worthington growled. “Let’s look at the contract.”

  The next two hours were spent in going through the contract a paragraph at a time broken into sentences, clauses, words and—finally—punctuation.

  “Now this is an absolute guarantee Diner’s Delight will meet all of the standards specified here. Right?” This from Jackson, after several minor changes had been incorporated in response to his suggestions.

  “Yes. Ninety-five percent of any fruit produced by the seed will meet those minimum standards. We’re ready to accept a third party, say three members of the agricultural college, to judge samples each season. And, we’re prepared to write the judging into the contract.”

  Worthington, who was still looking over the contract, broke in. “What’s this sentence mean? ‘Worldwide absolutely and unconditionally waives all rights to any and all watermelon lines developed by Schriner Labs other than Diner’s Delight as described above. Worldwide, through its undersigned representative(s), recognizes this to be a total prohibition against Worldwide claims to any and all other watermelon lines developed by Schriner Labs.’“

  “It means exactly what it says, Mr. Worthington.”

  Jackson grinned and said to Worthington. “I suspect Mr. Schriner wishes to avoid the possibility of your making the same claim as we made in the White Hope case. He wants to guard himself against the possibility you might want to get strains A and B to develop your own Diner’s Delight seeds.”

  Saroyan nodded. “Exactly. He will maintain the exclusive right to produce the seeds. He will produce those seeds and sell them to you and only to you. You then have exclusive rights to the seeds in every other respect: to purchase, to advertise, to package, to distribute or whatever.”