At dawn Sunday a small army would show up on the property and several acres of field grass would be mowed and enormous open-sided tents raised. The biggest one would cover a wooden dance floor and stage and most of the others would be filled with picnic tables. Late that afternoon the generator trucks would be parked some distance away and power runs set out, the restroom trailers would be put in place and the parking areas marked off.
Before dawn on Monday morning caterers would haul in the trailer-sized barbeque smokers then around noon, the teams who entered the crawfish boil and etouffee contest would start setting up in a special row of smaller tents. Not long after, the sound-system and lighting people would ready the dance-hall and stage; even the band members and crews came early to be part of the event before they had to play.
After listening to her explain Kirkland offered, “Sounds like a mini-Woodstock.”
“Oh, but better organized. The first year they did it it took almost a week to set it all up, but they’ve done it enough that it all goes up in about twenty-four hours. Three hundred people will start showing up around three or four o’clock.”
“Three hundred people?”
She nodded. “It gets a little bigger every year ... Al and some of his friends even fly their planes over in a formation a few times then everyone gains ten pounds and tries to dance it off ... and we’re talking real Texas dance music—”
Kirkland raised a finger of his hand in caution as he shook his head. “Ah ... you should know, I, ah, I do not dance—”
Catherine’s looked carried a not-so-subtle warning. “El will insist.”
“In this heat?”
“They have those big sprayer things all over the place and it doesn’t really get going ‘til the sun’s going down.”
Kirkland looked over at her with some trepidation. “You Texans are certainly a determined lot.”
“The pool at the main house is open,” she said and involuntarily paused as mental pictures of what he might look like in a bathing suit rattled her. “It’s really a lot of fun .... the dance thing is a real introduction to Texas ... you’ll fit right in.”
His response was skeptical. “I find that hard to imagine.”
“A lot of Al’s employees are transplants. They’ve got people from all over the world,” she suggested then added with a grin, “Including Yankees.”
As he turned off the beltway onto highway 249 Catherine began to recognize the route she normally took to get to the Calder ranch but she decided not to ask a question until he turned off the highway on Spring Cypress road and headed east.
With a note of amusement she asked, “Are we going to the airport?” This must be some place Alex recommended, she told herself then looked at him strangely. “What’s there?”
“We’re meeting someone.”
“Alex and El?”
He half-raised a finger from the steering wheel and shook his head. “It’s another part of the surprise.”
- # -
Catherine kept silent when she realized he was actually taking her to the airport where the Calders kept their airplanes, but when they got there Kirkland drove directly toward a huge military-looking plane in front of her friend’s hangars. “What is that?”
Instead of the typical multi-color camouflage scheme used by the countries that operated almost all of the C-160 Transalls, Kirkland’s plane had a matte, non patterned, dark gray-blue blended finish that was lighter toward the lower surfaces. A single royal-blue stripe at the top of the vertical stabilizer and the plane’s tail numbers were the only markings; as designed, even on a moonlit night it was almost impossible to see from above or below.
Kirkland didn’t answer as he pulled the Suburban up to the ramp then got out and walked around to the passenger side.
“You’re not—” she began after he opened her door.
All Kirkland did was grin as he took her hand to help her step out. “You’ll want your athletic shoes,” he suggested to the now speechless woman.
As he opened the back door for her she tried smiling bravely then reached in and opened her travel bag. “You want me ...” she said nervously as she pulled out her shoes, “you want me to go with you ... in that?”
“Certainly.”
“You’re serious?” she asked with genuine concern. “In that?”
Kirkland said blithely, “As I recall, you said you didn’t like small airplanes.”
“Okay, okay ... okay, I’ll do this,” she announced then took a deep breath. “But ... but you ... you have to promise you’ll dance with me Monday.”
Kirkland froze for a few seconds then swallowed and tried unsuccessfully to mouth something that would let him avoid a commitment. From the look on her face he could tell there was no room to negotiate and he nodded slowly, smiling almost as if he were in pain. “Ooooh ... ohhhkay,” he said resignedly then added under his breath, “Oh dear,” as he turned and saw Ben Yamaguchi walking down the plane’s loading ramp.
“Ms. Catherine Cruz, may I present my associate, Captain Benjamin Yamaguchi, New York Air National Guard, master sensei, chief pilot for the firm and husband of my General Manager, Terri.”
“Nice to meet you,” Yamaguchi said as they shook hands.
Catherine was now even more bewildered. Yamaguchi? He doesn’t look very Japanese. “Nice to meet you,” she said then added with a note of confusion, “Captain?”
“Ben, please,” Yamaguchi said then caught Kirkland’s eye as Catherine was looking around at the plane. “Outstanding!” he mouthed with his eyes widened.
Catherine squeezed Kirkland’s hand and quietly asked a question in amazement, “You got the National Guard to send a plane for this? Is that even legal?”
“Oh no, no, it’s a company plane,” he answered casually as Yamaguchi climbed behind the wheel and prepared to drive the Suburban up the ramp into the cargo bay. “We’d be late for dinner without it,” he advised and added almost off-handedly, “We bring our own transportation.”
Por Dios! She thought. What have I gotten myself into?
- # -
Catherine had never been in the cockpit of a plane as large as the C-160 and the space she found herself in seemed mind bogglingly complex. In a middle seat behind and slightly above Yamaguchi on the right and Kirkland on the left she had a full view of everything they were doing, as well as being able to hear what they were saying through the headset Kirkland had adjusted for her. It took a few minutes before they had both of the engines running and after lifting an earpiece off her ear a couple of times and hearing the sound, she concluded keeping them on would be the best idea.
The nervous excitement grew when she saw Kirkland slowly advance some levers that made the plane begin moving then it turned gradually and rolled along the taxiway toward the far end of the runway. When it made the U turn and was pointed north in the center of the runway the two men spoke to each other as they rechecked several controls then she heard a very brief communication with the tower.
I didn’t think Texans could talk that fast, she thought.
She watched them scan the area around and above the plane then she saw Kirkland reach to his right and move the throttles again, bringing the engine pitch to a level she could clearly hear even through the close-fitting headset.
She soon found herself holding her breath as the plane accelerated and she realized it wasn’t moving as quickly as the passenger jets she had been on. With the end of the runway still some distance ahead, she saw more than felt the nose rise slightly then the plane gradually became airborne and she finally exhaled.
She heard Kirkland say, “Gear up,” and saw Yamaguchi reach forward and move a large lever on the panel that started a new noise as the landing gear raised just as the roads at the north end of the airport flashed by below.
Kirkland swiveled his head quickly to check on her and saw the excited but still-nervous smile. “Hang on,” he advised.
“Why ... what for ... what’s going to happ
en?”
“Max climb,” she heard Yamaguchi say as if he were bored.
She saw Kirkland’s head nod. “Maximum climb,” he responded then the nose of the aircraft suddenly pointed steeply upward. Catherine felt her insides pressed downward and her head bent down involuntarily.
Kirkland looked back at her again. “You alright?” he asked with an encouraging and hopeful smile as she lifted her head.
“Sure,” she offered with a nod but an unconvincing smile.
Kirkland soon reduced the angle of attack and put the plane in a broad, but still-climbing turn. “You ought to see what it can do in colder weather,” she heard Yamaguchi say.
Leveled off and flying almost due west with the sun poised above the horizon, Catherine shielded her eyes with her hand and looked out the cockpit windows at the dazzling array of what looked like scattered coins – brilliant gold-colored reflections off the surfaces of the myriad small lakes, stock ponds and reservoirs of the Texas landscape. The view from the multiple windows was spectacular and she wished she had brought along a camera. “It’s beautiful,” she said and got two nods in response.
She pointed toward the view in front of them. “I don’t know if you guys know this ... but those are all man-made ... we don’t have any natural lakes in Texas.”
Yamaguchi sounded doubtful. “All of those?”
“Yep ... a lot of them are what we call ‘stock tanks’.”
“It’s good to have a guide in a foreign country,” Kirkland noted.
Catherine suggested dryly, “You need a pronunciation guide, too.”
Yamaguchi nodded in agreement then said, “I always thought the last letter in ‘Colorado’ was an ‘o’ ... ‘round here it’s an ‘a’.”
“You’ll learn real Texan’s are vowel challenged,” she responded.
During the flight she also learned some entirely new things as they explained what was going on: Kirkland was the ‘pilot in command’ in the left seat for this trip while Yamaguchi took the co-pilot role; they were flying at an altitude above aircraft that didn’t have pressurization but below the level of the airliners; the autopilot was far more adept at maintaining a straight and level flight than they were and the big plane was actually easier to fly than it looked – “it’s not a busy airplane,” she remembered Yamaguchi saying but she was not entirely sure what that meant.
In a few minutes she noticed there was quite a bit more radio traffic and as the plane made a banking left turn she saw flashing strobe lights in the distance below and ahead of them. Listening to the rapid-fire communication she was amazed at how any of them could interpret what was being said between the pilots of the forming chain of aircraft and the regional controller keeping them organized and safe.
Yamaguchi took an opportunity to turn and check on her. “Traffic ... more than normal ... it’s Friday on a holiday weekend.”
She smiled then watched Kirkland for a few more seconds and could tell he was calm but clearly concentrating.
With the orb of the sun just above the edge of the earth to the west, the upper left side of the cockpit and the right sides of their faces were painted in orange light. The glow swung downward and the horizon tilted in front of her when they started a long ‘U’ turn back around to the north following what Yamaguchi told her was the ‘approach pattern’. As they continued to descend she felt minor buffeting motions then reflexively gripped the arms of her seat when some of the movements became more abrupt. The view out the front windows seemed to unnervingly pan back and forth as well as up and down but even with the turbulence she felt oddly calm from her new vantage point.
She heard Kirkland say something about landing lights and flaps then she felt a sensation of decelerating as they continued to descend. Despite her apprehension she found herself simply going along with the motions – and to her it looked oddly like having three puppets on the same strings.
Yamaguchi turned and with a raised a hand depicted a kind of roller-coaster surfing motion. “Flying in the summer! Whoo-hoo!”
“Gear down,” she heard Kirkland say and she saw Yamaguchi reach out to what she now recognized as the landing gear control. She could actually feel sensations through the soles of her shoes and another new sound arose. After a few seconds she heard a response, “Down and locked.”
She heard a few other interactions that had something to do with airspeed and soon the runway was right in front of them. She felt the bump of the main gear then a downward tilt that stopped when the front wheels touched the runway. Things became busier; she saw hands move on multiple controls and the deceleration that followed was unexpectedly forceful – much more so than she had experienced in airliners and she realized why she had a shoulder harness on when her weight pressed her forward against it.
Kirkland swung the plane to the left at the designated turn-off and was directed to a space by a ground crewman waving brightly-lighted wands.
As she watched them shut the engines down and go through their checklist, she unbuckled herself and realized the entire experience had been far more fun than stressful – her palms weren’t even sweating.
“Well done, especially with the hot weather,” Yamaguchi said, nodding toward Kirkland.
“Okay ... where are we?” Catherine finally asked.
CHAPTER 22
The Hill Country of Texas, Friday and Saturday, May 23 and 24, 1997
Where Catherine Cruz found herself after a limousine ride from the airport was in her own luxurious suite at a new hill-country resort she had heard of and read about but never been to. Any fatigue from her adventure had lifted after she soaked in the whirlpool tub then downed half an energy drink from the little refrigerator before starting to get ready.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror debating whether or not the summery off-the-shoulder dress and scarf revealed too much. He probably saw more than this the other night, she thought as she remembered the long, low-backed formal she had worn at the museum event.
The gentle knock at the door surprised her and she didn’t hesitate to open it.
The man she had seen in jeans was now impeccably dressed in camel-colored slacks, an indigo-blue cashmere blazer and a pale-yellow cotton dress shirt. He was even taller than she remembered and she couldn’t help noticing the rust-colored lizard-skin cowboy boots; oddly, he held a blue and gold silk tie in his hand.
“I’m not familiar with the local custom,” he said almost sheepishly as he lifted the tie and gestured toward his boots. “Does one wear ties with these or is one of those ‘bolo’ things de rigueur?”
She laughed slightly at his predicament then looked more closely at the footwear. “Nice boots,” she said enthusiastically.
Kirkland seemed to be studying them as he said, “Believe it or not I got these in Arizona some years ago.”
“We won’t hold that against you ... but personally, I think the bolo thing is outdated ... native dress is not required,” she suggested.
Looking at her admiringly he said, “I didn’t want to be overdressed for dinner like the other night but I can see I would be underdressed without a tie – may I use your mirror?”
She stepped back into the room as she said, “Sure.” As he went by she could detect a bare hint of unfamiliar cologne that made her take a deep breath; if she hadn’t been hungry and had a little less self control she might have tried to initiate one of the fantasies that had been running through her mind.
He turned to her after tying the tie. “Now then ... being appropriately attired, may I escort milady to dinner?”
She stepped closer and embraced him, keeping her eyes on his and said sincerely, “Yes, and thank you, for today.” She rose up on tip-toe as far as she could and pulled him down and kissed him briefly.
When she stepped back he took both her hands in his. “You’re most welcome,” he said. “I haven’t done that in quite some time.”
“What – swept a woman away in an airplane?” She teased.
His fa
ce became serious. “Well now ... I have to be very careful here.” He looked upward and squinted as if concentrating. “As matter of fact, until this very minute I haven’t kissed a beautiful woman since Wednesday night.”
She grinned back at him and said, “For some reason flattery is making me hungry,” then turned and picked up her handbag and led him to the door. Once out in the hall and walking toward the elevators she asked, “So what is Captain Yamaguchi doing?”
He leaned slightly toward her and said quietly, “By now, I believe he is molding the mind and body and cultivating a vigorous spirit – with which he will soundly thrash me in hikitate-geiko tomorrow at ten o’clock.”
The opening elevator door and the faces of the people in it prevented her from asking what that meant.
- # -
The following morning, a small but gradually growing audience of curious onlookers stood and sat around the large exercise floor in the resort’s cavernous spa. They lingered to watch two men wearing elaborate Japanese Kendo armor engage in a long series of alternating attacks in the nito, or two-sword style of training.
“Zanshin,” Yamaguchi reminded his pupil with authority from behind his mask. “Something has taken over your mind,” he then mocked after scoring a strike during one of Kirkland’s attacks.
Kirkland responded with another, more concerted and effective attack but was unable to score on the four-dan kendoka who had trained him for several years, not only in Kendo but in a variety of martial arts.
“You should have gotten more rest,” Yamaguchi said calmly moments before he shouted and leapt forward in a multiple strike attack that Kirkland was only lucky to deflect.
“I slept just fine, thank you,” Kirkland said, breathing heavily and not allowing himself to become over-confident.
“Sure you did,” Yamaguchi smirked from behind his mask.
Kirkland’s next attack was more aggressive and he came very close to scoring, in part because of the goading he was taking. Sometimes he felt his sensei was letting him get just close enough for him to believe he might be truly threatening, but there were also a growing number of moments where he felt he was becoming an effective training partner for a master as opposed to being a mere student.
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