This represents a milestone. My first fanfic, and it keeps getting stalled out. Almost 2 years between updates. Further up and further in.

I have second thoughts about spending a lot of print telling the story of Shoko Asahara in the last chpt. It had nothing about Kim Possible. But I felt it was essential to the story. Kim and Ron are about love and goodness. So is Richard Harte.

But it's done-water over the dam. We continue with the story. As I explained in the last chpt., I'm a book nut-a heroic story nut. I draw upon the reading of a lifetime.

Don't be afraid. Review. Flame. Tell me: "Dude! It's too wordy! Who do you think we are? Library science majors? Just give us Kim and Ron!"

I've also decided to backtrack a bit. Or I might scrap it and do a rewrite.

Just a note about Ron Stoppable's mother. She gets a bad rap on the show and in the fanfic's. Bossy. Domineering. Does Ron's thinking for him. Hates Kim. And I carry on the tradition. I play it up for all it's worth. But I also want to portray things from her POV. Her mother-in-law is just as domineering and hateful-maybe more so. And she's trying to the best of her ability to do the right thing by her son. And in the years to come, she will suffer from the sense of inferiority of Kim's parents being in much more prestigious and prosperous occupations than she and her husband. She will suffer on Ron's behalf, as Kim will be a better student and a stronger, more aggressive personality than Ron.

Rachel Stoppable will suffer on Ron's behalf as he grows into the role that she's, in a way, forcing him into, despite her best intentions-a slacker. And she will pick up on Mr. Dr. P.'s loving but slightly disdainful sense of superiority about Ron (which, if I perceive, is abundantly portrayed on the show.) Check out some of my other fic's. A Little Nap and The Seven Kisses of Kim Possible. (Shameless plug.)

And she will resent Kim for two contradictory reasons. A. That Kim crushes on other boys instead of Ron. B. That Kim might crush on Ron-and 1. Capture his heart, or 2. Break his heart. Confused? That's life. Any person who's at all honest him- (or her-) -self for at least a few minutes a day will recognise that he (or she) is full of contradictory emotions, desires, and motivations. And your Bible-thumping author is gonna lay a Bible expression on you. It's called a divided heart. Read Romans chpt. 7 & James chpt. 1

About the details of traditional Japanese homes-from Wikipedia.

About the Japanese folk heroes-see previous chpt.

About the details of WW2-what I recall from college.

About Kim's tarantula. Did some research at Wiki. Just to make sure there was such an animal. There is.

About Slim Possible and his fiancé Ivymae. I borrowed from my other fic, The Other Mrs. Possible.

About Emily Possible's husband and Slim & Squirt's father being Indiana Jones-check out my FF-dot-net profile, my fellow fanauthor G-Go, and my story Indiana Jones and the Face of Uzuki.

Did I go too far with telling the story of the Second World War through the eyes of Ichiro Kansumi? Sorry.

The cast (maybe this will help keep the characters straight):

In Middleton:

Kimberly Ann Possible, the girl who can do anything

Annette Joan Possible, Kim's mother, neurosurgeon

James Timothy Possible, Kim's father, rocket engineer

Jim and Tim Possible, Kim's brothers, the "Tweabs"

Emily (Em) Possible, James Timothy's mother, and Kim's "Nana", or grandmother

Ronald Adrian Stoppable, Kim's best friend

Rachel Stoppable, Ron's mother, bank teller

Abraham Jacob Stoppable, Ron's father, actuary and synagogue cantor

In Kenjijen:

Richard Leo Harte, the boy who wants to be a hero

Daphne Mei Harte, Richard's twin sister

Mariah Bess Harte, the twins' mother, and missionary

Leo Benedict Harte, the twins' father, and missionary

Yoriko Kansumi, the twins' friend-and Ron Stoppable's future friend

Katrina (Rina) Kansumi, Yoriko's mother

Akiro Kansumi, Yoriko's father, and church elder

Ichiro Kansumi, Akiro's father

Seiko Ito, church janitor

In Tokyo:

The Venerable Master, founder and absolute leader of the Mountain of Supreme Truth cult

The Doctor, inventor of weapons of mass destruction for the Venerable Master

Juro Ito, Seiko's brother and small-time criminal

On with the show.

KIM AND THE LIONHEART

chpt. 5

HEROES ARE BORN AND MADE

storytime

In some ways, the small city of Middleton, Colorado, and the small village of Kenjijen, Japan, were alike. Both were set in a small picturesque valley under a great mountain. Mt. Middleton overlooked the one, and Mt. Yamanuchi overlooked the other. Middleton was not far from large urban Denver, and Kenjijen was not far from large urban Tokyo.

In other ways, they were quite different.

Denver was a state capital and regional urban center. Middleton was a growing community, with an International Airport, a University, a Medical Center, and an Aerospace Center. The entire Tri-City area, as it was known, was growing-with the possible exception of Lowerton. Lowerton had great hopes of becoming a center of industry, back in the time of the legendary Middleton World's Fair and Exposition-but the railroads went to Denver, and the University and its Observatory went to Middleton.

Middleton, like Boulder, became a center of learning, and Lowerton was already feeling the touch of economic blight. And to add insult to injury, Upperton underwent a growth spurt.

Like Aspen, Upperton had become the local center of the ski industry. While Lowerton became an economically depressed area, Upperton had a housing boom. Property costs soared. Condos went up. So the Tri-City area reflected the entire economic spectrum. Lowerton had its high-rises and crime, Middleton had its middle class suburb atmosphere, and Upperton had the rarified air of the well-to-do.

But unlike Denver, Tokyo was a national capital and a world urban center. Tokyo was on a world stage, and was more akin to Hong Kong, or Sydney, or New York.

Kenjijen was centuries old, and still looked as it had for centuries. Like Fujiyama, Mt. Yamanuchi was a holy mountain, a home to Hachiman, the Shinto god of war-Nippon's divine protector-and Koyasu-sama, the Shinto goddess of Mount Fuji, and cherry trees in bloom. And Kenjijen still had its tilled fields, its Shinto and Buddhist shrines, and even homes still constructed in the old way, with the genkan, the entrance for removing shoes, the fusuma, sliding doors made from wood and paper, the tatami floor mat, and the shōji window coverings.

Like America, Japan could be very religious. Some followed the old established religions. In America, there was Christianity and Judaism, among others. In Japan there was Shinto and Buddhism.

There were also new cults. Some were merely eccentric. Some looked and felt subversive. In Tokyo, there was a man, born poor, who learned he had a gift of imaginative persuasion. He sold mystic cures. He developed a following. He sold himself as a divine messenger. More followers. Not just the poor and unlearned, but the rich and educated. He demanded his followers give all their possessions to the group.

He called himself the Venerable Master. He called his group the Mountain of Supreme Truth, to reflect the veneration Japan had for its sacred peaks, like Fujiyama and Yamanuchi. He climbed Mount Fuji, and came down claiming to have talked with the gods and the departed spirits of the Emperors. He would have climbed Mount Yamanuchi, but its summit was considered almost inaccessible. And there were those who did not desire to see a false teacher and a shyster come to the legendary home of Hachiman.

The Venerable Master became ambitious. He entered the election for Prime Minister. His followers ran for Parliament. They ran a dirty campaign. The group had so many members, they imagined they were popular. They bribed and threatened other candidates and election officials just to improve their chances.

It was a disastrous defeat in the polls. They didn't win a single seat in the Parliament. The Venerable Master did not become Prime Minister. He was furious, beside himself with rage. But he was also sly. There were other ways to acquire power. He selected from his followers the most learned scientists and lawyers. He promised them wealth, influence, pleasure-whatever they wanted.

His followers were fanatical in their belief in his divinity. The kept close watch on each other. Any disloyalty was reported to him. Anyone trying to defect was detained for questioning. If they did not repent of their unbelief and inform on other "disloyal", the Venerable Master decreed his men to escort them to the higher plane of spiritual existence-and they were never heard from again.

The Venerable Master chose his most brilliant scientist, a physicist, to be head of research. "A war is coming, my good doctor. Our defeat in the election was no accident. Our government conspires with others to rule the world. They seek to persecute and supress us on an international scale. They fear our growth in their countries. And we must teach the populace a lesson. The horse must be guided with a bridle. The donkey is stubborn and must be guided with the stick. And if neither animal learns, we must stronger measures. The whip and the club. Starvation, if necessary. And we must purify our own ranks. You are a man of mind. You will know what to do."

The Doctor bowed. "I understand, my Master. You are destined to guide humanity. And those who are slow to accept your divine word must learn that there penalties for that crime."

The Venerable Master patted his Doctor's shoulder. "You are my angel, Doctor. My prophet. The instrument of my wrath. Serve me well."

It was the Master's way. He had never given a direct order to injure or kill another living person. He merely spoke of punishment for stubborness and sin, and his followers understood what he meant.

The Doctor, as he was nicknamed, oversaw the development of armaments for the Master's soldiers, and for the conquest of the rest of the world. Doomsday was coming, and the skeptics would be chastised. It did not bother the Doctor's faith that the Master needed technology to help carry out the divine plan.

Just as the Doctor and his assistants were devising weapons of mass destruction, the others were busy. The Publisher, as he was called, infiltrated the mass media with the followers of the Mountain of Supreme Truth. And the Magistrate was building the inner core of followers in the police and armed forces.

And while all this occurred, the people of Kenjijen and Middleton labored at their vocations and raised their families.

In Kenjijen, Akiro ran the day-to-day duties of the Church of the Risen Savior. Rev. Leo Harte preached the messages. Both men prayed with the sad and the sick, and helped the poor, the old, and the handicapped.

Their wives, Rina Kamsumi and Mariah Bess Harte, ran the homes, made the meals, and taught at the village school.

Akiro and his father Ichiro ran the small enjine repair business.

And their children, Yoriko Kansumi, Daphne Harte, and Richard Harte, played, learned, and grew.

In Middleton, James Timothy Possible oversaw the invention and improvement of new means of rocket propulsion and telemetry, as Head of Development. Annette Joan Possible was unanimously chosen head of the neurosurgical practice at Tri-City Medical Center with the retirement of the senior surgeon. She was the first woman to do so. Everyone thought highly of her.

Abraham Stoppable faithfully served his firm and his clientelle as an actuary, and his congregation and Rabbi as a cantor at Temple Beth

Rachel was an efficient head teller at the Middleton branch of the First National Bank of Denver. And at home, she cared for her prize flowers.

Jim and Annette Possible raised their daughter Kim with love, optimism and endless positive reinforcement and encouragement. While one or the other, or both, were at work, Kim's Nana, Emily Possible took care of Kimmie-or Kimmie-Cub, as Jim called her.

She was a happy child and a quick learner. She could also be temperamental.

She soon learned her little pouting lip could earn her an extra helping of ice cream, or an extra story at bedtime.

Before Kim Possible could walk, she could somersault, both forwards and backwards-and she learned to walk when she was six months old.

When it came to danger, Kim was as brave as a mongoose facing a cobra. When she was two years old, Jim and his family were visiting his elder brother Slim up in Thornbush Creek in Montana. Slim was the foreman of the Lazy C Ranch, and courting the rancher's lovely daughter, Ivymae MacDonald.

Kim loved to wander the wide spacious ranch. Colorado had mountain scenery too, but the Montana big sky was quite unlike the tree-lined streets of Middleton. She would find scorpions and rattlers.

It gave Annette hysterics. She demanded that Kim stay indoors.

"But, dear," pled Jim. "The air out here is so good. This is a chance for Kimmie to get a little rough-and-tumble that she wouldn't

And the little lower lip would pout and quiver. And Annette would demand that someone accompany her. Ivymae was glad to.

Slim and Ivymae's father, Josef Macdonald, the Lazy C owner, would roar in hilarity.

"Face it, Squirt, that young 'un of yers has Ma's spit an' vinegar. Jo, did Ah ever tell yew Ma wuz a demolitions expert during the War?"

And Jim would smile wanly. "Slim, I wish you wouldn't call me that. After all, I have as many doctorates as you do."

And old Josef MacDonald clapped Jim on the back. "Possible, y'all got a helluva family. A wife almost as purty as mah Isabel Brittania. God rest 'er. An' a daughter with the spirit of an untamed mustang. Yer a blessed man, son."

And Em Possible, a widow would share heartbreak with Josef, a widower.

"My Henry-we called him 'Indiana'-or 'Indy'-he would've love it here. He was born in the wilds of Utah, and he spent his life in hair-raising adventures. We both did. God, how I miss him."

"Miz Em, mah Isabel was like a field of bitterroot in the spring. Blossoms as blue as the sky. Fragrance like no city-bred could ever imagine. The light o' mah life. But she had a congenital illness. Gave birth to a son an' daughter-an' then wasted away in less than a year. Mah boy went the same way. All Ah had wuz mah Ivymae. 'Fraid Ah'd lose 'er to a no-accout drifter. But yer boy has been like another son to me, God bless 'im. Now if only those two would settle on a wedding date, so Ah kin enjoy mah grandchildren 'afore it's mah time to pass on."

Em chuckled. "I look forward to that too, Mr. MacDonald." A child of our two families. Now there would be a prodigy!"

Josef sighed. "If her first is a girl, mah daughter already has a name-Jocelyn, or Joss fer short-in memory of 'er old man. Although why any gal in 'er right mind would wanna be named after an old goat like me is beyond mah reckoning."

Em shook her head. "It's a lovely name, Mr. MacDonald. Almost as lovely as Kimberly Ann."

Josef nudged her, and she saw a twinkle in his eye. "Miz Em, whut yew wuz talkin 'bout a minute ago-if yew hanker fer adventure, Ah cain't think of anything quite as exciting' as bein' the mistress of a spread like mine."

Em laughed. "Josef Macdonald, you're as big a scamp as my Indy was! No, for the moment, I'm fulfilled. But if things get boring in Colorado, I might take you up on that offer."

And the first thing Kim found when they got back from Montana was a spider. She let it rest on her arm while she brought it into the house. "Mommy, look! I saw big spiders like this when we went to see Uncle Slim. Isn't he cute? All fuzzy, like a puppy."

It was a Colorado tarantula. Bigger than Jim's hand. Normally seen around Pueblo, rarely seen in the higher elevations like the Tri-City area.

And Annette Possible, M.D., who was used to opening the skulls of anesthetized patients with a circular hand saw, stared. Then she screeched and fainted.

Kim's father and nana ran to the sound.

Jim revived his wife and Emily scooped up the creature with a coffee can.

Kim was quite distressed. "Is Mommy okay? Doesn't she like my spider?"

They drove into the country and released the creature.

"Maybe a pet for Kimmie-Cub," suggested Jim.

Annette was firm. "No! No pets! My nerves, Jim! I need steady hands when I'm going a craniotomy for subdural hematoma! I don't care if Kimmie takes up para-sailing or mountain-climbing or deep-sea diving! But no pets!"

Jim was apologetic. "Mommy and Daddy are sorry, Kimmie-Cub. What about something else? A sport, maybe?"

Kim piped up. "I wanna learn Kung-Fu!"

He was hoping she would ask for a telescope or a simple analog computer, or a rocket-building kit. It didn't happen very often, but sometimes Jim had qualms about telling his daughter she could do anything. "Uh, we'll see."

Another thing about Kim. At the impressionable age, she could've easily become a tom-boy-if not for the fact that Annette had fine taste in clothes and accessories. Kim loved to play dress-up. And Annette had a classy swank wardrobe to choose from. Kim loved to watch her mom apply make-up.

Kim developed a talent for applying cosmetics and choosing her own clothing at an early age.

This pleased Annette. It diverted Kim's interest from crawly pets-and from her father's techno-mania. Annette had nothing against modern space-electronics. She used cutting edge technology in her surgical practice. Kim would become a lady instead of a reclusive computer nerd and techno-geek.

"But, dear," lamented Jim. "You married me, and I was a computer nerd and techno geek."

Annette kissed him. "But you at least knew how to treat a lady-flowers, dinner, and holding the door open. Not like your roomies-Bob Chen and Parvi Ramesh. They still prefer to play simulation and wizard war computer games. And especially that poor man-."

"Drew Lipsky," said Jim.

"Yes. That time I came to your apartment for a blind date with him. He was so nervous. His mother insisted on chaperoning her graduate-school-age son. Oh, Jim, it was so sad. I wanted to see him again, but he was so mortified."

Jim smirked. "But you settled for his roomie-lucky for me!"

Annette nodded and hugged him. "I think I made out okay. But what ever happened to him?"

Jim shrugged. "I guess Drew became the ultimate reclusive techno geek. After that term, he dropped out of school. None of us have ever heard from him again."

"I hope he finds some happiness somehow. I just think it's tragic that he should revert to an isolated inventor.

Jim cleared his throat. "You bring up a good point, dear. I'm just as concerned about Kimmie becoming a clothes horse and fashion snob as you're concerned about her becoming a spinster to science."

Annette was chagrinned. "Jim! I never said that! And I think it's unfair for you to assume she's going to succumb to social pressures and join a series of cliques!"

"Annette! You have to agree with me that the social pressures are intense. What if Kimmie becomes-" Jim gulped. "-Boy-crazy!"

Annette laughed lightly. "Just like a father! Jim, given her background, there's every indication Kimmie will become a completive, perfectionist, type-A overachiever. And there's no indication in her background or ours to suggest she'll ever be a flirtatious, fluffy-headed girl who will fall helplessly for every young stud in her class and obsess completely about a steady boyfriend-or the lack thereof."

Jim fumed. "Well, maybe I am overprotective! But I don't want Lolita for a daughter!"

Annette laughed longer. It was a lilting laughter that Jim found most appealing. She fluttered her eyelashes and tugged on his arm. "Come on, Dr. Possible. Put aside your telescopes and your lunar landers. Let me get into my black teddy and lab coat. You can track my satellite. And when your booster rocket reaches escape velocity, you can thrust me into orbit."

Jim Possible went immediately into testosterone overdrive. He could already feel his manhood being aroused. He took off his shirt so fast, a button popped.

But while he and his wife were making love, a nagging thought kept buzzing like a mosquito in the back of Jim's mind. My dear alluring love-goddess of a wife. You are my own personal living breathing aphrodisiac! And if there's any indication that Kimmie will be like you-I will enroll her in a convent school! I will set her curfew two hours before sunset. I won't let her date until she's old enough for Medicare!

But Kim had a special love: story time with her parents and her nana. Poems and fairy tales. Mother Goose. Hans Christian Anderson. Or even stories of Nana's husband.

"Oh, child! The adventures your papa used to have! Going through the rain forest to find the little golden statue! Going through the desert to find the golden box!"

And Kim stared in wonder. "Gosh! Were there spiders, Nana?"

And Em chuckled. "A few-in the rain forest-and the cave. Mostly snakes. Your papa couldn't stand snakes."

"I'm not afraid of snakes, Nana!"

Em smiled wryly. "No, Kimmie, I don't think you're afraid of anything!"

"Can I go with you and Mommy and Daddy to the rain forest, Nana? Or the cave? Or the desert?" pleaded Kim. She was all ready to unleash her secret weapon-the pout.

Em sighed. "I'm afraid I'm too old for those kind of adventures, dear. And your mommy and daddy are very busy."

The pout started to appear.

"But," promised Em, "When you're older, would take your old Nana to the rain forest? Maybe we could wrestle a giant snake!"

The pout disappeared and a bright smile blossomed. "Yes, Nana!"

And as the little bundle of energy hugged Em's neck, she burbled, "I can't wait to grow up!"

And as she sprang up and away, red ponytails bouncing, Em felt a bittersweet pang. Oh, Indy! Your sons! Your granddaughter! Can you see them where you are? You would be so proud of them! And if you can, could you ask God to let Kimmie stay a little girl for as long as possible? And-I miss you! I love you! I so want to be with you! The only things keeping me here are my loved ones!

But the germ of an idea popped into Em's head. She had swum the English Channel when she was younger. And she had always dreamed of climbing Mount Everest. When her granddaughter was older, and before Em got too awful frail-well, who could say? But this is another story.

And all this happened when Kim was two-the dress-up, that is-not the convent school.

Ron Stoppable was eighteen months old before he finally walked unaided. Little crawly things frightened him. Rachel had to keep an immaculate house to keep out the bugs-which was hard to do, because even for a child, Ron was uncommonly untidy, leaving bits of food everywhere-at least Rachel thought it might be Ron. Was it her husband, who was neat as a pin at work, but let himself go completely at home, dressed in one of his brightly colored tropical aloha shirts? Rachel sighed. A woman's work was never done.

Ron wanted nothing to do with the treehouse his father had constructed for him.

Rachel fumed. "Abe, what was going on in your head when you made that thing?"

And Abe hemmed and hawed. "Well-the boy's so timid-just like my grandfather Jon! Obviously he's too young for a treehouse at this age, but I was hoping he and I could sort of camp out in it when he was older. At least he might outgrow the fear of heights that the men in my family seem prone to."

There was also the decorative lawn gnome, an ornament in the front yard that had replaced the bird bath-the chirping scared Ron. And Rachel liked a lawn decoration to offset her garden.

But the first time Ron saw a squat bearded little man with a pointy red had that was as tall as him, stood as still as a statue, and seemed to stare at him, he bawled until bedtime-and then had bad dreams for many nights after.

Rachel finally relegated the little man to the overstuffed garage.

(Years later, when Aunt and Uncle would come to visit, Ron's gleefully evil cousin Shawn would retrieve the little gnome statue and hide it in places like under Ron's bed covers and behind the shower curtains-but that is another story.)

When he was two, Abe let Ron help carve the pumpkin for Hallow'een. The dark holes for the eyes and mouth bothered him a little, and digging out the squishy inside was "icky". "Sick and wrong," he called it.

They looked at him in surprise. "Where did you hear that?"

Ron looked blank. And remembered. "Gramma Hannah. She says it when she comes here. She looks at stuff like the sink, and the toilet, and the fridge."

"Figures," muttered Rachel. "Out of the mouth of babes. We're worried about your father's side. We didn't think about your mother."

But it was when they put the lit candle in at night, that Ron took one look at the glowing eyes and mouth-and burst into tears. "Scary!" he wailed. And away went the pumpkin.

There was something Ron loved to do-watch Mom and Gramma Hanna bake. They would let him decorate cakes and cookies for holidays and birthdays, and baste the turkey for Thanksgiving. As many children do, he was allowed to lick the utensils after they made frosting.

And Ron could actually make a delicious sliced meat sandwich-kosher only-that any delicatessen would have been proud.

But Ron has a special time. A favorite time. Story time with his parents and grandparents. Poems and fairy tales. And even stories of his heritage. Sampson. David and the giant. Noah and his ark. Baby Moses afloat on the Nile. Grown-up Moses taking God's Chosen People to freedom, and commanding the sea to split in half.

It cast a magical spell. In his mother's and father's lap, staring at the book he hoped to one day understand for himself, Ron felt courageous. If God could be with these people, maybe He could be with him. Even witches and gnomes did not frighten little Ronald during story time.

And all this happened when Ron was two years old.

In Kenjijen, life was a little harder than in Middleton. Few homes had electricity or appliances. Ichiro, as a mechanic and ensign in the Imperial Navy while a young man, and Akiro, having supported himself as a handyman while attending seminary, were more than able to deal with all the small repairs that were needed in the village. Most households had at least a car, and the Kansumi men kept them running at a fraction of the cost of a repair shop in the city. They would have done all the work for free, but the villagers repaid them with garden produce and poultry.

There was still subsistence agriculture in Kenjijen. Some crops were grown for sale, and some grown for silage for the livestock. But some were also grown for the table. When Ichiro had been a young man, sixty years ago, much of the nation was still like Kenjijen.

But the Emperor's ministers in Tokyo were power-mad-at least that was Ichiro's feelings. He was loyal to the Emperor and would always be. But the warlords-Tojo and his buddies-that was another matter.

To people now, it was all history, something written in a book. But Ichiro still remembered.

The nation had embarked on a crash industrialization program. Ichiro remembered what his son had read to him, and what Harte-san, the Christian teacher said was in the American history books. They described his beloved land as having "modern hands, but feudal minds."

It made Ichiro burn with shame. But maybe that's what made the commanders so obsessed with conquest.

Russia, the huge bear of Asia had suffered disastrously in a war with Japan early in the twentieth century. Japan had acquired Korea. China, the land as old as history, with an imperial heritage as glorious as his own land, had suffered disastrously. And Japan had acquired Manchuria.

The rest of south Asia had fallen like dominoes. The Philippines. Vietnam and rest of French Indochina. British Burma and Malaysia. Indonesia. Was Australia next? The vast Indian subcontinent?

The Fascists of Europe and the militarists of Japan had been watching each other. It seemed to be their hour. They would divide the world between them.

The bulwarks of western Europe, France and England had been pummeled by Germany. And their colonies in Asia had been picked like ripe fruit by Japan. The same with eastern Europe. Poland. Hungary. Greece. Northern Africa, from Tunis to Egypt.

But, thought Ichiro wryly, pride is like a stupor. The Nazis believed themselves invincible. The Emperor's advisors, too.

But Russia and China were weak old men, infected with Communist revolution and civil wars. Stalin was embarking on his own crash industrialization program, as Germany and Japan had done. But he was trying to do it in months, instead of decades. He was using up his own people like tinder.

And they overreached themselves. Hitler wanted Moscow. Tojo wanted Hawaii.

Ichiro was born in a humble village, but he had taught his son two things: reverence for old values, and new learning. Ichiro knew his history.

Hitler made the same mistake as Napoleon. The Russian winter was more brutal than a host of armies. And, as Admiral Yamamoto, a true warrior and loyal servant of the Divine Emperor and commander of the Emperor's navy, had warned, America had not crumbled with the bombing of Pearl Harbor. They had awakened a sleeping giant.

And England had not fallen to the Luftwaffe any more than the American Navy had fallen to the Imperial Air Force. America was not a weak old man. America was not a decadent democracy, as had been said. America was young, and vigorous, a burgeoning industrial giant.

And England was a plucky little group of islands-just like Japan. And though it would take another half decade, and millions of lives, the end of the war had already been written.

Foreigners in the center of the Empire. Hiroshima and Nagasaki scorched to the ground by a new bomb. Humiliation. Dishonor. Ichiro and many of the Emperor's subjects felt like performing the sepipu, the hara-kiri, when MacArthur and The Divine One, the Son of the Goddess, signed their peace agreement.

But the Divine One, before Whose face, all loyal subjects bowed to refrain from beholding, spoke. For the first time in history, the people heard His voice, directly, over radio broadcast. In a quiet modest voice, the Emperor urged submission. And the duty of steadfast subject was plain. Heed the admonition.

But all this was in Ichiro's heart, and had nothing to do anymore with life in Kenjijen-except this.

In a way, Japan had its revenge on America and the Allies. In mere decades, they had once more become powerful enough to compete with their former enemy-this time in commerce instead of in war.

But the decadence had come to Tokyo, and had spread to the rest of the land. It was said that Tokyo had the most thriving sex trade of any city in the world-even more than Manila-or Saigon. Only in out-of-the-way places like this humble little village resting at the foot of the holy mountain still held to the old ways.

And more dishonor-his son Akiro had become a Christian-and wished to convert the village.

It was an uneasy peace between father and son in the same home. Several things kept them together. Akiro's sweet-tempered wife, Rina, who was a strong a Christian as Akiro, but won the old man's heart by her kindness. And reverence for the father was a holy law, both in Christian and Shinto teaching.

Akiro wrote to various Christian denominations and missionary organizations in Europe and America, humbly asking for help. Hardly a fraction of the people in my nation know the Lord. Even in my own village, there is only my wife and I, and a couple families. We are grateful. And we know God is able to raise up many laborers for the harvest, and call many followers to Himself. But I am a man of stammering lips and feet of clay. I feel unequal to the task. I have received my seminary degree but am yet to be ordained. Perhaps there is one who might accept the call to minister to our small congregation. I have no formal affiliations with any established ministery or denomination. I would be content to only as a deacon and serve whomever our Lord moves upon to come.

And Leo Harte, who grew up in Upperton, Colorado, came with his wife, Mariah Bess, from Middleton, Colorado.

Akiro and Rina greeted them warmly.

Akiro clasped Leo's hand. "My brother in Christ. We welcome you both in the Lord to our humble visitors.

Rina embraced Mariah Bess and kissed her on the cheek. "Welcome, sister. We pray that many will be saved your ministry here."

Leo shook his head. "No, Rina-your ministry. We are only helpers.

Ichiro thought little of Americans. Like all Americans, they will be full of their own self-importance. They will equate victory in war with superiority of culture.

But Leo bowed with respect. "Kansumi-sama."

Ichiro was impressed. Here is one who knows how to treat an elder.

And Mariah Bess kissed him on the cheek. Her dancing brown eyes and warm sweet spirit melted Ichiro's heart.

And Ichiro noticed something that endeared Mariah Bess all the more. Like Rina, his daughter-in-law, Mariah Bess Harte was with child.

It was a joyous time in Kenjijen. The birth of a child was a propitious thing. The birth of two children was cause for merrymaking.

But during birth, the village midwife, Oba-san, or Auntie, as they called her, had a surprise for Leo and Mariah Bess Harte. "Twins!"

Daphne Mei and Richard Leo Harte were born.

Leo was floored. And the men of the village congratulated him heartily-and Ichiro nudged Leo and slyly hinted at Leo's masculine virility.

Within the week, Rina gave birth to a daughter, Yoriko.

They had a banquet at the church. All came, both Christian and Shinto.

Ichiro made very merry. He drank much saké and danced around the bonfire.

And even Akiro was willing to overlook his father's inebriation for the occasion.

No one had a television in Kenjijen. Perhaps someday. A few had radios. The only two buildings with electricity were the church and Akiro's workshop.

Both Akiro and Ichiro agreed that television was at best a mixed blessing.

So the children did not have that as they grew. What they did have was the finest storyteller in the Yamanuchi province.

Storytelling was an ancient and honored art form in Japan. And no one remembered the old stories like Ichiro Kansumi-san.

He loved to hold his granddaughter and recite the old tales. He would imitate the characters with facial expressions and voices. She stared at him with her lovely almond eyes and every so often burst into a delighted laughing squeal.

As they grew, Yoriko, Daphne, and Richard played together. And when they were old enough to sit in respectful attention, they all sat for story time with Yoriko's grandfather.

Ichiro was as limber as a man half his age. While they were small enough, he held all three on his lap. And when they grew bigger, he sat cross-legged on the ground and gathered his granddaughter Yoriko and her friends Daphne and Richard around him.

He could talk for hours. Some of the tales he told were the old European fairy tales, like the Three Little Pigs and Little Red Riding Hood.

But the favorite stories-both his and the children's-were the old tales of his native land.

Akiro was a little concerned. He wanted his daughter raised as a Christian. He did not wish to expose her to the old stories of the gods that his ancestors had worshipped.

But Leo Harte reminded him that even the popular fairy tales of America and Europe contained things like witches and wizards and magic, and that children thrived on childhood enchantment.

And so while Ichiro told his stories, three little heads leaned forward, black-haired, blonde-haired, and brown-haired. Three pairs of eyes watched, almond-dark, bright-blue, and deep-brown as the children listened absolutely spellbound as they likewise sat on their haunches.

There was the story of Momotaro, who defeated the Oni, the demons. or "Peach Child". A childless

There was the story of Yoshitsune and his companion Benkei.

Daphne thought of her hero, Seiko Ito, the janitor and handyman of the church building in Kenjijen, and how he had rescued her when she had fallen into the pond.

Richard and Yoriko thought of doing heroic exploits themselves.

And all this happened when Yoriko, Daphne, and Richard were two years old.

to be continued