“There’s no question,” said Colonel Konko.

“And how do you know all this?” asked the major general.

“You know me as Konko,” said the visitor, “but my pen name was Uso. Before I enlisted I was the chief sumo writer for the Yomiuri newspaper. I can tell you categorically that in your unit you have a brilliant practitioner of the art of sumo. But I beg you all, say nothing of this to anyone. Don’t even tell him you know who he is because I am afraid you will frighten him back into seclusion. Ko-oji is safe here as long as his friends protect him.”

Overnight, Yatsusuki’s size and weight were no longer matters of ridicule. The jokes about his girth abated and he received more compliments about his strength. In some way, that newfound respect transcended language. Although nobody was sure how the word got out, the local people began to treat Yatsusuki differently. The children no longer made fun of him, the girls waved, and even the French administrators looked on with admiration. Yatsusuki stopped jogging and began to carry his weight with pride. It was as if his fat had become his friend. Of course, he had no idea what had caused these changes but he loved his new status.

I met my friend Konko again a few weeks later. I knew him from the theater. He had been a brilliant Kabuki performer. But his dream was to be a character actor in the movies; a role for which he was undoubtedly qualified. I offered to pay him for his role of Corporal Konko but he insisted it was his pleasure. And so, in one sweep, I had given delight to two men.

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Making Woophi