inside. He did not notice that there was an unauthorized woman lying on the floor.
Izumi asked to look inside some of the meat lockers, which Bob was more than glad to show her. By the time they reached his apartment, which was at the outer end of the dock, she realized that he really was nothing but a meat inspector.
“But she was so nice,” Fender told me one time, “and I was so nice, if I may say so, that she stayed for the night, anyway. I was scared to death, naturally, since I had never made love before. But then I said to myself, Just wait a minute. Just calm down. You have always been good withevery kind of animal, practically from the minute you were born. Just keep one thing in mind: You’ve got another nice little animal here.’”
As came out at Fender’s court-martial: He and other members of the Army Veterinary Corps looked like soldiers, but they had not been trained to think like soldiers. It seemed unnecessary, since all they did anymore was inspect meat. The last veterinarian to be involved in any sort of fighting, it turned out, died at the Little Bighorn, at Custer’s Last Stand. Also: There was a tendency on the part of the Army to coddle veterinarians, since they were so hard to recruit. They could make fortunes on the outside—especially in cities, looking after peoples’ pets. This was why they gave Fender such a pleasant, private apartment on the end of a dock. He inspected meat. As long as he did that, nobody was going to think of inspecting
him
.
“If they had inspected my apartment,” he told me, “they would not have found a speck of dust anywhere.” They would also have found, according to him, “one of the best private collections of Japanese pottery and fabrics in Osaka.” He had gone berserk for the subtlety and delicacy of all things Japanese. This art mania was surely an apology, among other things, for his own huge and—to him—ugly useless hands and feet and all.
“Izumi kept looking back and forth between me and the beautiful things on my shelves and walls—in my cupboards, in my drawers,” he told me one time. “If you could have seen her expressions change when she did that,” hesaid, “you would have to agree with me when I say, even though it’s a very conceited thing for me to say: She fell in love with me.”
He made breakfast the next morning, all with Japanese utensils, although it was an American breakfast—bacon and eggs. She stayed curled up in bed while he cooked. She reminded him of the young deer, a doe he had raised when a boy. It was not a new thought. He had been taking care of that doe all night. He turned on his radio, which was tuned to the Armed Forces Network. He hoped for music. He got news instead. The biggest news was that a North Korean spy ring had been rounded up in Osaka in the wee hours of the morning. Their radio transmitter had been found. Only one member of the ring was still being hunted, and that was the woman who called herself “Izumi.”
Fender, by his own account, had “… entered an alternate universe by then.” He felt so much more at home in the new one than in the old one, simply because he was paired now with a woman, that he wasn’t going to return to the old one ever again. What Izumi told him about her loyalty to the communist cause did not sound like enemy talk to him. “It was just common sense on the part of a good person from an alternate universe,” he said.
So he hid her and fed her for eleven days, being careful not to neglect his duties. On the twelfth day he was so disoriented and innocent as to ask a sailor from a ship from New Zealand, which was unloading beef, if for a thousand dollars he would take a young woman on board and away from Japan. The sailor reported this to his captain, whopassed it on to American authorities. Fender and Izumi were promptly arrested, separated, and would never see each other again.
Fender was never able to find out what became of her. She vanished. The most
Izumi asked to look inside some of the meat lockers, which Bob was more than glad to show her. By the time they reached his apartment, which was at the outer end of the dock, she realized that he really was nothing but a meat inspector.
“But she was so nice,” Fender told me one time, “and I was so nice, if I may say so, that she stayed for the night, anyway. I was scared to death, naturally, since I had never made love before. But then I said to myself, Just wait a minute. Just calm down. You have always been good withevery kind of animal, practically from the minute you were born. Just keep one thing in mind: You’ve got another nice little animal here.’”
As came out at Fender’s court-martial: He and other members of the Army Veterinary Corps looked like soldiers, but they had not been trained to think like soldiers. It seemed unnecessary, since all they did anymore was inspect meat. The last veterinarian to be involved in any sort of fighting, it turned out, died at the Little Bighorn, at Custer’s Last Stand. Also: There was a tendency on the part of the Army to coddle veterinarians, since they were so hard to recruit. They could make fortunes on the outside—especially in cities, looking after peoples’ pets. This was why they gave Fender such a pleasant, private apartment on the end of a dock. He inspected meat. As long as he did that, nobody was going to think of inspecting
him
.
“If they had inspected my apartment,” he told me, “they would not have found a speck of dust anywhere.” They would also have found, according to him, “one of the best private collections of Japanese pottery and fabrics in Osaka.” He had gone berserk for the subtlety and delicacy of all things Japanese. This art mania was surely an apology, among other things, for his own huge and—to him—ugly useless hands and feet and all.
“Izumi kept looking back and forth between me and the beautiful things on my shelves and walls—in my cupboards, in my drawers,” he told me one time. “If you could have seen her expressions change when she did that,” hesaid, “you would have to agree with me when I say, even though it’s a very conceited thing for me to say: She fell in love with me.”
He made breakfast the next morning, all with Japanese utensils, although it was an American breakfast—bacon and eggs. She stayed curled up in bed while he cooked. She reminded him of the young deer, a doe he had raised when a boy. It was not a new thought. He had been taking care of that doe all night. He turned on his radio, which was tuned to the Armed Forces Network. He hoped for music. He got news instead. The biggest news was that a North Korean spy ring had been rounded up in Osaka in the wee hours of the morning. Their radio transmitter had been found. Only one member of the ring was still being hunted, and that was the woman who called herself “Izumi.”
Fender, by his own account, had “… entered an alternate universe by then.” He felt so much more at home in the new one than in the old one, simply because he was paired now with a woman, that he wasn’t going to return to the old one ever again. What Izumi told him about her loyalty to the communist cause did not sound like enemy talk to him. “It was just common sense on the part of a good person from an alternate universe,” he said.
So he hid her and fed her for eleven days, being careful not to neglect his duties. On the twelfth day he was so disoriented and innocent as to ask a sailor from a ship from New Zealand, which was unloading beef, if for a thousand dollars he would take a young woman on board and away from Japan. The sailor reported this to his captain, whopassed it on to American authorities. Fender and Izumi were promptly arrested, separated, and would never see each other again.
Fender was never able to find out what became of her. She vanished. The most
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