his hair down over his eyes and sobbed, “Oh, what does it all mean—the eternal struggle—sex—the New York Yankees!”
“All right, louse it up. But suddenly I felt as if I were in a world of swirling darkness where the only reality was this earth—this earth of Japan.”
“My God!” Mike cried, clutching his head. “A new Sigmund Freud!”
I had to laugh, and while Mike phoned down for some cold beer I asked, “Don’t you ever get crazy ideas like that?”
“A million of ’em. They never hurt anybody.”
“But to have an idea like that suddenly bust open your whole world…I thought I was back in prep school again.”
“I think it’s easy to explain,” Mike said after his second bottle of beer, which gave him added authority. “You’ve been fighting like crazy up in Korea and you get this big idea about comin’ down to Japan and getting married…”
“She didn’t even tell me she was coming to Japan.”
“Don’t let details mess up my theory. Then when you see the battle-axe her mother is…”
“She’s not really a battle-axe.”
“Who threw me out of the Club with Fumiko-san?” The question awakened all of Mike’s animosities and launched him into a tirade against generals’ wives and he never did finish his explanation.
But next night we were at the Bitchi-bashi watching the stately procession of Takarazuka girls as they approached us through the evening dusk to vanish into the deep shadows. I was deeply moved by the passage of these quiet figures and they appeared to me asmembers of a military group dedicated to their rituals and promotions the way I was tied to mine. They lived and acted with a sense of their military responsibility while I was conditioned by the rules of my army. They were not free and I was not free, for I believe that no man who flies a plane against the enemy or steers a ship into enemy waters is a free man. He is bound by certain convictions and restraints that other men never know.
I was pondering this when Fumiko-san came by. She was accompanied by the actress in men’s clothes who had reprimanded us the night before and when the bobby soxers on the Bitchi-bashi saw this tall girl they made a wild dash to surround her and demand autographs. The actress coolly shoved them away but other little girls took their places.
I said to Mike, “She must be somebody.”
He asked a Japanese girl who the actress was and the girl broke into horribly confused giggles. She did, however, summon another girl—she couldn’t have been more than fourteen—who spoke English and this child said, “She—is—Hana-ogi-san. Number one girl!”
I repeated the name and some children near me, giggling furiously, began to chant “Hana-ogi-san! Hana-ogi-san!” and the beautiful actress stopped for a moment on the bridge and looked our way. Mike bowed very low and blew a kiss off his thumb to Fumiko-san but both actresses ignored him and resumed their way into the night shadows.
KATSUMI-SAN :
“Japanese like gold teeth but I get white one for Joe.”
I had to miss the Monday night procession at the Bitchi-bashi because General Webster sent a message ordering me in to Kobe to report on how my work was going. I knew what he really wanted was to ask me why I hadn’t been around the Club. No doubt Mrs. Webster had commanded him to find out and I wondered what I would tell him. It was difficult for me to explain even to myself.
It had something to do with the fun of living with a gang of men that you can never explain. The relaxation, the freedom of running down the hall in your shorts, the common interests in a common problem. I remember how my father used to glow when he came in from a six-day exercise with his foot troops. I was a kid then but there was something enormously real and rugged about my father on those occasions. True, he was a fine man about the house—I think a good many other families, mothers and kids alike, would have been glad to have a father like
“All right, louse it up. But suddenly I felt as if I were in a world of swirling darkness where the only reality was this earth—this earth of Japan.”
“My God!” Mike cried, clutching his head. “A new Sigmund Freud!”
I had to laugh, and while Mike phoned down for some cold beer I asked, “Don’t you ever get crazy ideas like that?”
“A million of ’em. They never hurt anybody.”
“But to have an idea like that suddenly bust open your whole world…I thought I was back in prep school again.”
“I think it’s easy to explain,” Mike said after his second bottle of beer, which gave him added authority. “You’ve been fighting like crazy up in Korea and you get this big idea about comin’ down to Japan and getting married…”
“She didn’t even tell me she was coming to Japan.”
“Don’t let details mess up my theory. Then when you see the battle-axe her mother is…”
“She’s not really a battle-axe.”
“Who threw me out of the Club with Fumiko-san?” The question awakened all of Mike’s animosities and launched him into a tirade against generals’ wives and he never did finish his explanation.
But next night we were at the Bitchi-bashi watching the stately procession of Takarazuka girls as they approached us through the evening dusk to vanish into the deep shadows. I was deeply moved by the passage of these quiet figures and they appeared to me asmembers of a military group dedicated to their rituals and promotions the way I was tied to mine. They lived and acted with a sense of their military responsibility while I was conditioned by the rules of my army. They were not free and I was not free, for I believe that no man who flies a plane against the enemy or steers a ship into enemy waters is a free man. He is bound by certain convictions and restraints that other men never know.
I was pondering this when Fumiko-san came by. She was accompanied by the actress in men’s clothes who had reprimanded us the night before and when the bobby soxers on the Bitchi-bashi saw this tall girl they made a wild dash to surround her and demand autographs. The actress coolly shoved them away but other little girls took their places.
I said to Mike, “She must be somebody.”
He asked a Japanese girl who the actress was and the girl broke into horribly confused giggles. She did, however, summon another girl—she couldn’t have been more than fourteen—who spoke English and this child said, “She—is—Hana-ogi-san. Number one girl!”
I repeated the name and some children near me, giggling furiously, began to chant “Hana-ogi-san! Hana-ogi-san!” and the beautiful actress stopped for a moment on the bridge and looked our way. Mike bowed very low and blew a kiss off his thumb to Fumiko-san but both actresses ignored him and resumed their way into the night shadows.
KATSUMI-SAN :
“Japanese like gold teeth but I get white one for Joe.”
I had to miss the Monday night procession at the Bitchi-bashi because General Webster sent a message ordering me in to Kobe to report on how my work was going. I knew what he really wanted was to ask me why I hadn’t been around the Club. No doubt Mrs. Webster had commanded him to find out and I wondered what I would tell him. It was difficult for me to explain even to myself.
It had something to do with the fun of living with a gang of men that you can never explain. The relaxation, the freedom of running down the hall in your shorts, the common interests in a common problem. I remember how my father used to glow when he came in from a six-day exercise with his foot troops. I was a kid then but there was something enormously real and rugged about my father on those occasions. True, he was a fine man about the house—I think a good many other families, mothers and kids alike, would have been glad to have a father like
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