"Yes, it's me," said Gloria, both touched and pleased.
Tadashi started putting the automobile into gear, but Gloria reached over and turned the ignition switch.
"Now, you don't want to run away," she said evenly. She didn't really care what she said as long as her tone was reassuring. The tone she used to Tadashi was the same she used for talking to animals.
"What you want to run away for? Heavens, it's only little me, and I wouldn't hurt a fly. You know that. We'll just sit here, real comfortable, and smoke our cigarettes and be friends."
"Friends?" said Tadashi, that being one of the few English words he knew. He sat very straight in his seat and puffed his cigarette swiftly. Americans were certainly friendly. Almost never had he had this so spectacularly proved as now. Apparently all she wanted was to be friends. Still, though he would like to be her friend, he had to think about the Motor Pool and about returning to it. He must not lose his job.
"Yes, friends—tomodachi," said Gloria.
"Tomodachi," said Tadashi.
Gloria had never run into the language barrier with such, force before. It both intrigued and infuriated her. Really, conversation did have its place after all. It would be just too much if she, like Major Calloway, let her hand slide across the sedan seat to his, to the fist he was holding by his side. The poor boy was doubtless terrified.
To reassure him, she turned her head away and looked around them. This was the most extensive ruin she had seen since coming to Tokyo, and they seemed to be in the very middle of it. In the distance, on all sides, were the lights of the city, distant as stars. Between them and the car there was nothing but blackness. The sedan was an illuminated island on the black field, and the white road led away from them into the darkness. The odor of burning leaves was blown by the cold wind. It smelled as though the earth were smoking, scorching.
Her studied inattention may have reassured him, but the surroundings certainly didn't reassure her. She decided they should play a game. After saying "What's that?" and pointing in several directions, she got her idea across.
"What's that?" she said and pointed west.
"Sumida-gawa," said Tadashi soberly.
"What's that?" She pointed north.
"Honjo."
"And that?" She pointed south.
"Fukagawa."
"What a delightful name!" said Gloria, laughing in her throat.
Tadashi said nothing.
"And right here?" She pointed all around them.
"Susaki."
"Lovely place, no?" said Gloria and looked around.
The wind blew dead leaves across the road.
"New game, new game," said Gloria and wrinkled her nose. "My—name—is—Gloria."
"Guroria," he repeated.
"Yes, Gloria Wilson. It's perfectly all right, darling—we'll never see each other again." She smiled briefly. "And what's yours?"
"Guroria Wiruson—you," said Tadashi. The American lady was lying. Her name was Mrs. Ainsley—a married lady. It said so on his trip ticket.
"Yes, dear—me, Tarzan; you, Jane."
"Missu Wiruson," said Tadashi. If the woman was demented, as he had begun to suspect, he should probably agree with her as much as possible.
She looked at his profile and felt sorry for him. He was just too good looking. At the same time she felt sorry for herself. They were no longer Myrna Loy and an Indian prince in disguise. They were merely Gloria Wilson from Muncie, Indiana, and a poor, frightened, and—unfortunately for him—roaringly handsome sedan driver who, for all she knew, had a wife and kids at home, all hungry and waiting. The whole thing had begun to seem a bit sordid.
She remembered dark tales she'd heard of other American women who had stolen across the color line. How on earth had they gone about it she wondered.
"Where?" asked Tadashi helplessly.
"Oh, you bad boy," said Gloria, laughing. "Why, right here I suppose. Do you know a better place?"
As soon as she'd said this she looked out the window, irritated with herself. This really was too much! How self-indulgent could you get anyway? Why didn't the fool boy start the car and just get them out of here. He was the man. He was supposed to do things like that.
Yet, if he did, she knew she'd do everything she could to stop the car again. It was always the same. The only thing different was that this time it was Gloria who made the advances, directly rather than indirectly. Besides, she told herself, if I don't, I'll be an even bigger fool than I am now. I'll lie sleepless in that damn bed and think about what could have happened. I'll really kick myself if I don't go through with this. Beside, what does it matter? Come on in, the water's fine....
She grimaced with a sudden cramp, closed her eyes briefly, reached over and took Tadashi's hand in her own, and opened her eyes. Well, that was easy. Tadashi hadn't moved.
He was terrified. It had just occurred to him what it was this Mrs. Ainsley was after. The responsibility would have frightened him in any event, for such an occurrence was without parallel in his experience. But now it frightened him all the more because, through it, a pattern of his life was revealing itself to him.
All day the pattern had been forming; now it was revealed. Mrs. Ainsley had been with him three times that day, for now he remembered having seen her that morning too. This was too often for coincidence. But it also seemed he had seen her once before, long ago, in Shimbashi, the night of the fire, when his sisters and parents and friends had been killed. Was she not perhaps the unknown lady in Shimbashi, the lady in Western clothes? She was very like her. And now they were sitting in the ruins of that fire, he and the lady who had kept him from his duty, the duty of being burned with his parents and sisters. They were sitting in Susaki—the section devoted to the pleasures of the flesh, where his father had been burned to death almost five years before. The destruction of Tokyo rose before Tadashi's eyes, and the dark plain burned fiercely. He was a very superstitious young man.
Gloria leaned forward, and as he turned his head, her mouth, its fleshy lips like little arms, caught his and held him.
He smelled her perfume, the odor of her lipstick and of tobacco. He closed his eyes and held his breath.
"Ardor—that's what I like," said Gloria as she pulled away.
She lighted another cigarette, and he refused one. She still held his hand, and as her match flared out she saw the palm" of his hand, wet, like her own.
"Let's look at it this way," she said, "this is democracy in action,"
"Democracy," said Tadashi.
"Sure, honey. And now you see—democracy can be fun! Now I'll give you one of the finer points—this is the Monroe Doctrine."
She held the cigarette in one hand and bent over him. This time her lips very gently pried his open. His were cool and yielding.
It was actually a bit clinical, like being at the dentist's, thought Gloria, for the child didn't know how to kiss. Well, she would teach him!
She slipped one arm around his waist, thinking, goodness, how masculine can you get. The wool of his Army uniform scratched her wrist softly. She could see herself, spreading democracy and good cheer all over these lovely islands. And one nice thing—there was no shortage of material for democratization. She'd really been limiting her talent by confining her attentions to white males—these little people were delightful. They made one feel so masterful. Before long General MacArthur himself would have to be awarding her a medal.
And the dear boy's heart was like a triphammer. Probably just as appreciative as he was reluctant. She had a pleasing vision of her future—her reputation reestablished with those whose opinion counted, and the entire male Japanese population stretched at her feet like that platoon the Major had mentioned—all stretched out and not caring what happened. If only the good Major could see her now—what a shock he'd be in for!
Really, how predatory can you get, thought Gloria; then—oh, well, the hell with it—she slipped her tongue between Tadashi's half-opened lips.
Fright
ened, he pushed her away.
"Did I frighten my little lamb?" asked Gloria, looking at him closely. His lips were still partly open, and in the reflected light it looked as though he were smiling.
"Well, you're a sly one," she said. "Lookie, dear, just wait until I get out of this fur job I've got on. See, you're almost democratized already. To say nothing of myself.
Finding she couldn't get her coat off in the car without mussing herself all up, she opened the door. There'd still be plenty of time later for mussing.
"Missu Wiruson," said Tadashi.
"That's the name," said Gloria, and backed out of the car, enjoying the cool air on her calves. "Just wait until I take off this coat and we can..." She stood outside, still struggling with the fur coat her mother had sent her. "And then we can—"
The car door suddenly disappeared, and with it the car.
Tadashi drove so fast that he had only a fleeting image in the rear-view mirror of the lady struggling with her coat before she became a small, dim figure in the distance, and then disappeared in the complete darkness.
He drove away from the Susaki district as fast as he could, and at last found the bridge leading over the Sumida River from Fukagawa to Nihombashi. He drove across the bridge, where years before he had found the bicycle; and passed the corner of the Shirokiya Department Store, where he had bought his mother the bolt of cloth. A lone pedicab driver nearly fell off his bicycle before he succeeded in escaping the sedan. The tears in Tadashi's eyes blinded him, and finally he slowed down.
His tears were not caused by his fear of the inevitable deliquency report and its consequences, nor by his fear of the friendly lady. The day had another pattern: it was the pattern of his own failure to himself. Twice today he had been given the opportunity to become himself, to act upon his own convictions. He could have taken the soldier to Shinjuku. He could have satisfied the lady.
Ordinarily he would have had little compunction concerning either. Both were essentially friendly, human acts. To be sure, he would have been enormously in the lady's debt, but the situation was so unusual that he need not worry about obligations. And yet he had satisfied neither the soldier nor the lady, and, more important, he had not satisfied himself. He, who scorned the military, all militaries, who hated discipline, who wanted more than anything to become a real individual. In that he had failed, yet again.
Ahead were the lights of the Motor Pool, brilliant in the surrounding darkness. Individuality, Tadashi decided, was a luxury. Could one be an individual when there were mouths to be fed at home, when his job and not his soul was the most important thing there was? His own feelings seemed so unimportant by comparison that he was ashamed to think of them. He must think of others' feelings.
One of the first of whom he must think was Mrs. Ainsley, alone in the dark. In the middle of the ruins, she was miles from anything American. It would be hours before she could find her way back. He pitied her, out there alone with the ghosts of the dead, and he hoped nothing happened to her. And one more reason he should help her was that she was insane—he was sure of that. Why else should an American woman want what she had wanted from him?
The humiliation of telling what had occurred would be extreme, but he must do it. First, they could rescue the lady. Second, if they knew the truth, perhaps the final delinquency report would be withheld. Then he must go home. His wife would be very worried.
He parked the sedan. The guard at the door took the unsigned trip ticket in to the blond lieutenant. Tadashi followed him in, cap in hand.
The lieutenant looked at the trip ticket. "This is just your hard-luck day, isn't it, Tadashi?" he asked. "I don't know how you're going to get out of this."
Tadashi bowed, then turned to the Nisei sergeant and bashfully held his hat with both hands. He talked for a long time, and finally the sergeant understood.
The sergeant turned to the lieutenant. "Boy, he's gotta wild one! Says some dame made a pass at him."
"Geisha or what? What was he lugging around in that sedan anyway?"
"No, sir. An American girl."
"No kidding!" said the lieutenant and smiled. "Is he lying?"
"I don't think so, sir," said the sergeant. "He's all upset. He's too embarrassed to be lying."
"In that case," said the lieutenant, "the CID ought to be interested in this."
"Boy, they had a busy night, eh, Lieutenant?" said the sergeant.
"You can say that again."
"Yeah, like that major in Special Services. They're out dredging the Palace moat right now. Seems he was a real big operator. Them MP's in the jeep a while ago was telling me. Dollars, you know, and one of his boys got flighty and tossed a big hunk of scrip smack in the Emperor's front moat. They got a boat out there now and are fishing around for it. That's one fish I wouldn't mind hooking myself."
The lieutenant was filling out a form. "That's the truth," he said, then looked up. "Well, it takes all kinds—this is a good Saturday-night average for any man's army." He looked down at the report. "Here's another little job for the boys. He let her out at her house?"
"Hell no, she's out in that old ex-whore-district out near Fukagawa."
"How appropriate."
"If the little lady wanted fixing up, how come she started on the nationals I wonder," said the Nisei sergeant. "Hell, the whole Motor Pool is just ready and willing."
"You can count me out," said the lieutenant. "I don't think I'd be interested. By the way, did he get in?"
"Says not,"
"Probably didn't. He looks awful upset."
Tadashi turned to the sergeant and asked a quick question.
"Wants to know about his job," explained the sergeant. "If he gets a DR, it'll be his third, and you know the commander."
"Well, it's up to the Major actually, but if we get this dame and if she corroborates his story, he probably won't get the ax. So far it's just his word, but if she admits it, then he won't get anything except possibly the Silver Star for gallantry in action."
The Nisei soldier snickered. "Boy, I'd like to see the dame that would own up to a thing like that. Had it all planned too, looks like. Liked the looks of our boy here, called him up, and they had a little date. Some fun."
The lieutenant looked at Tadashi. "Well, he can always join the militarized police force. They're looking for ex-servicemen. Particularly officers. You know, he used to be a lieutenant once." He smiled at Tadashi, who smiled back; then he sighed, saying: "Well, there but for the grace of god go I."
He closed the paper folder. "We'd better call the boys and get a search party out for our little lady in distress."
"Boy, what a bitch!" said the sergeant. "I can't understand how anyone can do anything like that—and a married woman too." He shook his head wisely. "She's just plain nuts."
"Oh, I don't know," said the lieutenant. "It's funny but she probably had good reasons for what she did. They all do. All these Saturday-night folks. They think about whatever they do beforehand, all of them."
The sergeant snickered and shrugged his shoulders.
"Anyway," said the lieutenant, smiling, "after something like this I like to remember that these folks are only a small percentage. I like to think about all the thousands of others we didn't hear anything about this evening. The peaceful citizens, you know. But these others—what do you suppose makes them like this over here? If they'd stayed back home, it wouldn't have happened probably. I don't think it's being American. I think it's winning the war that did it. ... Well, we'd better inform our MP friends—and Mr. Ainsley too I suppose."
They both looked at Tadashi. He was looking at the floor, his cap still in his hands.
"These poor Japs!" the lieutenant said, shook his head, and picked up the phone.
The Nisei soldier looked at him warily, then smiled and showed his white teeth. "Yes, sir," he said, "that's what we used to say back in Seattle." He laughed. "These Japs!"
"How you spell that?" asked the corporal on night duty. "A -1 - N, yeah, I
got it, S - L, oh, Ainsley? Why n't you say so." His white helmet was too big for him, and he kept pushing it up to get the phone next to his ear. "CID? Oh, won't have to call them. They're all here, really cluttering up the place. We got the Big Rowboat Mystery under way across the street, in the moat. You hear about it? Yeah, big deal. Everyone comes in here to warm his hands after paddling around out there. All the brass, you know." He lowered his voice discreetly, and continued. "Yeah, all big boys and more shavetails than you can shake a stick at, more goddamned lieutenants—What's that?" There was a long pause. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, Lieutenant. Yes siree! Oh, no, sir. No. Thank you, sir."
He hung up the phone, his face red, then importantly beckoned two MP's over to him and began explaining.
In the other corner of the room stood a number of officers, some civilians, and one private. One of the civilians was talking to a colonel.
"I know, sir, but this man has already confessed. There is no mistake about it. I know he was your PIO, sir, but this has ceased to be the affair of Special Services, if you'll excuse my saying so. It belongs to us now."
"He is still under my command, sir," said the colonel, "and I intend to see that he and this soldier here have proper defense. It may be no longer an affair of Special Services—but it is certainly an affair of mine."
"I know how you must feel, sir, finding something like this in your command. But at the same time you're making it very difficult for us. Your actions, if I may say so, are quite unprecedented."
The colonel pulled his moustaches, then said: "I can well believe that they are. Still, do you think that I am wrong in demanding a fair trial for my men, in helping them in their difficulties."
"But they are guilty, sir," said the civilian.
"That remains to be proved," said the colonel.
"Look at it this way, sir. Don't you yourself believe them to be guilty?"
The colonel looked first at the major, then at the private, then at the civilian.
"No," he said slowly. "I believe them to be innocent."
"But the evidence—" began the civilian.
"Evidence be damned!" shouted the colonel and all the others looked at him. Then the civilian sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and moved away.
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