“It’s no trouble,” she said. “We’ve so much to talk about.”
He took her to dinner at the Imperial Hotel and they spent the evening discussing the plans for the wedding, all of which were moving along smoothly and swiftly, much to Kojiro’s dismay. The limousine had been hired, photographer engaged, wedding finery rented and hotel reserved for the reception. The ceremony itself, was to take place at the Shinto shrine Kojiro and his fiancée had visited on New Year’s. There the couple, Motoko dressed in a traditional white kimono and elaborate headdress, Kojiro in formal black, would exchange vows before their immediate families.
Following the brief service, the newlyweds would repair to the hotel, where Motoko would change into another magnificent kimono before being ushered into the banquet hall to the strains of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March.
Their parents, inordinately pleased with the match, had spared no expense. The wedding promised to be as ostentatious as it was costly. After being feted by guests with speeches and songs, a third costume change was in order before they could cut the towering cake. Motoko had chosen a western style gown, complete with a train and trailing net veil. Kojiro would do the honors in his dress uniform.
“I had another fitting today, for my dress,” she informed him over dessert. She had ordered it at a designer shop in the Ginza specializing in finery from Paris and London.
Arrangements for the honeymoon had been taken care of by Kojiro’s father. They were going to Australia. Motoko collected Koala bears — the stuffed kind — and her best friend, who had also happened to spend her honeymoon “down under,” told her about the great buy on black opals. When they weren’t busy sight-seeing, she planned to shop. She had already made out the list of people who would be anticipating a gift upon their return. When she showed Kojiro the itinerary, he wondered when they would have a chance to be alone. There were tours and activities scheduled every day from morning until late at night.
“I’m so excited,” she said. “I can hardly sleep.”
Kojiro got the impression that she was more excited about the prospect of the trip to Australia than she was in the essential business of the honeymoon but perhaps he was being unfair and projecting his own apprehensions on to Motoko. Or what was more likely was that she expected to get all of that over with before they set off. It was obvious she had come to Tokyo with that in mind, and when he took her back to her hotel, she invited him up to her room. If she was disappointed when he declined the offer — he said he had to prepare a report to present to the general in the morning — she did not let on.
“I promise we’ll have some time together, when you come to Misawa,” he said. She had insisted on flying up before the wedding and Kojiro had reluctantly agreed. Maybe once she saw the place, she would change her mind.
After her Japanese lesson the next Saturday, Libby was invited to stay for lunch with Nakane-san and his wife. They sat around the kotatsu — an elaborate foot warmer — bundled up in heavy quilts trying to keep the freezing temperature at bay in the drafty old house. Outside, the miniature garden was buried in a foot of snow.
“I wonder if the winter will ever end,” Libby sighed.
“Some years it lasts longer than others. But before you know it the cherry trees will be blossoming and you’ll forget the cold winter.
“By the way, you didn’t tell us about your trip to Sapporo,” Nakane-san said. “How did you enjoy the ice festival?”
Libby felt her face get hot at the mention of the ice festival and she turned away, to look through the frosted glass at a dwarf pine, its branches protected from the heavy snow by a mantle of straw.
“The sculptures were very impressive. It was terribly crowded, of course.”
“You should go to Hokkaido in the summer. There’s much more to see when the weather is mild. There is a museum about the indigenous people on the island, the Ainu.”
“I met a friend in Sapporo, a Japanese gentleman.” Libby said. If they were surprised or disapproving, they didn’t let on.
“Then you must have been able to practice your Japanese,” Nakane-san said cheerfully.
“He speaks English.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Sight-seeing is always more enjoyable when you do it with a friend,” Mrs. Nakane chimed in.
Libby nodded in agreement. She certainly had no intention of revealing the nature of her relationship with Kojiro to her sensei, but she wanted to talk about him to someone, anyone, who would not be aghast at the idea that she found a Japanese man attractive and interesting.
“I met Major Yoshida in Misawa. He’s a pilot in the Samurai Squadron.”
“Then you must have a lot in common.”
Libby looked imploringly at the old man and his wife. “Do you think it is possible for an American woman and a Japanese man to have a lot in common?” She asked.
Nakane-san deliberated for a long moment in silence, before answering. He liked Americans, their openness and generosity. Over the years, he had befriended the men and women who had struggled in his classes trying to learn Japanese. Most of them never succeeded. But occasionally someone like Libby came along who had, in addition to the interest and application, the spirit. The inner resourcefulness necessary to learn the language and to be transformed by it.
“I believe it is possible,” he said at last. “Not likely, but possible. Depending on the man and the woman,” he added. “How tolerant they are and how brave.”
“But not on how much they care for one another?”
“That too, I suppose.” It was obvious that Nakane-san did not believe love alone would bridge the gulf separating the two cultures.
“In Japan when a person makes an important decision, he must first think about how it will affect others, especially his family. Sometimes that means he has to do things he does not want to do or accept things, that if he were free … ” He paused. “The Japanese have a word, gaman. It has to do with accepting one’s fate and making the best of what has been willed by the gods.
“That is a difficult concept for Westerners to understand,” he continued. “Americans in particular, believe anything is possible.”
“I believe it,” Libby said. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be a fighter pilot.”
“Ah, then you mustn’t let some old fossil like me, who is much too set in his ways, try and discourage you,” he laughed. “Anyway, I did not say it was impossible. If it were, I wouldn’t be here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mama, hand me the album on the tansu and I will show Libby a picture of my grandfather.” Mrs. Nakane scrambled to her feet and fetched a worn leather-bound picture album crammed with family photographs. On the first page was sepia portrait of a middle-aged couple, surrounded by numerous children, all staring solemnly into the camera. The Japanese woman in a formal kimono was holding a baby in a white lace dress on her lap. The man, a tall, stern-looking Caucasian, had a mane of curly white hair — not unlike Nakane-san’s — and a long, neatly trimmed beard.
The sensei pointed to a young girl with dark ringlets, in the back row. “My mother, Akiko.”
Libby stared intently at the photograph. “She’s beautiful,” she said.
“She was very tall for a Japanese woman. Taller than my father. And she had that curly hair.” The old man smiled. “It was not admired as much in her day as it is now. I remember she was always trying to straighten it. Papa didn’t approve of curls.”
“Where was your grandfather from?” Libby asked excitedly. “How did they meet?”
“He was from England. He came to Japan to teach in one of the missionary schools. I don’t know the circumstances surrounding their courtship and marriage. But he seems to have eventually been accepted by her family.” The sensei shrugged. “He never returned to England. They must have had something in common, to have had a
ll those children,” he laughed. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes!” Libby wanted to throw her arms around Nakane-san and kiss him, she was so thrilled by his revelation.
It didn’t take long for word to get around the squadron that Libby was dating a Japanese officer. As long as one’s personal life didn’t interfere with the mission or disregard military regulations, it shouldn’t have mattered one way or another. Libby went out of her way to refrain from judging her fellow pilots’ extracurricular activities. She didn’t gossip behind their backs about who removed his wedding ring when he went TDY or let on that she knew one of the pilots was sleeping with a sergeant’s wife but apparently the men were not as scrupulous when it came to her.
To be fair, not all of them were that interested. They had more important things to think about than Libby Comerford. But the ones that were — mostly friends of Charlie’s — made sure she knew they disapproved.
If one of the men had been dating a Japanese woman, no one would have given it a second thought. But they took it as a personal affront that Libby was seeing a Japanese man.
The idea of a Western man having sex with an Asian woman was exotic. Diminutive, shy, deferential, Asian woman were the embodiment of a mysterious eroticism. But Asian men … even one as accomplished and attractive as Major Yoshida … . What was Libby thinking?
Colonel Long liked Libby. He did not have a strong opinion one way or the other about females flying in combat. When Congress authorized the integration of women into fighter squadrons, he didn’t waste any time lamenting the demise of the traditional, all-male brotherhood. But there was no question that Libby’s presence in his squadron had created some problems which the colonel was reluctant to address because they smacked of paternalism, or sexism, or even racism, depending on one’s point of reference.
Paternalism, because as a man (there was no getting away from the fact that Libby was young and attractive) and a father of two teenage daughters, he felt protective toward Libby. He didn’t want to see her get hurt or derail an otherwise stellar career.
Sexist, because if Libby had been a man, the problem would never have arisen in the first place. There were rivalries in a squadron full of ambitious, ego-driven men competing against one another for bomb scores and air-to-air “kills.” But the rivalries were up front and uncomplicated. The environment changed with the assignment of a female — edicts from Washington notwithstanding. Libby was a beautiful woman and the men responded accordingly.
Finally, there was the issue of racism. Colonel Long was not a racist. He liked the Japanese people, admired their intelligence and industry. He didn’t know Major Yoshida well, but his dealings with the man had always been cordial. Yoshida was impeccably groomed, nice looking. His command of English was commendable. But … he was Japanese. It was, well, unnatural for a red-blooded American woman, an Air Force officer, to date an Asian man.
Captain Devane’s wife was Korean but that was different. The sexual dynamics of their relationship were easier to understand and to accept. Sue was a delightful girl, devoted wife, conscientious mother. No one thought less of Captain Devane or gave him a hard time because his wife was a different race.
It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Colonel Long’s first obligation was to the mission. Anything that jeopardized its success would not be tolerated.
Libby knew what was coming the minute the Commander invited her into his office and closed the door behind him. His pleasant smile did nothing to allay her nervousness or relax the knot of resentment and anger in the pit of her stomach.
“Sit down, make yourself comfortable,” he said, indicating a lonely armchair opposite his spacious desk. Libby took the proffered chair but the colonel’s air of informality only served to increase her apprehension. She crossed her legs, thought better of it, uncrossed them and planted her feet firmly on the floor in front of her.
“Misawa is a challenging assignment,” he said. “You’ve adapted very well, Libby. I know it hasn’t always been smooth sailing for you here in the squadron. Being the only woman among a bunch of thick-headed fighter pilots — that’s a challenge in itself, which I might add, you have handled with extraordinary tact and humor.
“I would have run interference if I thought you weren’t up to it, but I was confident you could take care of yourself.”
Libby nodded.
“Misawa is a long way from home. You were stationed in Iraq. You know what it’s like to live halfway around the world, in a distinctly foreign culture. One’s perspective changes … . Sometimes people are inclined to do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. That can be a good thing. Don’t get me wrong. Trying new things, learning about another culture … . It broadens your horizons. I’m always telling my daughters that when they complain about living overseas. But there are dangers too. Novelty is seductive, Libby. A person can forget where she’s coming from or where she’s headed.
“When you leave here … if all goes well,” he added ominously, “you can choose your next assignment. I want you to succeed. Right now you have everything going for you but if you screw up … .
“I don’t need to tell you there are people who would be pleased if you faltered. I’m not one of them.”
“I know that, sir.”
“But I won’t stand by and let you disrupt the harmony of this squadron. If there is dissention among the men, the mission suffers.”
Libby squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. The colonel had paused and was waiting for a response. She laced her hands together in her lap. “I would never do anything to imperil the mission, Colonel Long. And I have never done anything intentionally to cause dissention among the pilots.”
“Perhaps not intentionally,” he conceded.
“I know some of the men resent all the publicity I receive. I don’t blame them. But surely … ”
“It’s your private life they resent, Libby. Your, your association with Major Yoshida from the Samurai Squadron.”
Association. She almost smiled. Association. The word made their relationship sound very clinical.
“I don’t think my private life is any of their business.”
“It isn’t. Unless it impinges on the squadron’s morale. There are all kinds of rumors going around about you and Yoshida, that you went off to Sapporo with him for the weekend … ”
“I did go. He invited me to the Ice Festival. Major Yoshida is … ” Libby paused to deliberate over the choice of words. “A friend.”
“Major Yoshida is an officer in the Japanese Air Self-Defense Force. He is General Sato’s aide. From all accounts, he has a very promising future ahead of him. I’m sure you wouldn’t want gossip to compromise his brilliant career any more than he would want it to compromise yours.”
Libby kept her eyes focused on a photograph of the colonel’s family on the bookcase — a trio of smiling blondes with perfect teeth. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to defy her commanding officer but she had no intention of sacrificing her relationship with Kojiro because he disapproved.
“Japan is a very sophisticated country. It is easy to be seduced into believing that the Japanese are just like Americans because of their high-rises and nice cars and clever gadgets. They don’t think like us, Libby. They have different priorities. Even the ones who speak flawless English. Even your Major Yoshida.” Colonel Long stood up and glanced out the window as two Mitsubishi F-1 fighters accelerated down the runway. The throb of the jet engines reverberated off the walls of his office and then, the sharp retort of the afterburners as the airplanes climbed into the sky.
“I don’t want to see you get into something over your head. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.” Libby rose, stood at attention and saluted the colonel. “Thank you, sir.”
TONIGHT on Sumi-no-ye beach
The wa
ves alone draw near;
And, as we wander by the cliffs,
No prying eyes shall peer,
No one shall dream we’re here.
Fujiwara No Toshiyuki Ason
Chapter Eight
“Libby?”
“I knew it was you, Kojiro. Do you believe in sixth sense?”
“What are you talking about?”
“About knowing something before it happens. When the telephone rang, I just had this feeling it was you. I could almost feel your presence.”
He laughed. “Well, I am not too far away. I arrived back to Misawa last night.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“It was late,” he lied. He hadn’t called because he couldn’t bear to speak to her and pretend everything was fine when he had spent the previous evening going over last-minute plans for the wedding with Motoko. “How was your week?”
“Busy. We’re playing catch-up at the squadron. Flying two or three times a day. I’ve been given the onerous task of chemical warfare defense officer.” She refrained from adding that she was sure Major Petrowski had assigned her additional duty because of her unconventional social life. There was no sense confiding her fears to Kojiro. He might use it as an excuse to quit seeing her out of misplaced concern for her career.
“It has been so long since I’ve flown I’m required to fly with an instructor pilot before they’ll let me near an airplane,” he said. “It seems all I do is attend meetings these days. I’m not complaining about being General Sato’s aide, I just wish he spent more time in Misawa.”
“I wish he did too,” Libby said. “When am I going to get to see you?”
“It is going to be difficult … .”
“But why? You can come here. You’ve never seen my apartment. Everyone knows about us, Kojiro. Sergeant Vogel told Charlie. Even Colonel Long knows,” she added.
“I don’t think that would be possible.” He sounded horrified by her suggestion. Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned Colonel Long. Kojiro took everything so seriously; he was bound to think her commander had the power to put an end to their relationship.
The Unquiet Heart Page 11