The Nakanes were accompanying Libby on the train to Hirosaki where Major Yoshida was waiting. “He’s driving his car,” Mrs. Nakane said, as she eyed Libby’s sandals. A Japanese woman would never have worn sandals to an omiai but one had to make allowances for an American. Still … . The rest of the outfit was satisfactory. The linen dress was attractive but by the time Libby got to Hirosaki it would be a mess of wrinkles. Mrs. Nakane dismissed her reservations about the clothes. It wasn’t as if Libby and Kojiro had never met, after all. There were no parents to criticize her attire. The omiai was just a formality.
Libby brought a book along to read on the train, but she couldn’t concentrate on the novel. She was too apprehensive about seeing Kojiro again to contemplate someone else’s troubles. She wasn’t sorry she had agreed to meet him. She wanted the opportunity to have a rational conversation with Kojiro, in a neutral setting, but she was no closer to making up her mind about marrying him than she had been the day Nakane-san relayed his proposal.
Kojiro was waiting in the lobby of the hotel. He was sitting facing the door, so that he would spot Libby and the Nakanes as soon as they arrived. He jumped up when he saw them, extinguished his cigarette and hurried over to extend his welcome — to the Sensei and his wife, three low, respectful bows. He started to bow to Libby, thought better of it, and held out his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
They shook hands like two strangers being introduced for the first time. He’s been through this before, Libby thought, with Motoko. She wondered if he had acted as nervous then as he was now. His hauteur and reserve had completely deserted him; he looked younger, uncertain, shy, despite the dark business suit and conservative tie.
The meeting was going to be more difficult than Libby had anticipated when she agreed to the omiai. She had thought having the Nakanes present would make things easier for her. If she refused his proposal, Kojiro would not importune her in public, in front of her sensei, to change her mind. He would be too embarrassed to mention the past or even to intimate the passionate nature of their relationship. The omiai had strict boundaries of civility and tact that he would not think of breaching. Now standing in the lobby flanked on either side by the sensei and his wife, Libby suddenly felt like a child who had been coerced into the meeting by the two adults.
Nakane-san glanced at his watch. “Our reservations are for one o’clock. Perhaps we should go up to the restaurant. It is located on the top floor.”
They were seated at a table with a window, overlooking the bustling city and the Fuji of the north, the dormant volcano Mt. Iwaki. On a clear day, the view would have been spectacular, but the snow-capped mountain was barely visible through the summer haze. Hirosaki was the apple-growing capital of Japan and Libby commented on how surprised she had been the first time she saw — from the air — the carpets of tinfoil the farmers laid under the trees to reflect the sun and ripen the fruit. “I thought there had been a freak snow storm,” she said. Everyone laughed.
Nakane-san launched into a long, tedious history of the apple industry in Northern Japan. His audience nodded and exclaimed at appropriate intervals. But neither Libby nor Kojiro were really listening to one word he said. They were too busy trying to appear nonchalant and to avoid making eye contact with one another. Kojiro focused his attention out the window at the traffic and the crowds of people hurrying along the sidewalks toward the train station. Libby fiddled nervously with her water glass, running her index finger up and down the stem, or rearranging the napkin in her lap. The little party, seated at the most conspicuous table in the dining room, had generated a lot of interest on the part of the other diners; every time Libby looked up she was being stared at by someone and the particulars of her looks and choice of outfit debated.
The restaurant was French. The head chef was a graduate of the famed Cordon Bleu Culinary Arts School in Paris and the meal — served on an elegant array of Japanese pottery — was superb. Nakane-san had left nothing to chance. Libby thought she was too nervous to eat but eating precluded conversation, so she devoured every morsel. Kojiro made a few half-hearted attempts, but much to the waiter’s chagrin, he barely touched his food. The reason for the get-together was not even mentioned until after dessert, and then, only in passing. They didn’t get down to a serious discussion until coffee had been served.
“This is a most unusual omiai,” Nakane Sensei began. “Both parties,” he nodded toward Libby on one side of the table and Kojiro on the other, “are acquainted and they are both mature adults. It is unusual in that one is an American, a modern woman, and the other a traditional Japanese man. They both have their own money and their own careers. There are no families involved — for now. But if they decide to marry, they will hear from their families and their families will try to change their minds. A marriage is not just between two people. It is between two ways of doing things, two traditions, two presumptions. That is why it is best for like to marry like. The differences are not so apparent. But Major Yoshida has asked me to represent his interests to Captain Comerford and I agreed.
He turned to face Libby. “Major Yoshida is a fine man from a distinguished family. He is an accomplished officer and pilot. He has risked a great deal in pursuit of his desire. I am not sure if he acted impulsively or if he is sincere. But he has convinced me of his high regard for you, Libby, and that I believe to be genuine.
“I do not know anything about Libby’s family, Major Yoshida. But I think to have a daughter who is as thoughtful and brave and diligent as Libby, they must be acceptable.
“I have advised both of you to marry one of your own kind but as you know, I would not be here if my grandmother and grandfather had not had the courage to defy convention and to marry. I guess I am living proof that it is possible.
“And now, if you will excuse us, mama and I will go for a walk. There is a tea shop she wants to visit before we go back to Misawa.”
“I did not think you would come,” Kojiro said to Libby after the sensei and his wife had departed.
“You said the same thing to me when I arrived in Sapporo. Do you remember?” He nodded.
“I am a coward. I was then, not to tell you about my engagement and I still am. I am sorry to take advantage of your friendship with the Nakanes but I was afraid you would refuse to see me if I called on you in person and I cannot express myself in English so well in writing.”
“You’re quite right. I would have,” Libby said.
“I thought you would be angry at me for asking your teacher … .”
“I was at first. Furious. But Sensei and his wife are having such a good time; I couldn’t stay angry for long. If I didn’t see you, they would have been terribly disappointed. Mrs. Nakane would have been, anyway. She’s fallen under your spell.”
“Foolish woman.”
“Is that what you think of me?”
Kojiro shook his head. “Maybe you are the most foolish of all.”
“I thought so, at one time. I may think so again. But at the moment I feel very confident, very certain.”
“Certain?” Kojiro’s face turned scarlet. He appeared unsure just as to where he should look, directly at Libby or out the window at the mountain.
“Of my decision,” Libby said.
“Ah so.” His color faded, leaving his skin tinted a sickly yellow.
“I don’t want to come between you and your family. My own family won’t be thrilled when I tell them … .”
“Tell them?”
Libby smiled but Kojiro was too absorbed in the view to notice. “Perhaps I’m going about this all the wrong way. Am I supposed to tell the go-between of my decision and let him pass on the good news or am I allowed to tell you personally that I have accepted your offer of marriage?”
Kojiro was so convinced she would say no he thought he had misunderstood. He had not had many occasions to speak English since his rupture wi
th Libby and he felt his proficiency was a little rusty. “Please, Ribby, Libby … ” He was so nervous he couldn’t even pronounce her name correctly. “Please, repeat what you just said.”
“I will marry you, Kojiro.” His color returned. She could see the flush spreading from his neck up to his forehead; his eyes widen in surprise and pleasure.
“Ah so, that is very good news. Very good news.”
“You don’t sound like you mean it.”
“I am surprised, that is all. I was afraid to hope that you … Oh, Libby.” Kojiro was obviously at a loss for words. He didn’t know how to express his happiness in such a public place. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, his hands, folded on the table in front of him were shaking. “When did you decide?”
“When Nakane-san told me how rich you are.”
For a moment, he thought she was serious and then she smiled, which was a huge relief since he doubted if he would ever see any of his inheritance if he married her. Libby’s sense of humor would take getting used to. No one in his family would think of joking about money.
“When did you decide?” He repeated.
“When I saw you again, standing in the lobby downstairs. It wasn’t a rational decision, Kojiro. If it were, I would have refused. I’ve been so unhappy lately. I’ve done a lot of stupid things the last few months trying to forget you and forget about the miscarriage. I couldn’t.
“You mean too much to me. I don’t believe in all that nonsense about love at first sight, but the first time we met, in the briefing room at the Samurai Squadron … . If someone had said to me, You’re going to fall in love with that insufferable Major Yoshida, I wouldn’t have believed him. And yet … ”
“I know what you mean,” Kojiro said. “The feeling, it was there from the beginning, for me too. It was our en, our destiny to meet and to fall in love.”
Libby reached across the table to touch his hand, briefly so as not to embarrass him in front of the other guests in the dining room. “And to marry,” she said softly.
“Look,” Kojiro pointed out the window to Mt. Iwaki. The haze had diminished as the temperature fell, revealing the stark outline of the mountain against a palette of rose tinted clouds.
Libby and Kojiro made love that night in the queen-sized bed in Libby’s apartment in the BOQ. The Nakanes, after congratulating the happy couple, insisted Libby accompany Kojiro home to Misawa in his car. “You have a lot of things to discuss,” the sensei reminded them. “You need time to get reacquainted.” Mrs. Nakane smiled and nudged Libby with her elbow.
“Hai,” Kojiro answered sharply. He sounded like a new recruit who had just been issued orders by a commanding officer and was eager to carry them out. Libby fidgeted with the fringe on her shawl. The Japanese were so vague about some things and so forthright about others — about sex, for instance. Libby was the only one who apparently hadn’t anticipated how the night would end.
In retrospect, perhaps she had been a little naive. Kojiro, who like most of his fellow countrymen was a cautious motorist, abiding strictly by the conservative speed limits and strictly imposed laws, sped with reckless abandon over the mountains in his eagerness to get to Misawa. The streets of the village were crowded with sightseers who had come into town to celebrate a local festival. They were caught up in a long line of cars waiting to gain admittance onto the base. Kojiro gripped the steering the wheel, muttering under his breath in Japanese. His impatience was infectious. His desire. They had so much to talk about, plans to make, but the enormity of the commitment they had just made to one another and the anticipation of their reunion, left them both too tense to carry on a conversation. Libby clutched her hands together in her lap, trying to contain her anticipation under a veneer of sophistication. It wasn’t easy. All she could think about was the man sitting beside her, how much she loved him and wanted him to take her in his arms.
She glanced over at Kojiro as he pulled into the parking lot of the BOQ. The stoic reserve for which his race was renowned had completely deserted him.
“Libby?” He gripped her hand, crushing her fingers with the strength and fervor of his passion. “I want to make love to you. Now,” he said bluntly. “But I will understand, if you want to wait … .” Libby shook her head. Words were superfluous. She was becoming very adroit in the Japanese art of nonverbal communication. A subtle nod, a shy smile, a sidelong glance …
Kojiro grunted in relief as he swung open the door and got out of the car and followed Libby up the steps. She fumbled in her handbag for the key to her billet. Kojiro took the key out of her hand, unlocked the door and steered her directly into the bedroom. “We have waited long enough, I think,” he said.
No other woman had ever evoked such humility or feelings of tenderness in Kojiro, or inspired such ardor. Libby’s extraordinary beauty had captivated him; but it was her bravery and candor and trust that had made him fall in love with her and risk so much by asking her to be his wife.
“Your love gave me courage,” he said simply.
Libby held out her hands and beckoned him further into the bedroom. He was conscious of the dimensions of the room, of the double bed against the far wall and a large mirror over the dresser. Kojiro glanced at their reflection in the mirror, clasped hands, standing a little apart — tentative, shy.
They were both remembering the first time they had made love in the hotel in Sapporo. No hesitation then, no trepidation — just fierce desire, urgency, physical need. This time they were committing themselves to one another for a lifetime, bestowing the gift of their bodies on one another, exclusively and forever.
Kojiro picked Libby up and carried her to the bed. “I think I must be dreaming,” he laughed.
She reached up and drew him down on top of her, entwining her legs between his, sliding her hands under his jacket, across his broad shoulders. “It’s a very vivid dream,” she breathed.
“Ah, yes, but I have a very — vivid — imagination. And since that first day I saw you … ”
“Since the first day you saw me,” Libby insisted.
Kojiro raised himself up on his elbows and looked down at her. “I have been imagining myself making love to you. Kissing you. Touching you, like I am now.” His hand skimmed over her breast.
“When we made love that first time … I couldn’t believe you would give yourself to me. It was … it was better than I imagined. Every time. Always better. Not just the pleasure, but the feelings, the affection I felt for you. Until … ”
“The night at the hot springs,” she finished.
“Hai, until the night at the hot springs.”
“You told me you loved me.”
Kojiro grazed her lips with his tongue. “It was the last time we made love.”
Libby lay perfectly still while Kojiro finished undressing her. She could feel his eyes sweeping over her body, hear his rapid, shallow breathing as he discarded his clothes and knelt between her legs. His hands sought her breasts, kneading the soft flesh gently, insistently. She arched her back in invitation, her body tense with expectation and yearning.
Libby wanted to be reclaimed, her sorrow purged, once and for all, by this act of love.
“Libby,” he murmured tenderly.
They moved in unison, spirits soaring, savoring the exaltation and delight of their reunion, scaling together the summit of healing and fulfillment and promise.
Captain Libby Comerford and Major Kojiro Yoshida were officially engaged the next week and a tentative date set for the wedding. As soon as the interminable paperwork was completed, they would have a quiet wedding at the base chapel, followed by a ceremony at a local Shinto shrine, and a reception at a hotel in Hachinohe.
Libby’s family in Ohio was shocked by the news of the engagement. They had no idea Libby was dating anyone seriously, let alone a native of Japan. The only man she ever mention
ed in her letters was Charlie McKay; the last they had heard of him, he had been transferred to Nevada.
“What do you suppose he looks like?” Mollie Comerford asked her husband.
“We’ll soon find out,” he answered philosophically. Mr. Comerford knew his daughter well enough to know that once she made up her mind about something, there was no changing it.
“What are we going to tell our friends?”
“That Libby is getting married to an officer in the Japanese Air Self-Defense Force.”
“I wondered why she had her picture taken in a kimono,” she sighed. “It was so unlike Libby to do something like that. She must have done it for him.”
“Mollie, he has a name, Kojiro.”
“I know,” she bristled. “It’s just … it’s difficult to say, it’s so foreign sounding. My father fought the Japanese on Okinawa. He, he despised them, thought they were brutal and ignorant.”
“Your father is dead, Mollie. World War II was a long time ago. Japan is one of our strongest allies.”
“Libby wants a small wedding. No fanfare. I always envisioned a big to-do right here in Dayton. Arched swords … gala reception at the country club.”
Mr. Comerford put his arms around his wife. “I know you’re disappointed. But Libby is a mature woman with a demanding career and quite capable of making her own well-informed decisions. You didn’t want her to go to the Air Force Academy. You didn’t want her to fly. I’ve had reservations about some of her choices myself, but look how things have turned out.”
“Why didn’t she tell us about him before, instead of springing something like this on us?”
“Probably was afraid of how we would react or perhaps she was hesitant to make a commitment to a, hesitant to make a commitment. You used to worry she would never get around to getting married she was so involved in her career.
“Major Yoshida sounds like a fine young man. I don’t think Libby would have fallen in love with him if he wasn’t. Do you think the major’s parents are thrilled with his choice of a bride? I’d be willing to bet they’re even more distressed than you are, Mollie, at the prospect of Libby for a daughter-in-law.”
Heart to Heart Page 93