squealed.
“That’s what I mean,” Mrs. Webster said.
“Kobe’s a recreation center,” the general said grimly. “I can’t change it.”
“It’s disgraceful.”
“I know it is,” the general snorted.
“Furthermore, it degrades the military uniform.”
“There seem to be no rules against it,” General Webster mumbled, leaning back in a disgruntled slouch.
Mrs. Webster, seeing she could get no further with the general, asked me, “What do you think about it, Lloyd?”
“Don’t try to make me argue against a general,” I pleaded.
General Webster sat up. “Seriously, Gruver, what do you younger officers think?”
I had just started to say, “I’ve never understood how any self-respecting officer can go with a Japanese girl” when I stopped sharp. For straight ahead of our Cadillac was a tall Marine lieutenant coming out of a nylon-underwear shop accompanied by the first beautiful Japanese girl I had ever seen. She was slim and black haired and her eyes didn’t slant. And she laughed. Somehow I had never thought of Japanese girls as laughing. But this extraordinarily beautiful girl laughed and tucked her parcel of nylon underwear beneath her left arm. Then, like any American wife at a busy corner, she grasped her Marine’s hand warmly and smiled up at him.
“It’s a disgrace,” the general snorted.
Mrs. Webster leaned forward to watch the Marine and his girl. “Why, he’s a handsome young man,” she gasped. “Probably from a very good family. What’s he doing with a Japanese girl?”
I had a smart-aleck reply to that question but stifled it and then caught the general’s eye and saw clearly that he had thought of the same reply and had killed his, too, for the same reason that I had killed mine. Mrs. Webster looked at us and asked, “Is it true, Mark, that some of our young men have actually married such girls?”
“About 10,000 of them,” he replied gruffly.
“I simply can’t believe it! Yellow girls as mothers of an American home! Even the poor fellows who married French girls last time…Remember those awful Farringdons at Camp Polk?”
General Webster asked, “Any of your outfit married to Japanese girls?”
I said, “I spent all afternoon last Friday arguing with a kid nineteen who’s determined to marry one of them.”
“How deplorable!” Mrs. Webster sighed. She spoke with real compassion, and it was apparent that she honestly felt sorry for any nineteen-year-old boy who, far from home, had got himself mixed up with a Japanese girl.
At that moment a fat Army major, obviously a civilian, came ambling down the street, window-shopping as he might have done in San Francisco, and on his arm, window-shopping too, was a Japanese girl. Some fellow officers wandered by and the fat major stopped them to introduce his girl just as if she had been a girl he was dating at home. The girl chatted with the other officers for a moment and then led her major on down the street.
“You must do something about such behavior,” Mrs. Webster said grimly. “At least on the officer level.”
Our Cadillac stopped at Camp Kobe and General Websterbounded out of the car and said, “I have one disagreeable job to do. Nancy, you go on back to the club. Lloyd and I’ll meet you there soon.”
Mrs. Webster smiled at me archly and said, “They’re having a special luncheon for us today. I might almost say an extraordinary one.”
The general showed me to a davenport in his outer office—paneled in Japanese pine and very handsome—and told his aide, “All right, I’ll see him now.” A colonel with highly polished boots disappeared into an inner room and said crisply, “General Webster will see you now.”
Through the door came sawed-off Airman Kelly. Playing the Air Force game, he never acknowledged he knew me but stared straight ahead, following the spruced-up colonel, but as he disappeared through the door leading to General Webster’s inner office, he shrugged his
“That’s what I mean,” Mrs. Webster said.
“Kobe’s a recreation center,” the general said grimly. “I can’t change it.”
“It’s disgraceful.”
“I know it is,” the general snorted.
“Furthermore, it degrades the military uniform.”
“There seem to be no rules against it,” General Webster mumbled, leaning back in a disgruntled slouch.
Mrs. Webster, seeing she could get no further with the general, asked me, “What do you think about it, Lloyd?”
“Don’t try to make me argue against a general,” I pleaded.
General Webster sat up. “Seriously, Gruver, what do you younger officers think?”
I had just started to say, “I’ve never understood how any self-respecting officer can go with a Japanese girl” when I stopped sharp. For straight ahead of our Cadillac was a tall Marine lieutenant coming out of a nylon-underwear shop accompanied by the first beautiful Japanese girl I had ever seen. She was slim and black haired and her eyes didn’t slant. And she laughed. Somehow I had never thought of Japanese girls as laughing. But this extraordinarily beautiful girl laughed and tucked her parcel of nylon underwear beneath her left arm. Then, like any American wife at a busy corner, she grasped her Marine’s hand warmly and smiled up at him.
“It’s a disgrace,” the general snorted.
Mrs. Webster leaned forward to watch the Marine and his girl. “Why, he’s a handsome young man,” she gasped. “Probably from a very good family. What’s he doing with a Japanese girl?”
I had a smart-aleck reply to that question but stifled it and then caught the general’s eye and saw clearly that he had thought of the same reply and had killed his, too, for the same reason that I had killed mine. Mrs. Webster looked at us and asked, “Is it true, Mark, that some of our young men have actually married such girls?”
“About 10,000 of them,” he replied gruffly.
“I simply can’t believe it! Yellow girls as mothers of an American home! Even the poor fellows who married French girls last time…Remember those awful Farringdons at Camp Polk?”
General Webster asked, “Any of your outfit married to Japanese girls?”
I said, “I spent all afternoon last Friday arguing with a kid nineteen who’s determined to marry one of them.”
“How deplorable!” Mrs. Webster sighed. She spoke with real compassion, and it was apparent that she honestly felt sorry for any nineteen-year-old boy who, far from home, had got himself mixed up with a Japanese girl.
At that moment a fat Army major, obviously a civilian, came ambling down the street, window-shopping as he might have done in San Francisco, and on his arm, window-shopping too, was a Japanese girl. Some fellow officers wandered by and the fat major stopped them to introduce his girl just as if she had been a girl he was dating at home. The girl chatted with the other officers for a moment and then led her major on down the street.
“You must do something about such behavior,” Mrs. Webster said grimly. “At least on the officer level.”
Our Cadillac stopped at Camp Kobe and General Websterbounded out of the car and said, “I have one disagreeable job to do. Nancy, you go on back to the club. Lloyd and I’ll meet you there soon.”
Mrs. Webster smiled at me archly and said, “They’re having a special luncheon for us today. I might almost say an extraordinary one.”
The general showed me to a davenport in his outer office—paneled in Japanese pine and very handsome—and told his aide, “All right, I’ll see him now.” A colonel with highly polished boots disappeared into an inner room and said crisply, “General Webster will see you now.”
Through the door came sawed-off Airman Kelly. Playing the Air Force game, he never acknowledged he knew me but stared straight ahead, following the spruced-up colonel, but as he disappeared through the door leading to General Webster’s inner office, he shrugged his
Similar Books
Ember
K.T. Fisher
Scandalous
Missy Johnson
Sword Play
Clayton Emery
Sips of Blood
Mary Ann Mitchell
Bad Friends
Claire Seeber
TRACE EVIDENCE: The Hunt for the I-5 Serial Killer
Bruce Henderson
Vampires
Charles Butler
Foreign Tongue
Vanina Marsot
Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)
Francine Thomas Howard