Joe grinned as he stretched out his cramped legs, smoothing the creases in his uniform caused by squatting on the floor cushion. It seemed Ginger was always in a state of agitation. "Worry, worry, worry," he laughed. "Their plane's not due for 20 minutes. Even if we didn't leave till they landed we'd still beat the Pointers to the terminal. Besides," he said, winking at his hostess, "I've got to have another of Kimiko's scrumptious rice cakes."
"Men!" Ginger groaned, holding her head. She turned to Kimiko for support. "I can just see our friends now, stepping off the plane at Koyota all haggard from their trip and a loudspeaker says, 'have your passports, visas, 90 copies of your orders, American currency, baggage claims, marriage license, car insurance, and customs forms ready as you enter the terminal, husbands without families on the left please, families without husbands on the right please, bachelors in the middle please, and concurrent travelers on both sides please. Obtain your new duty phone number from your sponsors please,'" she paused for breath, then raced on, "and Mrs. Pointer will whisper, 'But where are our sponsors, Dick!' and he'll say, 'Now don't worry Alice, they must be here someplace . . .'"
"Ginger . . ."
"And 30 minutes later we show up and there'll be the Pointers, sitting in the middle of the terminal floor on their suitcases, crumpled, their eyes glazed; alone in a strange land, they won't know where to go, they won't know where they are, their first day in Japan, and . . ."
"Your tea's getting cold," Joe pointed out.
"And I'll say, 'Sorry folks, but Joe just had to have another scrumptious rice cake,'" Ginger concluded, reaching for a rice cake.
"Dozo," Mrs. Sakamoto said, smiling and showing off her one gold tooth amid a mouthful of steel.
"I guess we really should go," Joe conceded, looking at his watch. "Honcho comes mo s'koshii," he explained again to the Sakamotos, "and kanai here is getting restless."
"Though we'd really love to sit here all day and eat your rice cakes and drink your tea," Ginger added, with just enough sarcasm to elude the Sakamotos but still prickle Joe.
"I understand," Mrs. Sakamoto said, bobbing her head slightly. "You must give your new friends welcome to Japan. Please, give them our welcome also?"
"Of course," Joe said. It was irresistible, the way Kimiko says "please," so it comes out "pleez-oo."
Haruo, Kimiko's husband, had spent several moments carefully selecting his words, and now he spoke them, clearly and confidently. "Now you live Tokyo, is so long between visits. Please, when you come again, bring your new friends and we greet them. How do you say? A friend of you is a friend of me. And maybe," he winked, "maybe I tell him of our Nichiren?"
"Your tomodachis are my tomodachis too, Sakamoto-san," Joe grinned. "But you'll never convert my new honchosan to Soka Gakkai. He is what we call 'hard shell.'"
Haruo laughed. "But you bring, ne? We like to meet."
"I'll try," Joe agreed. "And we promise not to stay away so long next time."
"But now we simply must go," Ginger said, dragging Joe by the arm. "Sayonara!"
"Sayonara," echoed Kimiko and Haruo.
"Hurry back," added their 17-year-old daughter, Tomiko, who had maintained a polite silence during most of the visit. Japanese firmly believed that children should be seen but not heard, and Joe had to admit—though his interests didn't extend that direction—that Tomiko was a pleasure to see. Talented as well as cute, and definitely pro-American—which was a refreshing attitude, considering the current tide of anti-Americanism that seemed to be sweeping over Japan.
"They sure are nice folks," Joe said in the privacy of the station wagon. "Too bad they have to be in Soka Gakkai, but I guess that's a heck of a lot better than being Commies."
"He never gives up trying to convert us Amerikajins, does he?" Ginger laughed.
"He's not allowed to give up," Joe said. "He's got to try to convert everyone he sees. It's in the book. Gotta have converts, if you're going to take over the whole world!"
"Whatever happened to separation between state and church? Or temple, I guess it is?"
"Silly pagan concept," Joe said. "Soka Gakkai no believe."
Joe slowed the car at the gate to the sprawling Air Force base which was the gateway to the Orient for all air-transported U.S. servicemen, and returned the Japanese civilian guard's salute. A sandwich sign by the guard shack warned of Condition Green—dangerous Communist demonstrations—in Tachikawa City and Tokyo's Hibiya Park.
"That's probably their plane coming in now," Joe said, pointing off to the left. "How's that for timing?"
"You'd still be sitting on your butt eating rice cakes if I hadn't dragged you out," Ginger reminded him.
Joe squelched her by asking when was the last time they were late to anything on his account.
There was just time for Ginger to pop in and out of the Ladies Powder Room before the passengers—bachelors first—began streaming in.
"Oh, there's a cute one," Ginger squealed. "And so's he! Hi, fellas," she called, waving and winking. "Welcome to the friendliest base in Japan!"
"I believe it baby," answered one, dropping his B-4 bag and bolting from the line. Ginger affected men that way. She'd affected Joe that way four years earlier when he first saw her as a three-page centerspread in Stud Magazine and learned that the raven-haired beauty was a receptionist right at Joe's base! They were married just before Joe shipped out, and honeymooned in Tokyo. Joe hadn't been the first, but he'd known that since their third date.
"Knock off trying to stampede the troops," Joe scolded, taking her hand. "Now if we play this cool, we can whiz through the paperwork in a flash and beat the mob out of here. We'll shake hands and hustle through the necessary salutations and small talk," he chattered like a quarterback in a huddle. "We'll get Major Pointer into the right line for clearance, then a split-second before anyone else gets the same idea I'll dash over to the cashier and swap his greenbacks for funny-money. And right before they call 'passports' over the P.A., you haul Alice over to the passport counter and be first in line . . ."
"Joe . . ."
"Hmm?"
"One little thing: How do I know when it's 'just before' they call for passports?"
Joe sucked air through his teeth and scratched his crew cut. Then he spied his quarry. "Woops! Here they come. Stations, everybody. Be calm now . . ."
"She is bleached," Ginger said. "I told you so, just from the snapshots!"
"Could be worse," Joe said. "She could be bald," as indeed Major Pointer was, except for a little fuzzy fringe all around his egg-shaped head.
The Pointers saw the Holidays, too, and hurried over.
"Well, the Holidays!" Alice Pointer gushed. "How glad we are that you sent us snapshots; it's so nice to see a familiar face in all this madness, mayhem, and confusion!"
"Yes, we spotted you right away, too," Ginger said congenially.
"Welcome to Japan, Major," Joe said, offering his hand. "And you too, Mrs. Pointer, and Peter and Patricia. Let's move along as we talk, and stay in front of the line . . . "
The two teenagers winced at mention of their names. "Pete and Patty," the boy corrected Joe.
"Unless you want a fight on your hands," Major Pointer chuckled. "And just call me Dick, Captain Holiday, and I'll call you Joe. Why, after all those letters you wrote, we practically feel we know you."
"Yes, darling," Mrs. Pointer said to Ginger. "Thanks ever-so-much for all those helpful letters; they were such a relief! When we first got our orders, we could have just cried. Dick tried to get them changed, of course, but couldn't. We were at wit's end, and then we started getting your wonderful letters saying such wonderful things about Japan, and we knew things just couldn't be as bad as everyone said!"
Joe wondered just how