"Well, if nothing else at least it's a bargain," Ginger said encouragingly. "Cigarets for a buck-fifty a carton, twenty-cent drinks . . ."
"We don't drink or smoke," Alice interrupted. "Nasty habits."
"You're so right," Ginger said, cringing. "Wish I could stop."
"I'm sure you could if you really wanted to," Alice continued.
Leave it to Ginger to find the wrong thing to say, Joe thought.
"Oh, for gosh sakes, Ma," 18-year-old Pete interrupted. "Don't get started on mind over matter again!"
Joe forced a pleasant smile. "There are other bargains, though," he said. "Gasoline's only fifteen cents a gallon, and kerosene's even less."
"Kerosene?" Dick Pointer asked.
"For the space heater and hot water heater," Joe explained weakly.
"I don't think you mentioned kerosene heaters in your letters," Dick said crossly. "Do we use Coleman lanterns, too?"
Joe made a mental note to forgive Ginger's earlier offense. Before he could assure Dick that Japan was at least electrified, the loudspeaker boomed.
"Passports! Dependents will please pick up their passports. A through M at Window G, N through Z at Window H."
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Pointer muttered, rummaging through her purse. "What on earth did I do with my passport?"
"You gave it to the stewardess, Mom," 16-year-old Patty said patiently. "They want us to pick them up now."
"Yeah, pay attention, Ma!" Pete complained.
"What window was that, Patty? Window Z?"
Ginger herded the rest of the family toward the rapidly growing passport lines while Joe stayed with Dick through the in-clearing process. They reassembled at the baggage room exit.
"Captain Holiday's got us a room in a hotel, Alice," Dick said. "Isn't that nice?"
"I was hoping we'd have someplace to stay tonight. Who pays for it? Not that it matters, of course."
"Uncle Sam," Joe grunted, hoisting the first suitcase into the station wagon. He just bet it didn't matter.
"How long can we stay? I do hope it's not crawling with Japs," Alice sighed.
"Japanese run it," Joe said apprehensively, "but if it's crawling with anything, it's brass. It's sort of a temporary refuge for field grade officers and 'big wigs' until they find a place to settle down—which is usually about two weeks."
"Two weeks is a long time to live out of a suitcase," Dick noted as he climbed into the front seat beside Joe.
"Housing's pretty tight in Tokyo," Joe said as he pulled the car out. "We've picked out two or three fairly nice private rentals for you to look at that will be available in about a week. One's even available now, if you're anxious to get settled. By nice, I mean comparatively," he added cautiously. "I'm afraid housing here isn't up to stateside standards." He didn't mention that he'd had to pay advance rent to hold the one house, which he'd lose if they didn't take it. Not that it really mattered—except to himself.
A tiny Renault taxi-cab, jumping the changing traffic light at the gate, darted past in front of Joe and he had to brake and swerve to avoid hitting it. Dick and Alice stared indignantly after it.
"Eighty-yen cab," Joe explained. "Biggest menace on the streets, next to gravel trucks and motorcycles."
"You mean there's worse yet to come?" Dick asked.
"Eek!" Alice shrieked. "Patty, don't look! Oh! Dick, did you see that man? Right out in broad daylight, and right on the road! Didn't even have the decency to step behind a bush. I never . . ."
"I'm afraid that's one thing we just have to live with over here," Joe said, somehow feeling he was obliged to defend Japanese men's right to piddle in the streets. "They've only started putting rest rooms into gas stations and along the highways during the last few years, and the Japanese have always just stepped to the side of the road. Tradition dies slowly."
"Sort of a case of johnny-come-lately," Ginger dead-panned, and Patty, sitting beside her, burst out laughing.
"Stop it, Patty," Alice said sternly. "It's not funny; it's disgusting!"
Ginger bit her lip. Joe shivered, and then groaned as he saw what was in the road ahead.
They drew abreast of a wagon loaded with wooden buckets, drawn by an ox and led by a bent Japanese. Alice gagged as she caught a whiff of its odorous load.
"What's that?" she gasped.
"Honey wagon," Joe explained, hoping no elaboration would be necessary. Dick and Alice continued to stare blankly at the wagon.
"It doesn't smell like honey," Pete said. "It smells like . . ."
"Peter!" Alice commanded sharply.
Joe cleared his throat. "It's not really honey, of course. He empties cesspools—uses a big dipper and collects it in his honey buckets."
A moment of awful silence. Then Patty asked, "What does he do with the . . . the honey?"
"He sells it for fertilizer," Joe confessed. "They call it 'night soil'."
"The Japanese are very thrifty," Ginger added.
"Maybe you call it thrift," Alice said with a shudder. "I call it filthy pagan ignorance."
Joe decided he'd better not point out any more wonders of the Orient today, and held his tongue the rest of the way into Tokyo while Dick and Alice muttered complaints about the traffic, the filthy benjo ditches alongside the road, and the unpainted houses. The hotel, at least, the Pointers found acceptable—a "Little America" in the heart of Tokyo. Joe and Ginger saw them to their suite, and promised to pick them up in the morning to show them some houses.
"Whew," Joe said, back in the car again. "I feel like I just caught and caged a couple of tigers."
"I'm afraid I didn't make a very big hit with your new boss's wife," Ginger apologized.
"Don't feel like the Lone Ranger," Joe said, squeezing her thigh. "They didn't like anything else they saw or heard either."
"The kids, at least, seem rational. Especially Patty."
"Somehow we're going to have to sell Dick and Alice on Japan, Gin. Show 'em it's not all bad. If we don't, I'm afraid it's going to be pure hell working under Dick."
Ginger wrinkled her nose.
"Don't you think so?" Joe persisted.
"I think it's going to be pure hell trying to sell them on Japan!"
"Well, we've got to try," Joe said. "And we can practice our salesmanship tomorrow, with the house."
"I wish now you hadn't paid in advance. You know they won't like it. It's too Japanese."
"Maybe they will if I show them the other two places first, and let them see how bad western-style private rentals can be," Joe said hopefully.
A night's sleep seemed to have improved the Pointers' dispositions, Joe noted when he met them the next morning. Dick even offered coffee.
"Thanks," Joe said, accepting. "It's pretty chilly out this morning."
"Oh?" Alice said. "The kids didn't say."
"Pete and Patty stuck their noses out awhile ago to sniff around," Dick went on. "We haven't been out yet."
Alice stepped to the window and stared out at the street two floors below. "Frankly," she said, "I haven't been out of this hotel because I'm scared to death. I look out, and I'm petrified. Maybe I saw too many Charlie Chan movies, or think too much about what they did to Dick's dad. Last night I thought I might step out for some air. Then I looked out this window, and saw all the neon signs flashing in alien