Sayonara by James A. Michener

Author:James A. Michener [Michener, James A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2015-08-10T22:00:00+00:00

FIRST OFFICER’S WIFE: “American men buying underwear for Jap girls always look so pathetic.”

From time to time during this long spring of the year I used to reconsider Mike Bailey’s question: Did I love Hana-ogi because I was afraid of American women? At first the question had seemed ridiculous. True, I was afraid of the incessant domination of a mother-in-law like the general’s wife, but I was certainly not afraid of Eileen, except when she imitated her mother, and so far as I knew I had never been afraid of American women in general. In fact, I had always liked them very much and so far as I can remember there was never a dance at the Point or at any of the Air Force bases that I didn’t attend—and almost always with my own date. I decided that American women didn’t scare me. But then came the problem of the weekies and I was never again so sure.

I had noticed that for some days Katsumi-san had been trying to speak with me alone and I guessed that she was hoping I might know some special way whereby she could get into the United States. Since I could give her no help I tried to avoid discussing the doleful question, but finally she caught me and asked, “Major, you my friendo ichi ban?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe you buy me weekies?”

“What are weekies?”

“You go P.X. Pleeze, Ace, I not able to buy weekies.”

“Why not?” I demanded. “All wives get P.X. cards.”

I remember that Katsumi held back, as if not wanting to report Joe’s troubles, but under my questioning she said, “Colonel Craford not give me pass. Not give any Japanese wife pass. He hate us. He hate Joe for marrying Japanese.”

This made me sore, so I started out for the big avenue where the Osaka P.X. was but I stopped short and returned to the alley. “Katsumi,” I yelled, “what in hell are weekies?”

She slid back the paper doors and tried to explain but she was promptly overcome with embarrassment and said only, “Pleeze, Gruver-san. I want to be same like American girl. I want to make Joe takusan happy.” So I set out.

At the P.X. two tall guards shrugged their shoulders when I asked what weekies were and I would have given up the job except that I was disgusted to have a gentle person like Katsumi pushed around. So I found one of those superefficient Japanese officials who sit at desks and always seem to know everything. When I consulted him he frowned noticeably and said, “Fifth floor, frame four.” He spoke slowly, wrestling with each difficult letter so that his reply sounded: “Hihth hroor, hrame hore.”

I took the elevator to the fifth floor and found to my uneasiness that it contained women’s wear. On the whole floor there were only three men, enlisted soldiers buying things for their girls. But there were nearly a hundred American wives and when they saw me in this department they were unanimously outraged. I

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