The Salaryman's Wife by Sujata Massey

Author:Sujata Massey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-09-05T16:00:00+00:00

17

At first glance, Yokosuka seemed a fusion of small-city Japan and big-city America. Young men in oversized jeans tripped to a break-dance beat that blared from a boom box held on someone’s shoulders. Billboards advertised corn dogs and American-sized Levi’s jeans. Beyond a traffic circle filled with taxis and Japanese buses lay the sparkling blue bay and ruins of an old military watch tower and broken-down cement wall.

“That part was Imperial Navy ground before Americans came,” Mariko told me. “See the old rail-way treads in the grass? They brought weapons and supplies in that way. Now it’s all a community park. I learned to swim in the pool over there.”

“You must have been adorable!” Richard had flirted with her steadily, making me wonder if it was possible for a leopard to develop stripes.

“So adorable half the mothers wanted me out of the pool.” Mariko chewed her lower lip. “After we got out of the water, they used to warn the girls to dry off in the shade so they wouldn’t get tan like me.”

“You know a lot about Japanese history,” I said to change the subject and make her feel better.

“All I know is my stupid, lousy life!”

We walked about ten minutes, passing a gleaming hotel tower and a giant shopping mall Mariko said were new. At the base entrance, an actual yellow line was drawn on the road, a border between U.S. and Japanese territories. I hadn’t expected to see that, nor the dark gray police bus parked on the sidewalk.

Something was up, I judged from the line of tense-looking officers wearing riot gear. I followed their line of unblinking observation across the street to a cluster of twenty or so middle-aged Japanese people dressed in business suits. They stood silently, holding signs in Japanese and English reading REMEMBER HIROSHIMA AND NAGASAKI and STOP NUCLEAR WAR FOREVER.

I watched Americans and Japanese enter the base through separate passages, opening wallets to show identification and holding open shopping bags for inspection. Taking a deep breath, I started off for the entrance marked AMERICAN.

A polite Marine who looked barely eighteen sent me into a small office where a different guard sat underneath a sign reading A MARINE ON DUTY HAS NO FRIEND.

Accordingly, I used my warmest voice to ask him the whereabouts of the veterans’ club.

“You’re not a military service member, ma’am?” His voice was startlingly deep for such a young man.

“I’m an American citizen.” I took out my California driver’s license, which he looked at briefly and dismissed.

“I can’t do anything with this. Not without a military sponsor.”

“I’m not trying to get on base,” I insisted. “I’m just trying to get some information.”

When a second guard moved in, I realized I appeared as potentially dangerous as the protesters outside. Paranoia had infused everyone. I gave up, feeling them watch me as I walked out to rejoin Richard and Mariko.

Somebody in town had to know about the club. I started with the protesters, who unfortunately had little more than pamphlets to offer.

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