An Okinawan Affair
by
Herb Blanchard
An Okinawan Affair
by Herb Blanchard
Copyright 2011 Herb Blanchard
Smashword Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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BOOK DESCRIPTION
AN OKINAWAN AFFAIR was written partly as a memoir and partly to tell about the people of Okinawa and what had happened on the island before repatriation back to Japan. And about the Americans who were stationed there in the military or chose to live on the island as civilians.
Most of the characters are profiles of real people or composites of several people the author knew on the island. Many of the incidents portrayed are based on actual occurrences that the author was involved in, or had direct knowledge of or recollection of them.
DEDICATION
AN OKINAWAN AFFAIR is dedicated to all the people, Americans and Okinawan, living and dead, that I knew and loved,. They contributed to the writing of the book whether they know it or not. Remember me or not.
I thank each and every one of them.
ONE
He had just stuffed several barely readable, blue mimeograph copies of his orders into his new brown leather AWOL bag. The orders read: "EON3 BRADFORD NMN BURGESS IS TO REPORT TO THE TREASURE ISLAND RECEIVING STATION NO LATER THAN 2400 HOURS ON 03 JANUARY 1964 FOR AIR TRANSPORTATION TO NAF NAHA, OKINAWA FOR SHORE DUTY." It was already the second day of the new year in 1964 and Equipment Operator, (N for heavy) Bradford (No Middle Name) Burgess was on his way to the Treasure Island Naval transit station sitting in the middle of San Francisco Bay to await a plane ride to the Japanese island of Okinawa. There he could stay for up to three years enjoying the soft tropical breezes and company of the island's easy going people.
Maybe I'm making a big mistake. He thought as he dropped his AWOL bag on the floor next to the front door and started back through the living room.
Brad didn't hear her come up behind him, but the acrid smell of wool hot from an iron and a whisper of her scent floating gently past his nose sent a shiver up the middle of his back.
"I'm going to miss you, Brad." She spoke softly.
He knew she didn't want one of her three children or her husband, Brad’s half brother, to hear. They had been communicating in soft undertones meant only for each other during most of his 30 day leave.
"I feel very close to you." Sally went on in her soft voice. "Closer than I've felt to anyone for a long time. It made it very easy for me to talk to you during the last few days."
"Maybe I shouldn't go, Sally. I could give these orders away and stay with the Battalion at Port Hueneme (Waa-nee-me)."
He turned to face his sister-in-law. Sally was a tall brunette who at that moment was looking extremely vulnerable, yet very seductive in her shapeless chenille robe.
She carefully laid Brad’s freshly pressed Navy dress jumper across the back of an overstuffed living room chair before stepping closer to him.
"You have been trying to get those orders for over a year, Brad. You should go. I'll be fine."
She was 32, (6 years older than Brad’s 26), and stood three inches taller. During the past few months they exchanged letters, each more intimate than the last. And with each letter, Brad felt the years separating them diminishing. Sally became younger and more vulnerable.
Her heavy winter robe was pulled tight emphasizing Sally's full breasts and hips. Brad drew a deep, shaky breath as he looked down the length of her fully covered body and remembered what she had looked like the day before when she had stepped out of her bath and stood watching him for several seconds before taking the heavy, warm bath towel Brad held out to her. His hands had shook slightly as he allowed his gaze to travel down the length of her statuesque form before coming back up to her full, pendulous, breasts.
"You had better get dressed." She spoke softly, a little bit breathlessly as if she was also remembering those intimate moments while moving a step closer to him.
Without actually touching each other, Brad’s mind let him feel the physical sensation of her bare body pressing against him. He wanted to take her in his arms for one last time. A dark thought was passing through his mind. She’s about to end whatever might have/could have, been between us.
Sally raised her right arm and laid the back of her hand on his right cheek, slowly stroking it.
"Bob will be ready to go in a minute."
With half a smile she added, "You know how your brother hates to be kept waiting."
She tried to laugh, but it faded into the soft smile she had bestowed on him so many times during the last few days before she hurriedly turned away as tears slipped from the corners of her pretty brown eyes.
As she walked away she spoke in her scolding voice, and Brad knew she had been reading his eyes. She used that tone whenever she had made up her mind to get her way. "Go, Brad. Get on the airplane and go."
She turned away pulling her robe tighter under her crossed arms. Brad also felt the same sudden chill that Sally felt.
When she started up the stairs, towards the bedroom she shared with his half brother, the soft movement of her hips under the robe brought a renewed stirring of Brad’s unfulfilled desire for her.
At that moment he didn't realize it but a chapter of his life had just closed. A chapter he would never be able to reopen or go back to. Nor did he know a fresh new chapter was about to start. A chapter which would bring him a love like none he ever imagined could exist. But there would also be sorrow, and that too is part of life.
TWO
The journey into Brad Burgess’ new life started on January 5, 1964 when with over 200 other GIs and dependents he was jammed into the cabin of a government chartered Pan Am DC8. From the ramp of Travis Air Force Base they were bound for the island of Okinawa with intermediate stops across the Pacific.
At Honolulu International, their first stop, the passengers were given a short break which Brad took advantage of to limber up his cramped leg muscles. He walked around the terminal before climbing the stairs to the observation deck on the terminal's roof. He watched the DC8 being refueled and the members of a fresh flight crew establishing themselves on the flight deck. Several new passengers were standing around at the gate waiting to board the aircraft. Amongst them was a young, possibly military dependent wife with a two year old boy and a very young baby.
Brad felt his good luck had run out when the young mother holding her almost new baby, dropped into the seat next to him. Quietly and gently she spoke to and guide her fair haired son onto the aisle seat next to her. Brad had staked a claim on these seats coming out of CONUS when they were empty so he wasn't particularly happy about having to share them with a couple of screaming dependent brats.
Within minutes the flight crew had the DC8 roaring down the runway and another leg of Brad’s journey started as they chased the late afternoon sun across the Pacific Ocean.
The DC8 was still climbing out and had started a turn away from Diamond Head as Brad watched the tropical green of Oahu slip from the restricted view of the aircraft window to be replaced by the ever changing color flow of the Pacific's greens and blues. He heard the soft chime of a stewardess call button and felt the young mother stirring in her seat next to him. Ignoring her, he was deliberately trying to avoid any connection to her and the inherent problems of traveling with small children. His gut told him that they were about to encroach further into his tiny sphere of space.
The murmur of feminine voices slid across the void between our seats. Good, the stewardess is helping her and can deal with it.
Brad forced himself not to turn and look in their direction as a strange mixture of baby smell and an unknown, but what he was sure was an exotic and expensive perfume, wafted across the void and intrigued his nose.
The touch on his left forearm was gentle. Her hand was so tiny his first thought was that the two year old boy had touched him.
She spoke hesitantly in a very soft voice. "Excuse me? Could you help me, please?"
Her eyes were the deep warm blue of a cloudless mid-summer sky and they enveloped his whole being. She needed neither the honey blond hair that hung down in mild disarray across her small pert nose, nor the soft smile which was flitting across her dusty rose lips to make Brad fall in love with her. Just her eyes did that. He was completely lost, and totally in love even after he caught a glimpse of the engagement ring that had to be at least a carat and a half of diamonds backed by a yellow gold wedding band that was at least a sixteenth of an inch thick and twice as wide and studded with more, but smaller diamonds.
"Could you hold the baby for a minute while I tend to her brother? I'd like to get him fed and settled. Maybe he'll give me a break and take a nap if his belly is full."
Brad guessed that the baby in her arms was barely two months old. With previous niece and nephew experience he knew what this simple request would involve.
"Can you hang on for a second while I take off my jumper?"
"Good thinking." She laughed and while she looked towards the stewardess for reassurance the pretty lady shifted the baby on her arm.
"We'll make it. Won't we Gus?" She said to the baby.
"Gus?" Brad asked noticing at the same time the stewardess making her break towards the far aft end of the aircraft.
"Her middle name is Augusta after my grammy." With a smile she added, "and I'm afraid she's going to be stuck with it. Though she will probably hate us for it. Her brother can say Gus, but he has problems with Carole. That's her first name. He keeps coming out with some weird variation of Carl which doesn't fit at all. The poor baby is a Gus, not a Carl. And definitely not a Carlos or Carlito." Her laugh was open and fun.
This lady doesn't have many secrets. Everything is out front and spoken aloud.
"I'm Sandra Rockwell. Sandy, that's what my friends call me. My husband is stationed at Camp Kue."
Sandy instantly noticed Brad’s look of ignorance about Camp Kue.
"That's the Army hospital on Okinawa. He's not a doctor, he's an engineer. Officer-in-Charge of the plant. You know, the stuff like boilers and air conditioning."
It feels good knowing she cares enough to let me off the hook without making me out a fool. And I knew she was a dependent.
With her head tilted a just little to the left, Sandy continued to look at Brad with a slightly questioning expression on her beautiful face.
"Oh." Brad felt the heat of his embarrassment creep up his neck. “My name is Burgess. Brad Burgess.” I’m going to NAF Naha. That’s Naval Facility at Naha, Okinawa.
"Here, I'll take her." She has a great sense of humor even if she is an officer’s wife.
"Glad to meet you Brad Burgess. And thank you. I know that you and Gus will get along just fine."
Her voice had the softness of a gentle summer breeze across a meadow of soft green grass. Brad started to think that he had a good chance to enjoy the remainder of the trip after all, with Gus and her mother for company.
A quick refueling stop and two poor souls were deplaned on the very tiny dot in the Pacific Ocean called Wake Island.
A few more quiet and extremely boring hours brought their final stop within reach. Both Gus and her brother had fallen asleep shortly after they took off from Wake Island. Several times Brad offered to take the boy to the rest room, or held Gus because he wanted to, not because Sandy asked him to do it. She was quite self sufficient and only asked for help when she really needed it. He knew that he couldn't complain and surely didn't feel imposed upon.
Gus was sound asleep in the crook of his right elbow. Her mom had taken her brother somewhere towards the aft end of the aircraft.
Brad had joined MCB 10 in November of 1962 just as 10 was returning from an 8 month tour at Camp Kinser, the Seabee base on the island of Okinawa. For over a year he had been listening to the salty Seabees of Port Hueneme tell their sea stories about the attributes of the bars and women of Okinawa. Finally, fourteen months later, and 25,000 feet over the East China Sea, he was about to get his first look of this tropical paradise.
The melodic chime made Brad glance up as the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign came on. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sandy slip into her seat next to him, and he turned to watch her fasten her son's seat belt. Gus stirred in his arms. Brad looked down into her deep blue eyes and took a minute to enjoy her tiny face forming a trusting smile.
She looks like her mom.
Brad felt a tinge of regret as he realized that in a few minutes he was going to have to give Gus back to her mother.
The high pitched whine of hydraulic motors deep within the big jet's bowels startled him out of his reverie. The mechanical sounds brought Brad back to the confined world of the DC8’s cramped passenger cabin. He was lethargic from the long flight and for the last couple of hours with his friend Gus in his arms, he had been drowsing in a temporary suspension of time. The DC8's huge flaps were still forcing their way down into the slipstream under the wings when another hydraulic pump start up. The aircraft shuddered in protest as the main landing gears slammed into place with a series of loud clunks.
The aircraft banked into a shallow left turn and started to descend with a sudden loss of engine noise. It was several seconds before Brad realized that they weren't about to crash into the East China Sea, the pilot had just reduced the power on all four engines. He looked out the tiny cabin window and down across the sloping upper surface of the silvery wing. Off the left wing tip he could see twinkling city lights and a scattering of yellowish headlights threading their way along a north-south highway. He looked forward, ahead of the leading edge of the wing picking out the highway and the line of northbound headlights which merged with and disappeared amongst the distinctive lineup of airport runway lights.
The aircraft rolled level and over the leading edge of the wing he made out a the jagged line of green and white breakers with their glowing phosphorescent marking the collision of the East China Sea with Okinawa's ancient coral reef.
Gus stirred slightly in the security of Brad’s right elbow. He watched her tiny face and its innocent expression of peace never changed as the Kadena Air Force Base runway approach lights flashed under the DC8's belly and they landed with a thump and the quick, but repeated screeching of tires on dry concrete as first the right landing gear touched down followed in a fraction of a second by the left set of tires. The sudden surge of power from the aircraft's engines slowed the aircraft and pulled Brad forward against his lap belt.
"Thank you, Brad. I want you to meet my husband before you go to Naha. You have to come to dinner so I can repay you for your help. Besides, Gus will want to see you again."
Brad just smiled and softly placed Gus in Sandy's arms. He silently said his good-byes. He didn’t really think that Sandy’s officer husband would appreciate his good looking wife inviting some stray Seabee enlisted man to dinner. Especially an E-4 she had picked up on an airplane over the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
He let himself get caught in the slow moving gaggle of wives and noisy kids knowing they would help make his departure easier and less complicated.
Gus will understand. He thought as he felt a familiar small hand take his left wrist.
"Are you sneaking away without claiming your reward, Sailor?"
She knew he didn't like to be called a sailor. And Brad knew he was being had. Sandy was alone. The happy expression of anticipation gone from her young face.
"I'm sorry, but my husband couldn't make it. He sent a driver to pick us up. I really wanted him to meet you so we could thank you properly, Brad. But this will just have to do."
Sandy's arms around his neck were surprisingly strong as she stood on tiptoes and placed her soft, dusty rose lips fully against his cheek.
Sandy's arms were still around his neck when he looked over the top of her head and saw the Army buck sergeant who had been sent to pickup Sandy and her children. He was watching with obvious distaste. Brad thought he disliked the idea of the wife of one of his fine, outstanding officers smooching a strange sailor in the middle of the air terminal. His distaste quickly changed to embarrassment when he saw that Brad was also watching him. Realizing how pathetic the dogface was as he gingerly held a sleepy Gus like she was a crate of eggs about to spill their yolks all over him. And her brother hanging from his right pant leg like a bewildered puppy.
"Thank you, Brad. Gus will miss you."
At least I care about you guys. Brad thought to himself with a bit of arrogance as he contemplated what could make a man miss his wife's arrival to a far off land after being separated for over six months, Especially a lady as sexy as Sandy was.
He kept walking towards the counter where the Navy ATCO was waiting to check him aboard Okinawa.
THREE
January 7, 1964, Tuesday. It was about zero six thirty hours and the eastern horizon was starting to take on an intense orange glow when Brad walked by the snack bar and started out of the terminal at Kadena AFB. The smell of frying bacon and hash browns should have reminded him that he hadn't had a solid meal for over twenty hours but he wasn't hungry.
With just a touch of disappointment he realized that since he had departed Travis on January 5 January 6, his birthday, was missing. Except for a few fleeting minutes somewhere between 2300 hours on January 5, and 2400 hours on January 6, it was gone.
Vaporized? Maybe not vaporized, just gone. I'd settle for gone.
Am I still 26, or did I age to 27?
Do I have to count those missing hours? Maybe I was asleep. If I was, do they count?
He argued with himself for a couple more minutes before deciding since Okinawa was a day ahead of the United States it didn't matter if he consciously observed the time or not because he was in fact 27.
I lost an argument with myself. That's pretty bad.
The predawn air was still and sultry on his face when he walked out the front door of the air terminal in his hot, wool dress blues. He dumped his sea bag on the edge of the concrete sidewalk and sank down on it to wait for his ride to the Naha Naval Air Facility 15 miles down island. The Navy ATCO had assured Brad that it would be arriving momentarily.
He sat on his sea bag and watched the sky continue to get brighter with a multitude of reds and oranges resembling a Pacific Northwest forest fire in the dark of the moon. Brad was getting hotter and wetter with sweat as every new inch of sun crested the horizon. A cool bead of sweat running down between his shoulder blades tickled and he shrugged to let his damp skivvie shirt suck it up.
A light breeze finally sprang up to announce the full arrival of the sub-tropical sun. Although it made breathing easier the breeze did little to cool him off.
Brad checked his watch again and realized that he had been sitting there for only about 20 minutes. The heat, lack of sleep and an overall grungy and unwashed feeling dominated his mind and made him more irritable as the minutes dragged on. He was trying to think about how good a cool shower and clean sheets would feel, and couldn't really push the thoughts of his physical discomfort away. If anything, the thoughts made him more aware of how really nasty he was.
He heard a bus before it came into view, but immediately lost interest when he realized that according to the ATCO it was coming from the wrong direction and once in view it was a blue Air Force bus.
The squealing protest of a combination of dry, unlubricated steel and rust brought his attention back to the bus as its passenger door swung open. Brad turned in time to see a set of bare legs flash beneath a mid-calf length white skirt when she stepped off the bus. The skirt had a narrow dark blue ribbon sewed around the hem and was so heavily starched he was sure it would break when it bumped against the door of the bus.
By American standards they were short legs, but they were beautiful. Each well developed muscle was firm and clearly defined to create two shapely masterpieces. On her small feet the girl wore flat-heeled slippers made of a soft black leather.
As if he had x-ray vision a bit of silken thigh flashed through Brad’s imagination when the petite doll-girl stepped down onto the sidewalk. She hesitated for a sliver of time before starting along the sidewalk toward him.
Brad Burgess wasn’t very tall, about 5' 7" in stocking feet weighing in at a hard 126 pounds, but as the girl approached he began to realize just how big he was on the island of Okinawa. He studied her as she drew nearer. The girl wasn't quite five feet tall and weighed less than ninety pounds. Those ninety pounds were beautifully arranged. Her breasts weren't large, but under the tight fitting bodice of her starched dress they were perfectly symmetrical and in absolute proportion to the rest of her compact body. Involuntarily he found himself looking up into the most beautiful almond shaped, dark brown eyes he had ever seen. Outlined with shiny black, thick lashes and eyebrows, her eyes grabbed and captured Brad in their depths.
She looks about 15. But there is a maturity about her face and body. He thought continuing to watch the small girl. For him, time stopped momentarily. White, even teeth sparkled in a friendly smile when her eyes released their hold on him an iota of a second before she stepped around his sea bag. He watched her hurry toward the heavy glass doors of the terminal's waiting room.
She isn't a girl. That is ALL woman!
He watched in admiration when she walked through the glass doors and across the terminal floor. The white skirt stretched tightly across her beautifully formed backside and emphasized her gracefully feminine walk.
"Oh, my God, I'm in love." Brad heard himself say.
"Hey! You the Seabee going to Naha?"
He felt the heat of embarrassment flash across his cheeks and knew his ears were glowing red when he heard the sound of a deep male voice speaking American. He was so engrossed in the girl that Brad hadn't heard the ugly gray, Navy six pac pull up to the curb in front of the Air Force bus. The driver was hollering through his open window, and Brad was certain he had heard his vocal declaration of love for the beautiful girl.
"Yeah, I am. Where in hell have you been?"
"Sleeping, man. I've had the duty for the last two nights." The driver spoke slowly and matter-of-factly. Brad couldn't hear even a hint of aggression in the driver's voice when he stepped up to the side of the six pac. Through the open window he could see that the driver was dressed in tailor made, but very wrinkled, dungarees. Not only had the dungarees and short sleeved chambray shirt been worked in, they looked as if they had been slept in. His light brown hair hung down over his forehead partially obscuring his flattened fighter's nose and flashing green eyes. And he needed a haircut.
"Larry-san! Hey you, Luber-boy!"
The driver and Brad both turned towards the high pitched voice.
She was walking very fast, almost trotting towards them from the Air Force bus. Dressed in the same uniform as the first petite girl, but she was most decidedly not petite. She was tall and square. At least two inches taller than Brad and twenty pounds heavier, but the graceful motion of hands and hips were there. Her round face had small pock marks which ruined the image of her soft flawless Asian complexion, but they in no way distracted from her beauty. Her eyes, which Brad would learn, were pure Okinawan not Japanese. They had no hint of an eyelid fold, and were large, round and a beautiful, soft brown.
"Kaiko-chan? Where have you been, you big beautiful woman?" The driver hollered back while he was hurriedly exiting the 6 pac.
"I quit the Clover and leave Noumanoui for good. That place got to be number ten for me. You won't shack-up with me, Larry, then merchant man give me the clap for five dollar. Cheap bastard not want to pay for all night. He say he stay with me all week, until his ship leave. Then after he get me one time he go back to the bar. He never come back."
"I'm sorry, Kaiko, but I told you not to go with merchant sailors. They're nothing but trouble.
"I go to work in snack bar now Larry. You come see me? Come home with me, okay? You number one for me Larry, come my home, pease."
"Where are you living, Kaiko? Kadena?"
"No way, I have big house in Old Koza. No GIs come anymore so Mama-san let me have big house real cheap.
"Okay. What time you get off work Friday night? I won't have the duty this weekend so I'll stay all weekend with you."
"Sixteen hundred, Larry-san. You meet me on BC Street?"
“Yeah, but not before nineteen hundred. I'll meet you in the Goya Restaurant and buy you some gohon."
Brad watched and listened to the exchange between these two very ethnically different people in amazement. Neither were fluent in the other's language, but nonetheless they communicated and got their wants known to the other.
"Here, throw your sea bag in the back seat. Put your AWOL bag in there too.
Nice, huh?"
"What?" Brad was still lost in his own thoughts and it took him a second or two to realize that the Seabee was talking to him.
"The nesan, 'girl' to you. I love every one of them. Larry Perkins, I'm a builder." The Seabee driver proclaimed as he stuck out a work calloused hand.
"You're a driver, huh? What mob you out of?"
Perkins rambled on not allowing Brad to answer as they shook hands.
"I came from MCB 11. There's three or four of us at Naha from 11.
"Come on, get in. The chow hall closes at eight-thirty but we can make it in time for breakfast if I hurry. The speed limit on Highway One is only 40 MPH but I came up at over 50 all the way. The traffic is just starting to pick up so we'll have to go back a little slower."
Brad kept waiting for Perkins to run down and stop his monologue. When he didn't, Brad began to suspect he really didn't care which battalion he came from.
Brad quit trying to interject an answer between Perkins’ sentences a long time before he finally turned towards Brad with a questioning look. Now he was ready for an answer.
"I was just waiting for you to run down so I could talk. Do you always go on like this?"
"Shit! I'm sorry, man. Like I said, I'm a builder, but I'm assigned to the motor pool. I've been busting my ass on a building project at the motor pool. Adding on a new bunk-room. And I've had the duty in the motor pool for the last two nights in a row."
"MCB 10. I was on Adak with 10. The main body of the battalion went to the Philippines. About four hundred drivers and mechanics got to go on the scenic Aleutian tour. We were Det. India. "Name is Burgess. Brad Burgess. My friends call me Brad.
"You ticked because I ruined your beauty sleep this morning, Perkins?"
"Oh, hell no, Brad. It sure isn't your fault. The motor pool duty section is short handed so we've been working port and starboard for the last two weeks."
"Besides, I got to see Kaiko-san and I can get laid this weekend for nothing." He added with a faraway look in his eyes.
Brad didn't say anything but he was thinking that there is more going on than Perkins picking up a girl for the weekend.
"Shit! The duty every other night, Perkins? That's worse than a battalion. How long will it go on?"
"This should be the last week of it. With you and another driver who checked in a month or so ago, and a mechanic transferring from MCB 11 this week, we'll be short but can go back to one in four."
"Who is the other driver?"
"Mike Branch. Do you know Mike?"
"Branch, Marion. The reserve is here already, huh?"
"Sure enough, Brad. And he's already pissed off the Division Chief."
Brad expected and was not disappointed to find Marion Branch, AKA 'Mike' and 'Twig' Branch had already arrived and was in the know of what was happening in the NAF Naha Transportation Division, but also the off-base bar scene.
Brad and Mike had been together in MCB 10's "Alpha" Company on Adak, AK last year as well as receiving their orders to NAF Naha at the same time. Mike lived with his dad in Port Hueneme so he hadn't bothered to take leave before coming to Naha.
"Mike was on Adak with us. He and I got our orders to Naha at the same time. He's always pissing someone off. How did he get to the Chief?"
"He got caught by the RASP in a Giagonji whorehouse the second night he was here. Or rather, coming out of the whorehouse."
"What's the RASP?"
"It's the Ryukyu Armed Services Police. They're glorified military police. Besides the Army MPs, there are Navy, Marine shore patrol and Air Force APs on it. A multi-service unit."
"How come they picked him up for coming out of a whorehouse? Are they off limits, Larry?"
"These are. Kind of, anyway. Giagonji is a part of Naha City that's off limits to GIs. It really isn't any big deal. The Okinawans just want to keep it for themselves. The teahouses don't have 'A' signs, and the whores aren't stamped 'U.S. Government Grade A Certified'. In other words, the girls aren't checked at the military V.D. Clinic.
"Some of us go to Giagonji with the Okinawans. We get away from the Naha AFB zoomies and the fleet sailors whenever a ship is in. Besides, its fun. These girls don't see too many GIs like the girls in Noumanoui do, so the Giagonji nesans treat us real nice. We have more money to spend than the average Okinawan and we can get them stuff out of the Exchange."
"Did they write Mike up?"
"Yeah, they had to. But the Public Works Officer, our real boss Lieutenant Commander Tole, told the Division Chief to handle it with non-judicial punishment since Branch had only been on the island for less than a week and didn't know where he was. Commander Tole said that he was probably lost in all those narrow windy streets down there, and he was smiling all the time, but it went right over the Chief's head so Mike lost his liberty card for a week."
"Who's the Division Chief, Larry"?
"Chief Lambert. Builder Chief." Perkins caught the expression of distaste which flashed across Brad face.
"You know Lambert? Yeah, you did in 10 last year." Perkins answered his own question. "Have trouble with him?"
"Not really. Seems like I always caught the duty with him and to him 'sweep down, fore and aft' was something from the Beverly Hills Hilton. He's the most anal SOB I've ever seen. I always thought that my mother was a nut case until I met Lambert. Shit! He makes her look like a scrounge."
"I know, I volunteered to go to the motor pool to get away from him."
Staring through the windshield of the over-sized pickup, Brad felt disoriented as Perkins swung the big pickup south from Kadena AFB's main road and into the thick, fast moving traffic of Okinawa Highway #1. In that instant it all hit him. The strange smells of open benjo ditches, mud clogged tidal flats, sandy coral flats at low tide and fish frying on open charcoal braziers all made Brad realize that when he stepped out of the DC8 this morning he had entered a different world. A world with a language and rules like none he had ever known. And a world that sent thousands of questions, all of which needed an answer, gushing chaotically through his head.
He knew his life would never be the same again. And while he took in the heady aromas, listened to the new sounds and let his eyes feast on this cornucopia of magnificent visions, Brad knew he didn’t want his life to be the same. He had come to Okinawa because he wanted his life to change, and he intended to enjoy these changes as he experienced them.
FOUR
It was after they had left the main gate of Kadena AFB and turned south on Highway #1 that Brad began to realize how awed by Okinawa he had already become.
"Car Pawn? You can pawn your car?"
He turned to look back at the fragile appearing wooden structure with the huge, fancifully painted CAR PAWN sign and saw the whole front of the little building was small paned windows with steel accordion style grates pulled fully open on each side. The shelves behind the windows were stacked full of radios, stereo speakers, cameras and musical instruments of all sorts. Just like their stateside counterparts, the Okinawan money lenders would loan you money on almost anything. This particular pawn shop had an additional sideline. Besides loaning you money on your car, or taking your new stereo speakers in hock, a hand painted sign, leaning against the building proclaimed : "SOOVINEARS". Brad presumed it meant they sold souvenirs. Hanging under the building's long Japanese eaves were the dried, stuffed and varnished corpses of numerous sea turtles and spiny lobsters. The white rice paper tags tied to each body swaying gently in the light breeze told the price.
"Sure. And you can still drive it. Akabu does it all the time. Every payday he has to get his Olds out of pawn."
Brad wasn't ready for what was coming, and he knew it. But he had to ask and was more than half curious to hear the answer. "What or who, is Ak-Akabpu?"
"Akabu is Ronnie Jessup. Akabu is Okinawan for red. Ron has red hair and all the nesans call him Akabu. It's also slang for a girl's period."
"So how do they pawn their cars and still keep them?"
"Just like a stateside car loan, only the interest rate is higher and it's short term. Pay up or they repossess your car."
"Just like that? Come and take it?"
"Remember, they have the title. The car really belongs to them. Pawn it and you give up the title."
They came to a busy intersection with stateside type traffic lights, and had to stop for the red. There was a lot of military traffic turning east, up the hill.
"That's Sukiran on the left. The High Commissioner has his palace on top of the hill. The Army runs this island. It's a military dictatorship."
Brad looked across the cab of the pickup and caught Perkins’ eye. He just nodded and shrugged before turning his eyes back to the road as the light changed.
"The Army's airborne units and green beanies are part way the hill."
Highway #1 was a four lane highway. Two lanes ran north and two ran south. There was a spastic left turn lane down the center. Spastic in that now it's there and then it's not there.
The traffic seemed really heavy but Larry was relaxed and working his way through the mishmash of vehicles. There were four lanes of full-sized American cars mixed with small Japanese taxis, huge dump trucks, tractor and trailer rigs, fuel tankers, small three wheel trucks and two wheel motorcycles. There was an occasional bicycle playing suicide tag with the traffic on the wide red dirt shoulder. There were military rigs and civilian vehicles all mixed together, fender to tailgate, creating a turbulent iron river. There were constant surges in the already tempestuous flow when a driver would shoot into the maelstrom from either shoulder of the highway like a huge boulder crashing into a rushing river. This would create a wild cloud of reddish brown dust which obstructed every driver’s forward vision at the vehicle's point of entry into the wild current of the multi-colored steel stream. Any driver, on either shoulder, who wanted access to any lane, declared his intention by aiming his vehicle at any minute gap between vehicles, real or imagined, and jamming his throttle to the floorboards. Another surge was created and maybe this time luck would prevail; there would be no screech of protesting tires on the oily pavement followed by the resounding scream of tearing metal body parts merging into the disorder of a wreck.
Every vehicle was traveling well in excess of the 40 MPH speed limit. Obviously doing the speed limit would be suicidal. No one appeared to be going less than 45. Perkins was staying in the left lane, and never let the speedometer drop much below 50 MPH. Even then he was barely staying up with the flow of traffic.
"God! I thought the Hollywood Freeway was bad. Is it always like this?"
"This traffic isn't bad. Wait for another hour. Or until five o'clock tonight. Trying to cross without a light, even at the crosswalks, is impossible. People get sukoshi cabs just to cross Highway #1."
"A what?"
"Sukoshi cab. Like that one in front of us. The little yellow and orange Datsun.
"Sukoshi means small. Small girl, small dick. All are sukoshi
"That pink one just hayakuing . . . "
"Hiakcooing? What in hell is that?"
Brad figured out very quickly that the GIs were adding their own twist to the pronunciation and usage of Okinawan and Japanese words.
"Hurry up, go fast! Hayaku! . . . hayakuing into the right lane, is an independent. They own their own cab and all of them are painted pink, so take a pink one whenever you can. They're proud and independent, so they won't overcharge you or take the long way around. And if you get a house on the beach, don't let any cab driver, except an independent, know where it is. The drivers are either stealie boys themselves, or they'll sell your address to a stealie boy. American houses are fair game on the beach."
"Do a lot of guys live on the beach? Will they let us?"
"A few do. Some have a steady shack job. A couple guys do it part time. They might have a nesan to stay with three or four nights a week for the price of a couple nights of drinking. Some guys just keep changing nesans every month or so. As long as you don't get caught off limits or come in late for work no one cares.
"But don't try to get in the Naha Air Base gate after midnight. The zoomies have a 2400 hour curfew and bed check. They keep trying to nail us for it. But we don't have one. It drives the Air Force Base Commander crazy. Our Old Man lets us come and go as we please."
"So what happens if the APs catch you?"
"Don't get caught! Call the motor pool from the Naha Army Barracks gate and our dispatcher will send the duty mechanic and wrecker out to pick you up. The Air Force can't bother you in a Navy vehicle. Like I said, don't try to come in the Air Base gate after 2400. Don't go near the gate. The Air Police and the Okinawan guards won't pay any attention to you at the Army gate, they could care less about what goes on over there.
"I'll show you the gates when we get to Naha."
"How about the Army guards?"
"They're Okinawan, work for the Army. They won't bother you. In fact, they let us use their phone."
"You still didn't answer my first question. What happens if the Air Police catch you? Will they write us up, or hold us until the Navy picks us up?"
"They'll write you up and send you to the barracks. On the next working day the Division Chief will get the chit. After he chews out Charlie Lawton, the motor pool chief, for not controlling his troops, he'll give the chit to Lawton. Then the Chief will chew you out and take your liberty card away. But he'll give it back to you at 1600 when we get off work."
"That's all? Just an ass chewing and lose your liberty card for 8 hours when your suppose to be working anyway?"
"You got it. Lawton's ass chewing goes something like this. 'Now you guys know you aren't supposed to be coming in the gate after midnight: so stay in bed with your girl friend if you can't get in the gate before the coach turns into a pumpkin. Damn, I'm tired of listening to Chief Lambert tell me what an idiot I am.'
A real bunch of hard asses about breaking Air Force rules around here, Brad.
Welcome to Naha Air Facility. That's the main gate in front of us. The gate on the right is the Army gate."
FIVE
Although Brad had been anxious to check out the Okinawan night life, he was sure it had been a smart move to stay on base for a couple of nights. A guided tour of the Noumanoui bar area was in the offering by Mike Branch, but a long night of bar hopping and heavy drinking, after a long day of travel, followed by the grueling task of checking aboard NAF Naha, he had no doubt in his jet lagged mind that his body would not have survived the tour.
Now his first weekend on Okinawa and free time was in sight though his mind was still thrashing about the last of a full day of Okinawa orientation and history classes. An Okinawan born translator was the most interesting as he shared his knowledge and life experiences telling about the arrival of the Japanese military in the 1930s and later the American's invasion of the island.
As Japan's war in Asia progressed, Okinawa became more of a garrison island for Japanese troops. By 1943 as the tide of the war was slowly turning against the Japanese military and it became obvious that the Japanese main islands were in jeopardy of being invaded, islands like Okinawa witnessed a major build-up of forces ready to make a last ditch stand to protect the home islands. The Japanese 32nd Army began a massive build-up on the island and in February 1944 martial law was declared.
The massive increase in troop numbers put a sever strain on the island's resources. Water, always in short supply, became a major problem especially in the south and central parts of the island. Though an agricultural society, where more than one half of the population were farmers, the island grown crops could not meet the increasing demands. A further demand was made on agricultural productivity when the military took control of the sugar cane crop to be shipped to the home islands and turned into alcohol for military fuel. At least one quarter of the island's arable land was soon used to grow sugar cane. In an effort to relieve the shortages, 80,000 Okinawa civilians were sent to the Japanese island of Kyushu were they were put to work manufacturing materials for the 'war effort'. During the same period time, 60,000 Okinawans, mostly the elderly and children were moved to the north end of Okinawa where many hid and lived in caves. A few were lucky enough to have relatives living in the north who could take them into their homes. The mass conscription of Okinawan civilians also started in the early summer of 1944 with 20,000 males being conscripted into the Home Guard primarily as laborers to construct military fortifications. The Japanese Army, dissatisfied with the progress of their construction projects, shortly thereafter started to conscript females for construction work and completed their disruption of Okinawa's tightly knit family society of stay home mothers and farmer fathers. A society where the majority of families worked together at home. Almost all of the Okinawan males between the ages of 18 and 45 were "mobilized for combat" in some type of related jobs.
Two things happened during the next few months that would have profound effects, one extremely good and one which is hard to figure exactly what would have been the result if it had not happened. The Japanese 32nd Army started to confiscate the Okinawans food stuffs and crops. Though very mellow and non-militant, the Okinawans can never be thought of as stupid or lazy. As the confiscation hit high gear the Okinawans started to hide food and harvested crops in caves that were known only to the local residents. In September of 1944 US submarine attacks on the shipping into Okinawa hit a new high and the beginning of massive US air strikes prompted many Mainland Japanese who had been brought to the island as government administrators for numerous towns and villages, to return to their home islands. With them went many Okinawans who were loyal to Japan and the Japanese military. Since these Okinawans had connections with the Japanese 32nd Army it was not difficult for them to gain permission to leave also.
Liberty call was at 1630 on NAF Naha. The weekend started on Friday afternoon when about a dozen Seabees piled aboard the base bus in front of the motor pool and headed for the barracks. After a fast shower, shave and supper in the chow hall, 1830 found three of them sharing a cab and heading for Noumanoui.
Stateside, Noumanoui would be called the red-light district. On Okinawa it was the Naha bar district where the military attempted to isolate the GIs from the rest of Okinawa. The food, booze and women were all there and comparatively cheap. A meal of chicken fried rice and an Orion beer would take less than two American dollars. A night of heavy drinking and girl chasing would take less than twenty dollars and sometimes a smart GI could make do with ten dollars if he had a steady girl friend.
Mike Branch was riding shotgun as the nightly guide. The second Seabee in the back seat with Brad was Third Class Construction Mechanic Tom O’Brien. O'Brien was a fair complexioned, redheaded beanpole, with a face full of freckles. True to his name, O'Brien was pure Irish and from the East Coast. He said he would ride to town with them, but then he was going to the Clover Bar. The Clover was the Seabee bar in Noumanoui where several of the Bees, including Tom O'Brien, had steady or fairly regular girl friends.
Side by side Mike and Brad strolled casually along one of the few paved roads in the Noumanoui bar district. Brad's head swiveled from side to side like a tourist as he took in all the sights and goings-on, which were new to him. The smells from the foot wide benjo ditches running along both sides of the street were annoying, but not revolting. It was a sweetish mix of soapy water and kitchen waste. It was called gray water in the States. The precast concrete lids, although broken in places, missing in others, and with gaps where side branches of the ditches joined the main flow of gray waters, helped keep the odor down. Brad stepped across the ditch on the left side of the street and barely missed stepping between two of the cover pieces where somebody had pulled them apart almost directly in front of the front step to the Harbor Lights Bar.
The Harbor Lights was a typical Okinawan bar. It took up the whole bottom floor of a two story poured concrete building about the size of a very small American house. Junko, the middle aged bar owner and her three children lived in the small two bedroom apartment on the second floor.
Brad followed Mike into the bar. Stopped just inside the door to let his eyes adjust to the very dim interior lighting.
The bar, running down the right side of the room with its top polished by uncountable swipes of bar rags, glistened in the dim indirect light. Strung along the ceiling over and behind the bar were strings of multi-colored miniature Christmas lights. Hanging here and there on the wires, emitting sporadic flashes of color as they drifted in unseen air currents, were bits of left over Christmas tinsel. On the opposite wall were four booths. All there was room for on that wall. Two more booths were jammed against the wall to the left of the entrance. Straight ahead was a shiny new jukebox with colored lights flashing and from its speakers Bobby Vinton was moaning over the verses of Roses are Red. The empty center of the room was the largest part of the room and was obviously a dance floor of minuscule portions, about the size of two chow hall tables pushed together.
As Brad's vision improved he started to distinguish the differences in the various human forms scattered about the bar. Standing just by the bar and what appeared to be the back door was an older woman who when she spoke, the younger women sitting on the bars stools answered immediately and with the tone of deference the Japanese use when addressing a person of authority. Four or five GIs, one in Navy dress whites, were sitting in the booths with at least one girl hanging on to each of them. There were two scruffy middle aged men sitting on the end of the bar closest to the entrance.
Merchant seamen. Brad decided when he passed behind them on his way to the far end of the bar where Mike was already talking to one of the bar girls.
The young girl who had been standing at the far end of the bar approached Mike and Brad but before she could ask what would be their pleasure, Mike spoke up.
"Brad this is Kimiko. Junko's eldest daughter and a terrific bartender."
Kimiko looked like she was barely eighteen and a beauty in anybody's eye anywhere in the world. Her smile was naïve and had the open innocence of a child. Her dark almond shaped eyes showed her intelligence and quiet determination.
Brad listened as she spoke English with very little accent and each syllable seemed to flow easily from her lips. In contrast to the bar girls who wore butt tight 'dressy' clothes and heels, Kim wore a simple, light blue, school girlish, cotton blouse and snug, not tight, Wrangler jeans and soft leather oxfords.
For the biggest share of the early evening Brad sat quietly at the bar with Mike and his girl. He slowly drank a couple of C/Cs with kori mizu while Mike was busily trying to fix himself up with the nesan. Obviously he had no intentions of sleeping by himself tonight.
"Slow music. So we can dance." Kim said as she came out from behind the bar and turned him towards her with a gentle touch to his waist. "We can dance to this".
Her shiny black hair was down to the middle of her back and was silky under his hand. Soon he slipped his fingers up under the silky waves. She smelled clean with a hint of perfume from her shampoo teasing his sense of smell. The warmth of her body and the firm feel of her small breasts against Brad’s chest made him realize how hungry he was for a woman's company. He let his right hand slowly caress her back and drew her a bit closer. Her back was smooth, there were no straps to hinder his caresses.
Cool it you idiot. She's just a kid who wants more out of life than what she has. Brad’s mind was lazily drifting through his options as they held each other and slowly moved in time to the romantic sounds of Perry Como crooning Wanted.
Get to know her. Find out what she wants besides a ticket to the States.
"Kimiko-chan!" It wasn't exactly a shout, but it was firm and full of meaning. Even someone who didn't know would have no problem figuring out what Junko wanted.
Kim lifted her head from his shoulder. "I must help my mother. Don't go away, Brad."
Hand in hand they walked back to the end of the bar. Kim's right hip pressed against him with each step they took sending a resurgence of feelings coursing through him.
I want her.
Before she stepped around behind the bar she looked up into his eyes. Her smile was gentle and her eyes held a promise he could only have wished for an hour ago.
"You, my friend, are a threat to Junko's plans for her lovely daughter. She wants Kim to be a doctor, not the wife, or worse, the whore of a drunken GI."
"She hates us, huh?"
"I don't think it's exactly hate, Brad." Mike answered. "More like she's using us and it's by her rules. Which means no Kim. She'll try to set you up with one of the other girls after she sends Kimiko upstairs. If you go for it, she'll have won and you will no longer be a threat. The lady is no fool. She started out as a suck-a-hache mama-san in a short time house and now owns a very nice little bar with about twelve girls in debt to her."
"Whoa, whoa! Short time house?" Brad asked. "I've heard the term, but never really thought about it."
"Some bars, massage parlors and whorehouses are called 'short time'. For two dollars a girl will have sex, give you a hand job, or suck you off. Then she tells you how good in bed you were as she's pushing you out the back door while another GI is coming in the front door. All in the space of about ten minutes. This was where the not so good looking, not so personable girls, or over-the-hill women end up."
"How come you know so much about her and Kim, Mike?"
"I was drinking with some of the marines from the NAF security forces the first week I was here. Their Gunny has been stationed all over Okinawa. His first duty station on the island was Camp Butler and he used to hang out in Kin village. Back then, in the early 1950s, most of the bars weren't there. There were just thrown together shacks for bars and skivvie houses to service the Marines and Seabees. Junko worked in one of the short-time houses. The Gunny said that she worked her way up from on her knees and stashed enough dinero to get this place"
Just a short acquaintance with Junko would tell anybody that she did in fact keep a tight rein on her intelligent and free thinking daughter and was not going to let any GI get close to Kimiko without one hell of a fight.
"I'm hungry. Do you want to go get a steak before we shack up for the weekend?" Branch asked Brad.
“That sounds like a good plan, Mike." Brad answered. A short while ago he had watched Kim give him a small smile and wave before she went upstairs after a short but heated discussion with her mother. He was sure that he wouldn't see her again tonight.
"Yeh. Maybe you can get laid in the Clover, you sure aren't going to get any here tonight."
"Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate your confidence in me. As I remember it was your idea for me to put the rush on Kim." Brad turned back towards Mike with a smile and a bit of hot blood rushed through him as he recalled the feeling of Kim's young firm body against him.
"So now you feel obliged to take me out and get me laid, huh? You're a great guy, but no. Hell no, thank you. From now on I'll find my own women to fall in love with.
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