Sayonara by James A. Michener Read Free Book Online

friend’s hand. Then he explained the new rule and joshed the troublemaker into leaving, but the first Marine now realized that General Webster and his party were in the room. He was aghast. Quickly he shooed the slim Japanese girl out the door and came over to our table and said briskly, “I’m extremely sorry, sir. I thought they were kidding me.”
    “It’s all right,” the general laughed.
    “I’m extremely sorry, Mrs. Webster.”
    She was most gracious and the general felt good. He said, “Lieutenant Bailey, may I introduce Major Gruver. He joins your board next week.”
    The Marine said, “We’ve heard about you. Seven MIGs?”
    I winked and he said, “We could use you.” He bowed and left and the general said, “Somehow or other you’ve got to respect the Marines. They’re publicity hounds but they know what discipline means.”
    Mrs. Webster said, “It’s not that I dislike Japanese. Goodness, they’re wonderful people. So clever and all that. Even in the short time I’ve been here they’ve shown me unusual courtesies. But a conquering army must retain its dignity.”
    “I agree,” the general said, “but those yokels in Washington say we’ve got to woo them now. Nancy, you ought to read the directives I get!”
    “I approve one hundred percent!” Mrs. Webster insisted. “Japan is now a free country. We must woo them to our side but we must also remember our position. And be firm.” Ignoring the fat major, she proceeded to eat her dinner with relish.

EILEEN WEBSTER :
“I could never consent to live the barren life your mother did.”
    O n Friday Mrs. Webster gave striking proof that she really did like the Japanese—if they kept their place. She and Eileen called for me about noon and drove me a short distance out into the country in the black Cadillac. Mrs. Webster said, “I have a real treat for you, Lloyd. We’re going to Takarazuka.”
    “Where?” I asked.
    “Takarazuka,” she repeated slowly.
    “What’s that?”
    “For one thing it’s a village with a delightful zoo. But it’s also something especially Japanese.”
    “For instance?”
    “You’ll be amazed!”
    In a few minutes we entered the Japanese village of Takarazuka. At the head of an extremely narrow lane we got out and walked into a kind of fairyland. For it was now mid-April and the path ahead of us was lined with cherry trees and I had never seen such trees before. The blossoms were extraordinarily profuse, a kind of grayish, sandy purple, rich and delicate. Laden branches dipped down over us and the blue sky of spring showed through. The walk was filled with people hurrying beneath the blossoms to some destination I couldn’t see.There were women in kimonos, young girls in bobbysocks, old men in black, babies in bright clothes and half a dozen brilliantly beautiful girls in a kind of green dress that swirled about their ankles as they walked.
    “Who are they?” I gasped.
    “Those are the Takarazuka girls,” Mrs. Webster explained.
    “What’s that mean?”
    “The most famous collection of girls in Japan.”
    “What do they do?”
    “That’s the big surprise.”
    But I wasn’t to find out for some time because she led us down the flowered lane past scores of little shops that sold mementoes of the village, past old trees that offered shade and past minute restaurants at whose doors women stood offering cheap food. We were in the heart of Japan and Mrs. Webster was enjoying herself as much as any Japanese.
    We had gone only a short distance when a thin young man in black joined us and bowed very low, drawing breath in through his teeth. “Many, many pardons,” he said. “I was waiting for you at the main office.” He took us to the zoo, where there were beautiful lakes and flower beds and charming benches on which you could sit beneath the cherry blossoms and watch children play.
    The young man asked in good English, “Are you the pilot who shot down seven MIGs?” He was impressed and said,