Her blond hair blowing in the wind, I embraced my sweetheart of 40 years. We stood in front of one of the three remaining operational Japanese Zero fighter aircraft complete with Rising Sun insignia. At an annual air show it dogfights with a vintage American plane and trails smoke to signal its loss from a generator fitted to its fuselage. It is a study in contrast and cultural change that has occurred in Japan and America.
Noriko is from Yaeyama, an island South of Okinawa where men of her father’s age drilled to fight an American invasion with bamboo sticks. Fortunately, Yaeyama was not invaded, but Okinawa was quite another issue. I met her in the USO in Naha, Okinawa in 1964 where she was practicing English and we took Sunday tours with our friends to various sites around the island. I was very well received by all and although there were cultural differences and the fighting had been fearsome, Americans were well respected and appreciated for the help and consideration we provided after the war ended. In fact, many went out of their way to help me when I traveled in countries where I did not know the local language. Somehow with dictionaries we exchanged nouns and with rudimentary language skills we communicated in a most basic form. And most importantly, we enjoyed each other’s company.
At that time I took a trip to Kagoshima, a city in Southern Japan. I had reserved a space in a special second class room on the main deck of a Japanese ship. We had a picturesque view of the sea through house-type windows of our room. Several passengers were already there and soon there would be a dozen of us—I was the only non-Japanese. It was to be a 24-hour trip and I had no idea what food would be served so I brought along some fruit. Each of us found a spot on the carpeted floor as in the style there was no furniture. I was hungry and I offered some fruit to my fellow passengers—one accepted.
A Japanese man had visited his parents in Okinawa and was returning to his home in Hiroshima where he was a steelworker in a ship building yard. His English was as good as my Japanese—quite limited. As it turned out we went around together on the ship and Kagoshima. We bought tickets on the same train as I was going to Tokyo.
In the dining car I decided that it was my turn as he had paid our way in Kagoshima including a taxi tour with a driver and uniformed female guide. After dinner and a second beer the waitress placed the bill with laser-like precision between us. With lightning swiftness I snatched it. But, before I could get away he had my wrist in a vise like grip and there was little I could do but relent and release the precious bill. So I asked, “Why, its my turn?” He struggled with language and we exchanged dictionaries. He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and wrote, “You have no house in my country.” I was his guest.
We didn’t exchange addresses, but I wondered why he had spent so much for a stranger and then I thought that perhaps an American soldier had helped his parents in Okinawa after the war. It had been a time of famine and the basics of life were totally lacking as in so much of Japan.
I am delighted that President Obama and the new administration are doing their best to bridge international gaps of understanding caused by cultural differences and antagonisms. It is truely the Christian, Moslem, and human thing to do.
