Fragments and Figments

Speaking of the citizen soldier in wartime, the distinguished journalist, Vermont Royster, once wrote: "For those who survive, terrible though it may be to say so, the experience is not only unforgettable but for many unmatched... "

Such experience includes not only the barracks and the battlefield but the barroom and the brothel. For the citizen soldier in his newfound brotherhood, far from kirk and kin, sinning comes easier. While war disciplines him at work with harsh new rules, it loosens him at play from inhibiting old ones. Suddenly there are no Ten Commandments, only four: thou shalt not be cowardly, disloyal, disobedient, or incompetent at thy trade. Everyone, as Royster implies, does not survive this harsh and heady experience; and no one, he might have added, knows who will.

During the Korean War I was an amphibian pilot in the Thirty-ninth Air Rescue Squadron. Its main mission was to pick up fighter pilots who had bailed out over enemy waters. The squadron’s aircrews rotated every couple of weeks between Ashiya, Japan, where they were permanently assigned, and Seoul, Korea, where they flew their combat missions. The contrast between the two places was stark. At Seoul the crewmembers lived in tents, slept on army cots, ate from mess kits, used outdoor latrines, and went without baths. In summer dust, flies, and heat plagued them; and in winter the terrible cold numbed them, even freezing the kerosene lines to their heaters. But worst of all, fear, like invisible germs, filled the air, poisoning everything. In contrast, at Ashiya, which had been a Japanese fighter base during World War II, the crews had all the amenities of home. In addition, Ashiya sat by the sea on Japan’s southern island. As a result it had mild winters, pleasant summers, and a lovely white beach. Best of all, when crewmembers were there, their duties were light and their fears forgotten. And so returning to Ashiya from Seoul was like going on a soldier’s holiday.

When I stepped awkwardly through her door and dripped water on her floor, her whole manner toward me suddenly changed. While remaining polite and modest, she became extremely solicitous about my miserable condition, like a mother hen clucking over a droopy chick. ‘Please to take off your wet clothes,’ she said in a matter of fact way. I knew I had reached my Rubicon. After a moment’s hesitation, I plunged in. It was almost as if she had cast some magic spell over me.

She gave me a leisurely and luxurious hot bath, messaging my neck and shoulders with her strong, graceful fingers until all the tightness from my anger was kneaded away. Then she dressed me in a kimono and sat me in front of the hibachi where she was cooking sukiyaki. The aroma was tantalizing. While she cooked, she kept refilling my cup with warm saki. I can’t tell you how blissful I felt. After supper she came and sat by me, putting her tiny hand in mine. Entranced, I thought about Kipling’s line from Mandalay, ‘I’ve a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!’ Finally I cupped her beautiful face in my hands, studied it for a long time, and then kissed it, first tenderly then hungrily."

"You lonely long time, Hanahan?"

"Yes," I replied, "a long time." Standing, she took my hand and led me to a pallet in the corner of the room.

That’s how it all began; that’s how I entered this strange new world of undreamed of delights. Looking back, I think lust and curiosity, not any letter or rain led me to her bed. Subconsciously I had already made the decision to go there.