After three days one would have thought the jet lag had worn off. However, they remained once again inert on top of the mattress, unable to muster the effort to shake the covers off. It was a dry yet warm August day, and Fumiko's eyes blinked rhythmically in order to ward off the sleep. Her bed was a circular mattress with lavender colors and they were covered in a velvety purple blanket.
"Baby, we eat now?" she asked in her gentle tone to the figure lying prone to her right. The shock of jet black hair moved and Fumiko once again viewed the delicate dark features of Sonya, pencil thin eyebrows, a small nose, lips curved upward in a sleepy smirk, and those pools of dark irises. The two ladies finally rose and Fumiko walked over to the window to open the blinds, oblivious to the fact that she was standing stark naked, her thin wiry frame clearly visible against the now well-lit beige walls.
She and Sonya pulled on their underwear and bras and threw on kimonos. They walked down the hallway of the Shinjiros' one-level house, one following after the other, and entered the kitchen. There stood Fumiko's mother, Ai, a shorter woman in her mid-fifties with short hair in a ponytail wearing a button down shirt and suit pants. The older woman was standing over a pan making a fish fry for breakfast.
Fumiko and Sonya had decided to use their spring break period to visit Okinawa Island. Already firmly cemented together in Oklahoma, they were now eagerly exploring the full aspects of eachother's dimensions. Fumiko had been queasy on the plane thinking about the type of reception she would receive from her family. But those doubts had been dispelled upon Sonya's charming first encounter with her parents. Although her father had by now become mostly indifferent to Fumiko's whims, Ai gladly took to her daughter's companion, amused at how unfamiliar yet curious she was toward Japanese etiquette. She quipped once on the first day that it was like raising a whole new daughter.
"What are you thinking of doing today?" Ai asked her daughter.
"I think that Sonya isn't adjusted yet to our complete way of life. We might go to the base district and try to enjoy some of their entertainment." Fumiko was referring to the area of town closest to where Americans were stationed, a recreational district full of soldiers and the Okinawans and Japanese who catered to their off-duty needs.
Ai glanced up. "You want to go there? That seems a bit rowdy. She isn't at all curious about the north beach?"
Fumiko frowned. Her mother, like many locals, was wary of the excesses of the off-duty Americans, who were known to get hammered in town. Also, even daylight hours weren't always safer, as servicemen tended to receive round the clock hours for their days of leave. Military cops commonly walked the beat there so as to mop up any sailor, airman, or soldier who was making a fool out of himself and wearing out the welcome among the locals. Nevertheless, every year or so there would be some scandal wherein a service person was arrested by Japanese police for some indiscretion.
"No, mother, I think we'll be all right. Besides, we're only going to the Kempei Lounge," she said reassuringly. This particular bar was less risky than others, because it was favored by higher-end civilian clients as well as commissioned officers and career servicemen. After breakfast, Fumiko and Sonya gathered a backpack that included mp3 players and some magazines they'd both picked for the ride over.
The bus, as usual in this country, arrived at the exact time listed, 11:20 AM, and the girls ascended stairs and sat with their backs to the front. Along the way Fumiko mentioned to Sonya whenever they passed a place of interest. The places they passed included a public park, a luxury hotel, and eventually an industrial district, but finally they alighted in a district with flashing digital signs advertising many tourist products.
Fumiko and Sonya walked hand in hand over to a rather unfurnished building with an extinguished sign that showed a martini glass with an olive placed in a V shape adjacent to a highball glass. In script letters the caption "Kempei Lounge" appeared under the image.
Upon entering they were greeted by a rather subdued scene, although even at this daylight hour the bar was rather well packed with patrons. At one pool table played two airmen dressed in work overalls, probably members of a ground crew, and six of their buddies observed.
Other tables were occupied by diverse groups of Japanese and American personnel. One table even had a group of full-blown Japanese motorcycle punks, "bosozoku" as they are known, whose wheels were parked outside and displayed rising sun flags on their tails.
The booths in the bar were elevated blue velour lounge seats. In an isolated booth sat a black woman, probably also American, in a blue blazer with skirt to match. Sonya's glance lingered on this lone customer. Her presence seemed completely out of place, yet she could have been waiting for someone. Nevertheless, although she had caught Sonya's eye, she could have been a regular based on the lack of interest from other patrons. Fumiko led Sonya by hand away from that end of the bar once she recognized a couple of familiar faces of people she'd contacted.
The two who greeted them were a couple, Yoshiro, an islander, and Keiko, the daughter of mainlanders. Fumiko explained to Sonya that they'd grown up and spent many days on the sunny beaches together.
"Oh, so y'all are a bunch of beach bums, huh?" commented Sonya.
Fumiko widened her eyes at the unfamiliar expression, and Sonya had to explain to her what it meant, which also was repeated to Keiko and Yoshiro.
The three Japanese spoke in excited tones for a while, reviewing old times and catching up on lost ones. Sonya found herself growing bored and feeling left out. It was naturally refreshing to be able to order alcohol in a bar, whereas in Oklahoma she would've had to wait another fifteen months. Even though she felt it would appear pretentious, she amused herself by asking the cocktail waitress to bring her certain mixed drinks she'd heard about but never had a chance to try, such as a Pimm's Cup.
The alcohol helped her space out and ignore the incessant Japanese chatter going on around her. At one point however, she began to notice that the bosozoku gang had moved a few tables over and was now playing pool at a much nearer table, while others were amuzing themselves on a pachinko machine.
Fumiko and her friends remained oblivious to everything, as they cheerfully talked about a topic that was totally obscure to Sonya. Occasionally, they would address a question to Sonya in halting English, and this was far less intelligible than Fumiko's. However, the rowdy behavior of the bosozuku was beginning to truly distract Sonya. They were shouting at each other, and it didn't take someone with a working knowledge of Japanese to know that most of it was vulgarisms.
At one point Sonya glanced up from her drink, and to her consternation realized that the group of motorcycle punks was throwing casual glances their way. She furrowed her brow, and decided to continue ignoring their irritating behavior. But this was of no relevance; finally one of the group sauntered towards them and sized up each one. Although of above normal height for a Japanese, Sonya estimated him to be of only about five feet nine inches. He wore a leather jacket emblazoned with all manner of gang symbols, and his hair was smooth and at lower neck length with blond highlights. The punk spoke slow and taunting spouts of Japanese, apparently toward Yoshiro. Fumiko, and Keiko stared back and forth between the two men, and Sonya had a helpless look on her face, completely unaware of what was going on.
Yoshiro sputtered a series of curses back at the punk and motioned for him to leave, but by then the rest of the bosozoku, four in all now towered over their table. They beckoned Yoshiro to stand up and confront them. "Sonya, there is a problem," commented Fumiko, as if there was any need. "We must run if we get a chance." But before they knew it Yoshiro had leaped up and was charging at the lead motorcycle punk. The two grappled on the floor. The lanky and passive Yoshiro clearly had no prospect of winning, even against the first man he had attacked. Yet he was still able to get his hits in, and even succeeded in stunning the first man with a haymaker while they grappled on the floor. However, the other three were able to grab him, and they dragged him crudely toward double doors that lead to a restroom.
The three girls jumped to their feet and scurried after the thugs, Keiko screaming after them to release their friend. They rounded a corner and were in time to see the bosozoku slamming Yoshiro up against a profile mirror, hitting it at an odd angle. The mirror fractured with an ugly and ungraceful crunch, and a piece cascaded to the floor, while a spiderweb pattern developed on another part where Yoshiro's elbow had hit.
While one of the hoodlums held him at bay holding a straight razor against his neck (handguns are rare in Japan, a result of relentless police scrutiny), the other three turned around and began to creep up toward the girls. The narrow corridor now afforded the attackers with an opportunity to corner at least one of the girls, and that's exactly what happened:
Keiko, who was on the extreme left of the three, stuttered the words, "run, run! Get moving Fumiko!" But her friend was frozen in place, only turning when it was too late, and then buckling when Keiko ran straight into her.
Ironically, it was Sonya, who didn't understand Keiko's plea, who was able to sprint off and return to the main barroom. She glanced from side to side, and realized that she offered very little help to her companions. Even if she could find a cop, she would have no capability of conveying the urgency of her predicament to them. She glanced in the direction of the dwindling crowd of American military men on leave, and she felt a glimmer of hope. But before she could call any of them, a blur of black and blue stepped in front of her. On the face of this person was a determined glare.
"What sorta trouble you in, sugar?" inquired the woman in the blue blazer.
Sonya's visceral reaction to this question was one of irritation. Who was this bitch and why was she even interested in what was happening. But her gut quickly digested a hunch that this woman could be exactly who she needed to extract her and her friends from this predicament.
"You gotta follow me back. Lord knows what they're up to over there." The blazer lady followed her walking with confidence the heels of her shoes thumping on the floor with great resonance.They bounded with purpose back down the narrow hallway in time to see the punks drag Keiko back past the bathroom door.
