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No one said anything as they continued eating and I just sat there nervously waiting for the "hammer to fall" and the father to start questioning me. One thing I observed was that there was no silverware on the table and no one used a spoon while drinking the soup. They just drank it directly from the bowl and picked out some food with their chopsticks. Weird, I thought. I also found it amazing how expertly they ate their rice and fish with the chop sticks as I had never observed up close a whole family eating with these utensils.

The mother placed the cup of coffee next to me and placed a small container of milk and a small bowl of sugar next to the coffee along with a spoon. I mixed the sugar and milk into the cup and took a sip. WOW! Talk about strong coffee. She must’ve put in a lot of coffee or this is the most concentrated coffee I ever drank as I was used to "weak" American coffee. I sipped at the hot coffee which burned my lips.

The mother sat down and said something to Sachiko. I heard the words "Zama" and "Joe" and I looked at Sachiko. She immediately said that her mother wanted to know my name and where I was stationed. They went on talking and then the father spoke and the three of them began speaking while I just sipped my coffee. I did understand the phrase "Ah soo" that the father said a few times indicating that he was saying "Is that right?" I figured that he was questioning Sachiko about me. Damn, I have to learn this language I thought.

For about the next 15 minutes I got the 20 question routine about where I was born, my family, what did I think of Japan, how long I was here and when I would leave; did I like Japanese food, what I did at the base, etc., etc. As the parents asked, Sachiko translated. Even though I told her the answers to most of their questions the previous night, I politely answered. The brother didn’t say anything.

By now, the caffeine from the coffee started to kick in and I was getting quite a buzz. The father looked at me and asked a direct question in Japanese. I looked at Sachiko and she said, "My father wants to know if you have to work today or tomorrow." I answered that no, I didn’t. She translated, her father answered, and then she said, "My father wants to know if you will stay again tonight and have dinner with us?"

What? I was really taken aback at this. It was not what I expected. This was all so fascinating and interesting that I told her that, yes, I would. I wasn’t doing anything anyway. Besides, I thought, this would be a great way to get to know the Japanese people and their customs. I may never get a chance like this again. I’m really in an actual Japanese house with real Japanese people. They seemed to be really nice and not the least bit angry or upset that I had spent the night in their daughters’ room. They talked and acted as if they’d known me all their life. What a great country this is, I thought, as I sipped my coffee. And kind of weird too.

For some unknown reason that I cannot explain, I began to feel at ease and comfortable in this small kitchen and with the people around me whom I had known for a little over thirty minutes. They really made me feel welcome and I felt as if I "belonged" there if that makes any sense.

What I didn’t know at the time, was, that this was the weekend I was being introduced to the Japanese culture and their way of life. It was the beginning of a love affair with a country, her people and customs that continues to this day and would change my life forever and send me in a whole new direction. There are a few important so-called "turning points" in one’s life and this was one of them.

After a while, the father and brother got up, put on their coats and left. Her father was tall for a Japanese man. I estimated his height at about 6 ft. I was right as he was actually a little under 2 meters. Now I knew why his daughter was so tall for a Japanese woman.

Sachiko mentioned that they were going to work. I was later told that the father had his own plumbing business, a three man operation, and was contracted to do various work in Yokohama and Tokyo.

After they left I silently breathed a sigh of relief. Sachiko and her mother began to clean off the table, leaving the pickles, and the mother began washing the dishes in the sink. Sachiko sat down across from me, poured herself some green tea, and I asked her about her sister. She said that she was at work and worked for a major hotel near Yokohama station. Her brother was a senior in high school and would be working with his father full-time after graduation this month.

After the mother finished, she asked again if I was hungry. By this time I had calmed down, my breathing returned to normal and, yes, I was hungry. Sachiko asked if I wanted what they had.

Fish for breakfast? Those colored pickles and that black paper? Rice? No way, I thought. I can’t eat that for breakfast.

I asked her if she had any eggs and toast. She replied that she did and the mother made me a couple of fried eggs with what was the thickest toast I had ever had ever seen. It must’ve been a half an inch thick. But it was the freshest, softest, and best tasting toast I’d ever eaten. I was surprised that bread this thick could fit into a toaster. Man was it good. I asked her if she made it herself and she laughed and said that it was store bought. This store bought?

I was also given a bowl of a cloudy, brownish soup with cubes of some white stuff and onions. I was to later learn that this was miso (fermented soy bean paste) soup with tofu. The tofu was tasteless and reminded me of soft Jello, but the soup was delicious. Sachiko laughed as I ate the soup with a spoon as I was accustomed to. She explained that, in Japan, you just bring the bowl up to your mouth and drink it and eat the food inside with chopsticks or a spoon. Cool, I thought. It was a lot easier and less tedious than eating it with a spoon even though I was awkward with the chopsticks. I asked for more.

The bowls of pickles were in front of me and Sachiko asked that I try some. I picked out a green one and tasted it. Man was it salty. But being a salt freak anyway I enjoyed it. I then tried the yellow one. It was also salty, but a little less tasty and man did it stink. The odor reminded me of dirty feet. I only had one of those. The cabbage was also salty and tasted better with a little soy sauce that Sachiko put on it. She then asked if I wanted any rice. Rice? For breakfast? I politely declined. I had never eaten rice for breakfast before. However, one thing I distinctly noticed was that all the Japanese food was salty.

I finished it up and the mother made me another cup of coffee. All in all it was a pretty decent first semi-Japanese breakfast with my first taste of miso soup, tofu, and Japanese pickles. However, the best was yet to come.

To be continued……

She asked me to get undressed and I complied. I started to shiver as I shyly took off my clothes and placed them on the floor next to the futon. She eased herself into the futon next to her sister and patted mine with her hand suggesting that I get in. I got in next to her and remember how warm her body felt next to mine. I also remember how heavy the "blankets" felt and soon I was warm. There was a clock on the floor and the time was 2:25am.

I was still so confused that I just laid there, staring at the little bulb in the lamp on the ceiling, kind of sober now, and wondering if this is normal in Japan. Do people here sleep together; sisters and strange men in the same room? What if I were a rapist or madman? How could someone trust someone they just met so easily?

I slipped my arm under her neck. She draped her arm across my chest, snuggled her head into my shoulder, said "good night" and was soon asleep. Me, I just lay awake for a while fascinated that I was actually in a foreign country, in a real Japanese house, and "in bed" with two Japanese women. Who’s ever going to believe this and that nothing happened? Before finally falling asleep myself, I tried to figure out this weird turn of events and this strange country and customs.

What I thought would be a wild, abandoned night of wild sex with a beautiful woman was anything but. And if you think I was shocked by her sister and all of us sleeping in the same room, that was nothing compared to what I experienced the next morning.

I awoke the next morning and it was light and cold. Man was it cold. It was so cold that I could see my breath. Did I say how cold it was? I realized I was alone in the room and I sat up and looked to the right. There was no bedding where I thought her sister was sleeping the previous night; just the futon where Sachiko was sleeping and an empty pillow. I racked my brain, wondering if there really was another woman sleeping there the night before besides the one who took me home or was it all just my imagination and the alcohol.

I lay back down and brought the futon up to my neck to get warm again. Here I was a foreigner in a strange country, in a strange room, thinking that, yes, I did meet a woman last night and she did take me home. Her sister was sleeping in the same room. There was a strange toilet. It was cold. We drank some beer in the kitchen. "Dee Da Dee Da Dee Da Dee Da", I could here the theme from the "Twilight Zone" going through my head as I stared at the ceiling trying to get my bearings. Yes, I am actually in a Japanese house and this is no dream.

I sat back up in the futon and looked around. The room was bare save for a tall chest in the corner and a small square table next to it. To my left were two wide, frosted on the bottom and clear on the top, sliding windows with the curtains open that led to what seemed like an outside garden. The windows went three quarters to the ceiling and took up almost the length of the room on that side. I noticed it was cloudy outside. Between the room and the windows was a narrow patch of polished brown wood about 3 or 4 feet wide that stretched the length of the room. I leaned over and noticed that it led to another sliding door that probably led to another room. In fact I could see that room to the left from the windows. Directly in front of me were what I assumed to be the sliding doors from the hallway and kitchen. To the right were two more sliding doors that held the bedding. Behind me, in the corner, was what looked like a small make-up table with a mirror. I looked at the floor and it seemed to be yellow straw mats with green boarders. I didn’t know it then, but it was an eight tatami mat room. One thing I remember thinking was that all the doors and windows slid open. It was just odd to me.

I distinctly heard voices from behind the door in front of me. I eased out of the futon towards the doors and looked at the clock on the floor. The time was 8:40am. On my knees I gently opened the sliding door a bit and peered down the hallway towards the kitchen. I saw an older woman sitting at the table and Sachiko seated next to her. The older woman looked my way and I quickly closed the door.

Holy Shit! What the hell is this? I thought. Who in God’s name is that older woman? Is it her mother? No way, I thought. Maybe it’s her older sister, but she looked too old. I then heard a man’s voice and instantly thought, "Fuck! This is her parents house! I’m dead now. They’ll kill me."

A thousand thoughts ran through my head and my heart raced as I tried to figure a way out of there. Hell, I didn’t even know what city I was in and, even if I did slip out, I wouldn’t even know how to get back to the base!

Can you imagine how dumbfounded, confused and scared I was at this point? I mean, here I meet a great looking woman who takes me home, and, expecting a great night of bliss, I find her sister in the bedroom. Then there are these strange people in the kitchen when I wake up and they are probably her parents! Yikes! In the states I would be dead man for sure.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was only about a minute, the sliding door opened and Sachiko entered. "Good morning", she said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Sleep shit", I said. "Who are those people out there?" I said in an almost panic. I could feel my heart beating against my chest I was so anxious.

"Oh, my family. You want eat something?" she said as calmly as can be.

"No! I don’t want anything to eat! Just get me out of here please. Why didn’t you tell me you lived with your parents?"

She answered to the effect that she didn’t think it mattered or that I wouldn’t mind. I can’t remember exactly what her answer was.

I went on to tell her that in my country, this just didn’t happen. It was not cool to take a man home for the night without meeting the family first. Besides, a father would never allow a strange man to sleep in the same room with his daughter, let alone two daughters even if he knew him!

She laughed and explained that everything was ok. This is Japan she explained, and unlike the US, she assured me her parents would not be angry or upset. She then asked that I get dressed and come into the kitchen.

After I calmed down a bit, I began to believe her and nervously got dressed while thinking "What the hell did I get myself into here? What kind of country is this?" I began to shiver and got into my clothes as quickly as I could while she neatly folded up the mattress and futons and placed them into the closet with the sliding doors. Pretty neat, I thought. Now the room looked quite large. She then placed the small table in the center of the room and waited for me to dress.

I sat on the floor and slipped on my socks. Then I stood up and readied myself to meet my fate. I had no idea what to expect, but man was I nervous and man was it cold!

To Be Contuinued…..

Part 1

March 16, 1973. Friday night. Party time!!

I was stationed at Camp Zama, a small US Army base (actually it was kind of a country club when it comes to military bases) located south of Tokyo along the Odakyu train line. I had only been in Japan about five weeks when I met Sachiko. (To protect the innocent, that was not her real name.) We met at a night spot in the Honmoku section of Yokohama where servicemen from the Navy and Army hung out to party and, with any luck, meet Japanese women as they were known to frequent this place and it was one of the "hot spots" for meeting them. It wasn’t a hostess bar or anything. It was just a place for drinking, maybe do a little dancing, and listen to some American music, and was opened until 4 am. They also served pizza, fries, ramen and such.

I had made Sachiko’s acquaintance maybe once or twice before during my previous visits, but this was the first time we had a real opportunity to meet and talk. She was remarkably good looking and was quite tall for a Japanese woman at 5′ 6", with long, straight, jet-black hair. How we exactly got together I can’t remember. I just remember us sitting at a table across from each other. Maybe we were introduced or I asked her to dance. For the life of me I can’t remember.

Anyway, my Japanese was nil at that time, but luckily her English was fair and we held a pretty decent conversation. We talked about the usual things one does when first meeting a person and, when the question of age came up, I told her I was 22. (Actually I had turned 18 about three months prior, and probably looked 16!). She had just turned 21. I had heard from friends that if you told a Japanese woman you were younger than they, that you would probably lose any chance with them as they preferred men the same age or older. I was told that that was the way it was in Japan. Since she was so good looking, I lied.

Anyway, we danced and talked the night away and hit it off pretty well. The songs I distinctly remember that we danced to were "Color my World" by Chicago, and the everlasting "Ebb Tide" by The Righteous Brothers. They are what the Japanese call "cheek songs". We also had something to eat and I clearly recall that I really loved the "spaghetti soup" as I called it then. I was so green to Japan that I didn’t even know that it was called "ramen" and I never even had the pleasure of eating it before.

As time wore on she asked me what I was doing that night and I said I didn’t know. "Maybe go back to Zama with my friends as they have the car", I told her. She then asked me if I would like to come to her place to spend the night. Silently pinching myself and thanking all gods past, present, and future, I thought, hell yes! "Sure", I told her.

Remember, this is the first night I got to know this woman and she was inviting me to her place for the night! However, don’t jump ahead here as Japanese culture is distinctly different as I was soon to find out, and things are not usually what you expect, especially in this case.

We continued talking and dancing till about midnight when she suggested that we leave. I informed my friends that I would be leaving with Sachiko and would find my way back to the base tomorrow - or Sunday if things went "really well".

We went up the stairs and hailed a cab. It was maybe a half hour or so ride at that hour of night from Yokohama to where she lived (about 15-20 miles). Being the gentleman, I paid the cab fare. It was about 3,000 odd yen. Cabs were cheap back then. At that time yen was 300/US$1 and the cab fare only cost about US$10. Today that same ride, at that hour, would cost about 10-20,000 yen! US$100-200!!

We were let off on a dark, narrow main thoroughfare where we walked down a narrow path lit by thin fluorescent street lights and past quite a few houses on both sides that were closer than any houses I had ever seen. They seemed to be right on top of each other. A dog barked at us from one of the houses and I remember thinking that either she was wealthy and owned her own house, or her apartment was way in the back. After what seemed like a full minutes walk we came upon a house that was so close to two other houses that you could probably touch the other houses from the window or something. "Cool", I thought. "She owns her own house".

She put the key in and slid open the sliding frosted glass doors which made quite a racket. She put her finger to her lips and said "Shhh". We went into the genkan, entranceway, and I followed behind her. The genkan was lit by a really dim light bulb that was probably 5 or 10 watts. She whispered to me to take off my shoes and took out some slippers from what looked like a box on the left and placed them on the floor about a foot above where we were standing. I took off my shoes wondering why she was whispering and we stepped into the slippers and up into the house. The Japanese really do take off their shoes in the house, I remember thinking.

This was my first experience with anything of real Japanese culture. Prior to this day I had only visited gaijin bars, a restaurant or two, a love motel, rode the trains, but never really experienced any real Japanese culture never mind actually visiting a real Japanese house. Living on base was no different, culturally, than living in the states, except that many Japanese worked there.

The first thing I noticed was how cold it was. It seemed there was absolutely no heat in the house and the outside temperature was about 40 degrees F. There was a room off to the right that had its sliding doors closed and we entered the kitchen where she turned on the fluorescent light.

The kitchen was small (at least to me), with a stainless steel sink at the far end with a white contraption over it with a hose coming down. (This was the hot water heater.) To the right of the sink was the smallest, what I figured to be a stove, I had ever seen. It was just a silver thing with two burners. To my right was also what I assumed to be a refrigerator, but it also, was the smallest one I had ever seen. There was a brown table in the middle with five chairs that seemed to take up the whole room. To my left was a cabinet with dishes in it. To the left of the cabinet was a door that led to the outside. It seemed you had to step down to exit the door and there was a pair of slippers on the concrete floor in front of the door. The kitchen floor was polished brown wood. As I sat in one of the chairs Sachiko bent down to a funny looking metal contraption that I soon came to know as a kerosene heater. (I had never seen one before.) She turned a knob, lifted the flue and lit the wick with some wooden matches. The room started to smell of kerosene and she opened a window.

She asked if I wanted a beer and I said "Sure". I was already feeling the effects of the previous beers, but I didn’t care. I was just anticipating what was to come! I noticed there was clock on the wall above the sink. The time was 12:50am.

She opened the "toy refrigerator." I mean it was really small; maybe 4-5 ft tall and 3 ft wide. Compared to what I was used to, this was SMALL! She took out a large bottle of Kirin beer, placed it on the table, opened up a cabinet and brought out two glasses. She retrieved a bottle opener from a drawer, opened the beer and poured it into the glasses. She then took out some packages from a cabinet and put the contents into a plate and a small bowl. She told me the white stuff was dried squid and that the small brown things were rice crackers with peanuts. Squid! I had never eaten the stuff before and was quite repulsed at the thought. We sat facing each other and drank the beer while having small talk. The room started to heat up and I welcomed the warmth as we both still had on our coats.

I glanced around the room and realized that this place seemed quite old. The walls and ceiling were faded from age and I also found it odd that there was no central heating. Maybe she’s poor and can’t afford it, I thought. I didn’t know at the time that 99% of Japanese houses in this area of Japan didn’t have central heating like I was used to in the US. Anyway, I was just amazed and dumbfounded that I was actually sitting in a real Japanese house with an extremely beautiful Japanese woman. Talk about a culture shock!

I asked her if this was her place and she said that no, it wasn’t; it was her parents house. Thinking that her parents owned the house and she just lived there, I didn’t give it much thought. I mean how many women would take a strange man they just met home to their parent’s house? She urged me to try the squid and I reluctantly gave it a try. Hmm, I thought, a little salty and fishy, but not bad. Not bad at all. While we talked I noticed that she kind of kept her voice down and I did the same thinking that maybe the neighbors might hear us or something.

After a while I mentioned to her that I had to go to the bathroom and she directed me to a hallway behind me. She turned on a light to the left and said it was here. She slid open the door and motioned to the slippers on the floor and I stepped out of my "house slippers" into the "toilet slippers". (These are the special slippers, usually vinyl, that are located in every almost every Japanese restroom in Japan. Please, whatever you do while in Japan, do not forget to step into these slippers! It’s akin to a sacrilege if you don’t!

I entered the room, closed the door behind me and was surprised at what I encountered. The room was really small, maybe 4ft x 4ft and was dimly lit by a really small light bulb. The walls were brown wood and there was a small porcelain Japanese toilet on the floor over an open hole that had water in it. I mean it was flush with the floor. Although the hole was small, the "depository" must’ve been about a meter square and about 2 meters deep.

Man did it smell horrible in there. And it was cold! I had never been in a "real" Japanese restroom before. Sure, I had seen Japanese toilets in the bars and such, but they were always the flush type. I’ve heard of outhouses in the states, but growing up in New York City I never saw one before. I guess you’d call this an "inhouse".

Even though there were about three or four ball type ammonia type air fresheners tacked to the wall, I still had to hold my breath as I deposited my "beer" into the hole. I mean you could see "everything" down there. I didn’t know how one would do "Number 2", but I soon found out that you had to take everything out of your back pockets and squat! If not, you would probably lose your wallet. I was really amazed at this new experience of no flush toilets. Later on I discovered that, at that time, that less than 50% of Japanese dwellings had flush toilets.

Anyway, I finished my business and went back into the kitchen. Not realizing I still had on the bathroom slippers she laughed and said I shouldn’t wear them outside of the restroom. She brought them back to their proper place and brought me the "house slippers". She then got a cloth from the sink, wetted it and proceeded to clean the floor where I had walked from the restroom to the kitchen. I remember thinking to myself that I had really made a mistake and that the Japanese really must value cleanliness. No shoes in the house and separate slippers for the restroom. One thing I really noticed was that I didn’t smell anything from the restroom. How strange, I thought.

We continued talking and I discovered that she was the fourth of five children. She had two older sisters who were married to US Navy men that used to be stationed at Yokosuka. One was living in the US, and the other was in Europe where her husband was stationed. Looking at her and realizing how pretty she was, I remember thinking, "maybe you¡Çll be number 3". She also had another older sister who was still single and a younger brother who was about my age. She was the fourth of five children. I guess that after the parents finally had a son they stopped. She also worked as a bank teller during the day.

We talked for about an hour over another beer and I really enjoyed the squid and rice crackers. Then it was time for bed. Finally! She turned off the kerosene heater and I followed her through the small hallway, past the restroom, where she opened another set of sliding doors into a room that was dimly lit by a tiny bulb in the lamp hanging from the ceiling. We took off our slippers before entering the room which felt strange to my feet. I had never felt tatami mats before. When my eyes adjusted to the light, what I saw in that room stunned the hell out of me!

(To be Continued)