This Scorching Earth Read Free Page A

hold the un-Christian position of having her back to the Lord and Saviour.
    Mrs. Odawara gave her a long, hard look. She had her own opinion of outdated and reactionary Japanese customs and superstitions. "But, my dear Sonoko, she is American," she hissed.
    There was no denying the logic of her argument and, perhaps, a small prayer wouldn't hurt anything. Her own parents were sort of Shinto, and her brother had just recovered from a passing enthusiasm for Zen Buddhism—brought about by his judo practice and his Chinese-ink drawing lessons—but these feelings would certainly not preclude polite participation in a short, a very short prayer meeting. If only Mrs. Odawara didn't start on birth control. She couldn't stand that. It would be most rude, for after all, where would Miss Wilson have been if her parents had practiced birth control?
    "Yes," said her neighbor, for it seemed all settled now. "We will read a part of the Book of Exodus—Israel in Egypt, you know. It will have a contemporary flavor, quite befitting the presence of a member of the Advancing Forces." Unorthodox though she was, Mrs. Odawara had adopted the standard Japanese euphemism for "occupying army."
    "It will make her feel her position and will, in a way, be a subtle compliment," continued Mrs. Odawara. "You see—we are Egypt, and she is the visiting Israelite. It is very fitting and will furthermore lend a good moral tone to the party."
    "But what about the plague of locusts and the darkness over the land?" asked Sonoko. As part of her education she had attended Mrs. Odawara's Bible school. The objection also occurred to her that the Israelites had been brought to Egypt as slaves. "I doubt that Miss Wilson would too much appreciate the—"
    "Obviously," Mrs. Odawara interrupted savagely, "we're not going to read that part. Besides, since I'm reading it will be in Japanese." She fixed a stern eye on Sonoko, just in case there might be a desperate last-moment refusal.
    Sonoko turned her head toward the window, determined to be rude if she possibly could. As she well remembered, Mrs. Odawara read slowly—very slowly—and with maddening emphasis. But her neighbor didn't even notice and went on about the virtues of Christianity and birth control, the iniquities of Shinto and Buddhism.
    The girl scarcely listened. She looked out on Tokyo and saw how much it had changed since she'd first begun these early-morning rides. It was like maple trees in autumn: one didn't notice the leaves gradually turning red and yellow until, one day, the mountain was afire with them. So with Tokyo, she had not noticed the new buildings, the new streets, the new people, until now when she looked from the window and suddenly realized that the entire bombed-out stretch of Kawasaki, which she remembered as a plain of ruins, had been completely rebuilt.
    At Tokyo Station Mrs. Odawara was still fairly budding with suggestions, but Sonoko with a low bow put some distance between them, and even Mrs. Odawara had to respond to a bow. Thus, each bowing to the other, they moved farther and farther apart, and Sonoko, hidden by the morning crowd, left her companion shouting into the recesses of the station.
    Once in the billet she punched the time clock, pleased as always that she was five minutes early, and walked up several flights to Miss Wilson's room. It never occurred to Sonoko to resent the fact that Japanese employees were not allowed to use the elevators, and the signs "Off Limits to all Indigenous Personnel" remained for her but delightful examples of military English at its sonorous and incomprehensible best. The great delicacy with which the signs avoided the nasty word "Japanese" was unfortunately completely lost on her.
    At Miss Wilson's door she hesitated and finally decided not to go in. The dear American must have her sleep. Sonoko could just picture her there, so innocent and childlike in her little pajamas, like a large and expensive doll, her eyes