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of friends and spoke sadly of Nancy Webster, “chasing about the world like a camp follower.”
    At this moment in Kobe, when the senior Websters were kissing, I shared my parents’ feelings and for the first time I realized with a certain degree of shock that when I married their daughter Eileen I would more likely resemble my father than become a second Mark Webster. There would always be some restraint upon me; yet standing there before Eileen and seeing her so radiantly lovely I concluded that I was deeply in love—in my way and my father’s way, and Ithought in that hesitating moment that my partial love, as you might term it, could lead to the creation of a solid family like Father’s, to my promotion in the Air Force like his promotion in the Army, and to a substantial position in society like the one my mother enjoyed in Lancaster. I said to myself, “This is a soldier’s way of loving.”
    But I think Mrs. Webster, who knew my parents well, must have sensed my thoughts, for she cried, over her husband’s shoulder, “Kiss the girl, Lloyd.”
    I did and the general begged, “Now can we eat?”
    We went down to the dining room, where the Japanese headwaiter had arranged a pretty dazzling table with flowers and a church carved out of ice. Three Japanese waiters held our chairs and a three-piece Japanese orchestra hammered out a jive version of “Here Comes the Bride.” The officers at nearby tables rose and applauded, but the luncheon was spoiled because right next to our table sat the Marine lieutenant with his beautiful Japanese girl, while next to the orchestra were the fat major and his window-shopping girl.
    Mrs. Webster fidgeted with her napkin and said, “If I knew it wouldn’t humiliate you I’d leave. Who won the war, anyway?”
    Eileen grasped her mother’s arm and whispered, “They’re fine girls. Please don’t create a scene.” Mrs. Webster subsided and started to splash her spoon in her cup but soon stopped.
    “I simply have no appetite,” she said firmly.
    The luncheon was a calamity and as soon as he could decently do so General Webster dragged me back to his office where he shouted at his aide, “Go out and haul in Major Bartlett.” Then he called his secretary and dictated a sharp note: “Effective immediately no Japanese nationals shall participate in any functions of the Kobe Officers Club, including specifically but not exclusively eating in the Club dining room.”
    “Post it conspicuously!” he said, and as the secretary started to leave the general boomed out, “Be especially sure there’s one in every elevator.”
    When Major Bartlett appeared the general really ate him out. The fat major, one of those particularly exasperating civilians who won’t take military life seriously, didn’t even bother to snap to attention.
    “Your behavior is a disgrace.”
    “I understand.”
    “You can’t understand, or you wouldn’t go lollygagging down a public street holding hands with a Japanese girl.”
    “I understand.”
    “Damn it all, these people were our enemies a short time ago.”
    “Not mine. I fought in Germany.”
    “Well, your country’s. You ought to respect your nation’s responsibilities.”
    “I understand,” the major droned in an unusually offensive way.
    “You understand that you’re not to bring that girl into the Club again?”
    “I understand.”
    This infuriated the general, who said sharply, “And you’re not to be seen on the public streets with her.”
    The major looked at me, raised his eyebrows and said, “I understand.”
    This was too much for the general. He said sharply, “Major Bartlett, I’ve been ordered to send a levy to Korea. You’d better go along.”
    “Certainly.”
    Now I’d had enough. I cried, “Certainly,
sir.
You know there’s such a charge as insolence through manner.”
    “Certainly, sir,” the fat man said to me, nodding slightly.
    “Stay out of this, Gruver,” the general commanded. “Bartlett, the