believe it baby," answered one, dropping his B-4 bag and bolting from the line. Ginger affected men that way. She'd affected Joe that way four years earlier when he first saw her as a three-page centerspread in Stud Magazine and learned that the raven-haired beauty was a receptionist right at Joe's base! They were married just before Joe shipped out, and honeymooned in Tokyo. Joe hadn't been the first, but he'd known that since their third date.
"Knock off trying to stampede the troops," Joe scolded, taking her hand. "Now if we play this cool, we can whiz through the paperwork in a flash and beat the mob out of here. We'll shake hands and hustle through the necessary salutations and small talk," he chattered like a quarterback in a huddle. "We'll get Major Pointer into the right line for clearance, then a split-second before anyone else gets the same idea I'll dash over to the cashier and swap his greenbacks for funny-money. And right before they call 'passports' over the P.A., you haul Alice over to the passport counter and be first in line . . ."
"Joe . . ."
"Hmm?"
"One little thing: How do I know when it's 'just before' they call for passports?"
Joe sucked air through his teeth and scratched his crew cut. Then he spied his quarry. "Woops! Here they come. Stations, everybody. Be calm now . . ."
"She is bleached," Ginger said. "I told you so, just from the snapshots!"
"Could be worse," Joe said. "She could be bald," as indeed Major Pointer was, except for a little fuzzy fringe all around his egg-shaped head.
The Pointers saw the Holidays, too, and hurried over.
"Well, the Holidays!" Alice Pointer gushed. "How glad we are that you sent us snapshots; it's so nice to see a familiar face in all this madness, mayhem, and confusion!"
"Yes, we spotted you right away, too," Ginger said congenially.
"Welcome to Japan, Major," Joe said, offering his hand. "And you too, Mrs. Pointer, and Peter and Patricia. Let's move along as we talk, and stay in front of the line . . . "
The two teenagers winced at mention of their names. "Pete and Patty," the boy corrected Joe.
"Unless you want a fight on your hands," Major Pointer chuckled. "And just call me Dick, Captain Holiday, and I'll call you Joe. Why, after all those letters you wrote, we practically feel we know you."
"Yes, darling," Mrs. Pointer said to Ginger. "Thanks ever-so-much for all those helpful letters; they were such a relief! When we first got our orders, we could have just cried. Dick tried to get them changed, of course, but couldn't. We were at wit's end, and then we started getting your wonderful letters saying such wonderful things about Japan, and we knew things just couldn't be as bad as everyone said!"
Joe wondered just how bad everyone said things were. He was beginning to get the feeling things had to be pretty good to satisfy the Pointers.
"Well, if nothing else at least it's a bargain," Ginger said encouragingly. "Cigarets for a buck-fifty a carton, twenty-cent drinks . . ."
"We don't drink or smoke," Alice interrupted. "Nasty habits."
"You're so right," Ginger said, cringing. "Wish I could stop."
"I'm sure you could if you really wanted to," Alice continued.
Leave it to Ginger to find the wrong thing to say, Joe thought.
"Oh, for gosh sakes, Ma," 18-year-old Pete interrupted. "Don't get started on mind over matter again!"
Joe forced a pleasant smile. "There are other bargains, though," he said. "Gasoline's only fifteen cents a gallon, and kerosene's even less."
"Kerosene?" Dick Pointer asked.
"For the space heater and hot water heater," Joe explained weakly.
"I don't think you mentioned kerosene heaters in your letters," Dick said crossly. "Do we use Coleman lanterns, too?"
Joe made a mental note to forgive Ginger's earlier offense. Before he could assure Dick that Japan was at least electrified, the loudspeaker boomed.
"Passports! Dependents will please pick up their passports. A through M at Window G, N through Z at Window H."
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Pointer muttered, rummaging through her purse. "What on earth did I do with my passport?"
"You gave it to the stewardess, Mom," 16-year-old Patty said patiently. "They want us to pick them up now."
"Yeah, pay attention, Ma!" Pete complained.
"What window was that, Patty? Window Z?"
Ginger herded the rest of the family toward the rapidly growing passport lines while Joe stayed with Dick through the in-clearing process. They reassembled at the baggage room exit.
"Captain Holiday's got us a room in a hotel, Alice," Dick said. "Isn't that nice?"
"I was hoping we'd have someplace to stay tonight. Who pays for it? Not that it matters, of course."
"Uncle Sam," Joe grunted, hoisting the first suitcase into the station wagon. He just bet it didn't matter.
"How long can we stay? I do hope it's not crawling with Japs," Alice sighed.
"Japanese run it," Joe said apprehensively, "but if it's crawling with anything, it's brass. It's sort of a temporary refuge for field grade officers and 'big wigs' until they find a place to settle down—which is usually about two weeks."
"Two weeks is a long time to live out of a suitcase," Dick noted as he climbed into the front seat beside Joe.
"Housing's pretty tight in Tokyo," Joe said as he pulled the car out. "We've picked out two or three fairly nice private rentals for you to look at that will be available in about a week. One's even available now, if you're anxious to get settled. By nice, I mean comparatively," he added cautiously. "I'm afraid housing here isn't up to stateside standards." He didn't mention that he'd had to pay advance rent to hold the one house, which he'd lose if they didn't take it. Not that it really mattered—except to himself.
A tiny Renault taxi-cab, jumping the changing traffic light at the gate, darted past in front of Joe and he had to brake and swerve to avoid hitting it. Dick and Alice stared indignantly after it.
"Eighty-yen cab," Joe explained. "Biggest menace on the streets, next to gravel trucks and motorcycles."
"You mean there's worse yet to come?" Dick asked.
"Eek!" Alice shrieked. "Patty, don't look! Oh! Dick, did you see that man? Right out in broad daylight, and right on the road! Didn't even have the decency to step behind a bush. I never . . ."
"I'm afraid that's one thing we just have to live with over here," Joe said, somehow feeling he was obliged to defend Japanese men's right to piddle in the streets. "They've only started putting rest rooms into gas stations and along the highways during the last few years, and the Japanese have always just stepped to the side of the road. Tradition dies slowly."
"Sort of a case of johnny-come-lately," Ginger dead-panned, and Patty, sitting beside her, burst out laughing.
"Stop
