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#130 Navy #3247 (Mil. Govt) FPO SF Thursday 8 Dec. 7:15 am Hello, sweetie I'm slightly hungover this morning, with just a suggestion of a headache, a sore throat and a sniffly nose. After having had to get up at one a.m. (beer) and at five (stomach cramp) 0 yet, oddly enough, I feel more refreshed with it all than anything else. Last night we had a party here, with about ¾ as many Army nurses as officers. (A few had dates, the majority including myself were mutually staging it). The girls, part of the same group which made a tour of the camp shortly after their arrival on the island a few weeks ago, were a little better turned out than on the former occasion, when they were all wearing trousers; a very average group as to physical attractiveness with many really big (I don't mean fat) girls - they were all from the Chicago area including Wisconsin and Minnesota. There was not one whom ordinarily I’d think (have thought) to have a date with, yet it was somehow pleasant to be around them. Their most prepossessing characteristic was their smell - good American perfume, slightly on the sexy side perhaps (My Sin, etc.). I was relieved to find though - I hadn't been quite sure until now how I’d react - that despite the perfume and my having had more to drink than since I left the states - (6 or 7 beers and a shot of bourbon) - my behavior and feelings [pg 2] were no problem to me. I was pleasantly, mildly stimulated and that was all. I was also surprized to find that as long as we were occupied with a very routine sort of partying - sitting around the Officers’ Club drinking beer and getting acquainted - I did not miss you as keenly as I’d thought I would. There was no common ground, simply because you area a woman and they are women too. There was no one who reminded me of you, and no one who could talk about things that would talk about - all of them being from a different part of the country and being, in general, far less interesting personalities. Nobody, for instance, who had gone to Wilson or something like that. I was maneuvered by one of the reception committee to a table with three girls names Tennis, Stoddart and Hansen (we all used last names without titles or they did amongst themselves. And it seemed quite natural, a little comradely). Tennis, the most alive of the three (who are roommates at their barracks) was already swained; I remember her tramping out with her escort, Dallmeyer (warrant officer, in charge of the mess) to the galleys to be given some food to take back with her, and later driving a jeep. Hansen, a girl rather too plump (as well as moderately tall) to be initially popular, was pleasant enough, looked as though she had a certain friendly common sense. Stoddart on first impression seemed merely mousy - soft blonde [pg 3] hair in a rather formless coiffure, slightly stooped shoulders, metal rimmed glasses a little down a sharpish nose, pallid complexion; young looking - about 23. She surprized me somewhat when, with an easy manner and a twinkle, she led the singing of some borderline bawdy ballads like “Bell-bottomed trousers” - thru the last stanza. Like some of the other girls, Stoddart gave the impression of an earlier shyness (in the states not more than one or two would be dated frequently, and the majority were the personality equivalents to the middle-to-upper brackets of enlisted men - good mating material for Navy chiefs, say) to which has recently been added a certain ease and dignity due to their being so in demand here on the island. They go out - or can if they want to accept all invitations - every night. Though doubtless most of them would choose officers (and I didn't mean that there aren't a lot of personality-equivalent officers), it seems rather unfair to the enlisted men here that the nurses are not allowed to date them even if they wish to. The time I did miss you keenly, darling, was when we left the Officers’ Club and went to an especially prepared dinner out on the farm. It was unique and memorable, and my reaction both on arriving at the scene as well as throughout [pg 4] dinner was one of acute awareness of you absence, because it was something I should so much like to have shared with you. The netting was a long tent, with a stage at the far end; running the rest of its length and perpendicular to the stage were tables with wide platforms on which to sit. On entering, you walked down one of two narrow gravel-floored aisles, removed your shoes and put them underneath the bench or raised flooring, slid around and faced the other direction. Once everyone was placed, the aisles were free for waitresses to move back and forth. The tables, I think, were about 18 inches above the flooring on which you sat crosslegged (fortunately for me, there was an opening under the tables where I sat and I could stretch my legs out in front of me.) The picture is hard to describe: the 30 or so farm workers chosen by Riley Ewing and Kirby Etter to do the job, as well as to cook the meal and serve it (they were eager to apart from the dollar apiece they received and left over food), did it with taste and imagination. The “tent” was really a shelter with a canvas roof: all its supports and rafters were entwined with pink Bougainvillea. There were flowers [pg 5] in profusion - but not excess - on all the tables: such flowers as you would see only here or in Hawaii, unless (for such as you could get at all) you paid a very fancy price for them. The tables were lit-only by soft candle or lamplight, together with the glow of the braziers which were set right on the center of the tabletop and over which, in frying pans, [sukiyaki?] was prepared while the soup was served and eaten. There were many food dishes on the table as well, and the soft light lent a certain enchantment and luxuriousness to the scene. I don't remember any [Kōki?] or [aisukurinu?] - I guess I was too busy with the more exotic parts of the meal. Everyone was provided with chopsticks and tho knives and forks were supplied to save embarrassment, nearly everyone had a go at them. It would take one other letter to describe the Okinawan Players - one of Charlie's Private Enterprise groups, in fact one of the earliest, which has recently been going out to put on performances for other visits on the island - but - they put on a lively show throughout (rather than after) the meal. A few minutes ago I remarked to Charlie that a meal and a show like that would cost from 3.50 up anywhere in the states, and he replied, Yes, and then it would be artificial. This was a natural. Altho I was kept busy interpreting or explaining [pg 6] to the girls on either side of me (Hanson and Stoddart) I was much more interested in a Japanese [waihero?] who, like several others, had to sit along the edge of the bench between people to tend to her sukiyaki and whom I soon judged from the nature of the conversation to be an ex-geisha. I was asking questions ostensibly for Hansen but actually to satisfy my own curiosity. The geisha herself started the fragmentary and several times interrupted chat by saying something to the effect that this banquet made her homesick for Tokyo. Had I ever been to Tokyo? Oh, such a wonderful City (she spoke wistfully and persuadingly, in a low voice) - she would like to show me Tokyo after the war. I did not ask any personal questions - just about the Guiza (Tokyo's gay - not prostitute, but restaurant and theatre - quarter), etc. By geisha, incidentally, I mean restaurant entertainer; their main job is entertaining in general, and once in awhile (depending on the place and to some extent their own wishes in the matter) they may perform special favors for chosen individuals. Therein lies the distinction between geisha and prostitute. Darling, it is past time for me to get to work. I love you and miss you and tho I do not intend to avoid [?] functions or anything worth seeing, I'll never have the same enthusiasm for them as I would if you were with me. Till the day when you are, darling!
