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The water of Mutsuwan was calm and gray in dawn’s growing light. As I squinted toward the east on that July Corning in 1964, I could see the dark silhouette of the Japanese minesweeper silently approaching our starboard side, growing larger against the backdrop of the rugged Honshu coastline. It was the summer between my third and fourth years at the Naval Academy. Orders to Japan for six weeks of duty on board a U. S. minesweeper had sent my spirits soaring.
As our ships took part in a combined exercise with our counterparts of the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force, the commodore had arranged for each midshipman to spend a day °n board one of the Japanese ships. I was the first to go. Lines were heaved across with mechanical efficiency, and soon the ships were joined. I looked toward the bridge where my captain, a crusty old mustang, gestured impatiently for me to leave. I stepped across to the other ship, and the vessels rapidly parted company.
As I stood there, totally unable to communicate with those around me, a young man suddenly approached, a broad smile spanning his face. Falling back on the old boot camp adage, “If ‘t moves salute it; if not, paint it!,” and being secure in the knowledge that, as a midshipman, I was senior to only the admiral’s dog, 1 both startled and perplexed the approaching niariner by rendering my sharpest salute. My actions left him totally befuddled since, as I was to discover later, he was an enlisted man and had never before received a salute from anyone. As luck would have it, he was the only one on board the ship who had much more than a rudimentary knowledge of English, so he had been sent to serve as my escort.
I found myself being rapidly escorted toward the wardroom where the ship’s officers had gathered to welcome me aboard. The five of us sat for a moment not knowing quite where to begin. The conversation was destined to be sparse as my Japanese was limited to “please, thank you, beer, and men’s room.” I found this vocabulary not totally impractical, but 1 was somewhat limited in the topics that I could cover to any great depth. Before long, 1 sensed from their charades that my hosts were digging to find out what I would like to have for the noon meal, so I cautiously let the word slip from my lips—"Sukiyaki.”
With that bit of business concluded, we all arose and departed on what was to be a tour of the ship and observaton of the morning’s operations. Time passed quickly, and soon the noon hour was upon us. We entered the wardroom and took our places at the table. My hosts were visibly pleased when 1 put the proffered fork aside and chose to use chopsticks instead. Soon, the cook entered and distributed a collection of bowls containing raw fish and vegetables to each of my companions. After a short absence, he returned with a gallon-sized wooden pail full to the brim with rice which was apparently community property. Once again, he left, and since I was now the only one without any food, my curiosity began to grow at a rate which soon allowed it to surpass my hunger. As the minutes passed, I began to grow restless and nervously contemplated the twinkles of anticipation that flashed in the eyes of the others We were on the verge of a great happening, and the suspense was killing me. Then 1 saw it. The cook came staggering through the door lugging a cast-iron frying pan big enough to rupture a bull moose. It was full of the still bubbling concoction known as sukiyaki. As he struggled to place the pan next to me, 1 realized that this ocean of food was to be all mine.
The cook had done a commendable job, and the dish was quite tasty. As I loaded bowl after bowl, however, and packed the food into my ever-tightening stomach, everything I had read about the Oriental concept of “face” flashed before my eyes. 1 was convinced that, should 1 leave so much as a drop of the gravy or gain of the rice, the cook and, yes, even the ship's entire crew, would be subject to some horrid ancestral curse. Since I would be to blame, it would probably fall on my shoulders to support them all for the rest of my life. So with every bite, I renewed my vow to finish the entire meal. After some time, I leaned back and gently patted my distended belly while displaying my widest, clenched-tooth grin. I wanted to convince them that as fine a meal as it was, I simply could hold no more. It was only then that 1 noticed the silence that engulfed the room. Four faces peered incredulously across the nearly empty rice bucket. The cook was standing in the doorway, a look of awe on his face.
It wasn’t until days later that 1 found out the truth about what had happened. Knowing that most Americans have no stomach for raw fish and meats, the Japanese were quite happy to fix sukiyaki for me, but the cook was new at his job and had only a recipe for serving 15. They had looked on in absolute amazement, not believing that one man could eat enough to feed half the crew. I spent the rest of the day waddling about the ship trying not to bump into anything sharp. The afternoon’s operations went without a hitch and, all too soon, we were once again alongside for the transfer. 1 sadly bid my hosts farewell, for a spirit of camaraderie had permeated the cultural barrier even in the short time we had spent together. As I started to leave, my interpreter friend appeared and extended his hand. I thanked him for his help, wishing I had the time to tell him how much 1 could have used his services earlier in the day. Back on board my own ship, 1 could not realize how often in the years to come my memories would be sweetened by the events of that day.
(The National Institute will pay $25.00 for each anecdote published in the Proceedings.)
—Contributed by Lt. Commander Charles N. Sapp, Jr., USN