A BROAD ABROAD

AH SO. Harry and I are headed west, northwest to reach the Far East. It is 1986. American Airlines, along with our travel agent, did us dirty from the start. We had been asked our seating preferences for the 25 hour non-stop flight. A few seats behind the wing, not over it, not close to the facilities and in the double seats, rather than the three seat section in the center of the plane. And what we get is a triple seat almost directly across from the facilities from which there is no doubt we will be drugged by strong deodorizers every time the door opens. My dander rises to the boiling point. The Steward Chief apologizes and says he will change us if he can find someone who needs a triple. That never happens. But we are moved forward away from the facilities which is better than nothing. Ha Ha!

Harry takes the window seat and I take the aisle. It looks like we are lucky and will have the space between to ourselves. The last stragglers get on and the very last one is our 250 pound tour guide. Carrying magazines, travel folders, she starts to crawl over my hunched up legs. My 12 ½ inches of tush room is about to be devoured by her bulging flesh. Being the nice person I am, I slip into the middle seat, giving her 12 3/4 inches and the aisle for her swollen feet.

Flying over Tokyo in the depth of night, the lit office buildings, Disney Land become part of the starlit sky. The Captain wakes us to prepare for landing. Thank you, Mon Capitain. I managed one hour of sleep. Will you taxi me directly to the Keio Hotel? He doesn’t hear me . Harry is wide awake. We wait until Miss Monster Mash gathers her papers and steps into the aisle before we make a move. My good deed starts to work. She gets our hand luggage down from the overhead, leads us directly thru a passport check and gets us, along with 40 others to our hotel in what she tells us is record time, 50 minutes. Room keys are ready. I grab ours while Harry stands in line to register.

As soon as I open the door to our room, I head straight for the bathroom, then for the bedspread that I toss on a chair, throw my clothes on top of it and fall into bed in my underwear.

At 7 a.m., I wake refreshed. Harry snores. He looks like an Angel, is an angel, as he hung up all of our clothes. As quietly as possible, I dress, get my pen and writing book and head to the lobby for some private, quiet note taking. A period after the first sentence and I am distracted by a woman coming thru the revolving door. She is wearing a white silk kimono with elaborate embroidered cherry trees seemingly growing from the hem to the shoulders. It is magnificent. She is a painted doll. Her headdress is ablaze with shiny sequins and her wooden clogs are almost silent. White face powder, crimson red lipstick turns her into a Christmas doll at Macy’s. Another young robed lady follows her in an even more elaborate kimono. Silver threads entwined with blue make a sky across her shoulders. Snow capped Mt. Fuji is embroidered on the back. Long, jangling earrings sound like music.Her cheeks have bright red circles dusted with gold. My pen is still, my eyes are wide.

As I look towards the door, I notice a nice looking slender, small Asian man watching me. He smiles. I get nervous. In clear English he simply bids me good morning. ‘Did you know that Saturdays are wedding days in Tokyo? You are seeing the parade. The grooms come later. Have you ever been to Washington, DC? He asks. ‘Yes, I live close to it, in Baltimore.’ Another nice smile. ‘I have been there too. I am a newspaper reporter and travel a lot. From here I am going home to Yokohama.’ I listen but my eyes remain on the brides. ‘Each bride comes from a different village, all wear the traditional dress. If you know the area, you can decipher what each kimono means. The colors, fabrics, even the kerchiefs in their sleeves are significant. ‘You are quite fortunate to be here on Saturday and have such a perfect view of the parade.’

We watch and chat for almost an hour. Harry comes off the escalator, waves to me, comes over to see what is gong on. After breakfast we will be going sight seeing so he has his name tag pinned on his jacket. My new friend stands and shakes hands with Harry. His small black eyes blaze. Excitedly he asks, ‘Your name is Sase?’ Harry nods yes. ‘My name is Sase, also.’ ‘You must be kidding.’ ‘ No, I am not. Here is my ID card. See our names are the same.’ Coincidences like this are rare, especially with an Asian and an American. Does Harry have a cousin 10th removed in China? We are all amazed.

Harry invites Mr. Sase #2 to have breakfast with us but he declines as he has a business appointment. We say goodbye, have our breakfast with the group and head for the bus. Just as the driver starts to close the door, Mr. Sase wraps heavily on it. I guess he spoke in Japanese because the driver turns off the motor and Mr. Sase gets on, hands me a large box of chocolates and a lovely bouquet of small blue and pink flowers that I cannot name. He also hands me his business card and asks me to write to him when we get back in the States. I promise I will and he is gone.

I do not wait to get back home, but write to him from Beijing. Perhaps he is traveling. Perhaps my letter will be lost. Perhaps he will be Shanghied in Shanghai. Anything can happen.

I have sent at least ten letters and five years have passed. I still scan each day’s mail hoping Mr. Sase, Harry’s Asian cousin, will miraculously knock on our door. If he does, I will be ready to show him our traditions, a Bar Mitzvah, an Orthodox wedding.

That will be almost tit for tat and a partial repayment for an unforgettable memory. Tomorrow I’ll write again.