Angel of Okinawa; Chapter 9

 

Angel of Okinawa; Chapter 9

© 2024 by Amber Wright

“Do you ever work or do you just sit in that uniform all day doing nothing?” I asked Derek for there he was on our back porch asking if he could come in for some orange punch.

“My orders are still unclear,” Derek told me evasively. “Pretty please?”

Supper was nearly ready and I had a little feeling inside that Derek wanted real food, not just the Army canned he normally ate.

“Alright,” I opened the door with a little jerk. “Come in.”

“Thanks.” Derek messed with his sweaty hair while I shut the door behind him.

“And yes,” I frowned up at him, “supper is practically ready. But you have to help if you want to eat some of it.”

“Sure. Like what?” Derek said eagerly, and I silently groaned.

Once this occupation’s over, Angel, I told myself fiercely, he’s gone for good. So don’t get too attached.

I strained a smile. “Help me stir up the punch and act perfectly polite when you have to sit on a cushion to eat instead of at a table you Americans do.”

“Okay.” Derek didn’t act the slightest bit surprised. “Actually, I’ve studied up on this area when I was in High School, back home.”

“Did you like it?” I wondered out loud, and looked up at him once we reached the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, good enough for a visit,” Derek shrugged and let his words drag, “but not enough to stay. Say, have you ever thought about living in America where your family is? I mean, didn’t your parents have a house there or anything?”

“How do I know?” I stirred the canned orange concentrate and water together. “I’ve never been there.”

“Why don’t you visit?” Derek took the large stirring spoon off of me and began stirring while I added some tropical spice to it.

“In this war?” I gave him a scowl and eyed him warily. “Don’t even think about taking me as a POW, I won’t have it!”

“I wasn’t saying…” Derek began laughing, throwing his head back.

Just then Meema walked into the kitchen from the garden with a basket filled with juicy red strawberries. She glanced at Derek and nodded briefly, Japanese-fashion, and set her basket down on the counter.

“Meema, this is…” I pointed to Derek who was calming down to earth level. “Derek Penn. Derek, this is Meema.”

Derek stopped stirring and shook Meema’s hand. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Meema.”

I started laughing and even Meema had a smile on her usually war solemn face.

Derek looked at me confused, and at Meema and back at me again.

“Very nice to meet you, too, Derek.” Meema said quickly, and looked at me. “I’m going to dish up everything now.”

“Okay.” I nodded as she walked away.

“What did I do wrong?” Derek hissed out. “I don’t enjoy being laughed at.”

“You mean, what did you say wrong,” I corrected him, a laugh at the tip of my tongue. “Meema is the name I gave her when I was eight months old. It more or less means ‘mother’.”

“Oh!” Derek grinned. “In other words, there’s no such thing as a 'Mrs. Mother', right?”

“Right.” I agreed and took down seven small glasses from the cabinet.

^{· · ·}

The very next morning when I went into the little hut to milk Rosy, Posy and Dozy I saw a long white envelope stuck in the door frame at eye level.

I pulled it out and sat down on my milking stool before I opened it. The words were scrawled largely over the single sheet of paper:

Dear Angel, I just wanted to tell you what a great time you gave me (oh no, it’s Derek and he’s gone! I wailed in between reading.), and for helping me out. As you’re reading this I’ll be somewhere where you’ll probably be glad you’re not there. Keep up the great work with Rosy, Posy and Dozy! The guys love the milk, they say, and think you’re the best Angel they’ve ever met! And I second the thought. Literally. Hope to see you before I leave this island, and if not here’s my address in case you ever decide to visit Hawaii. 111 Sea View, Honolulu, Hawaii, U.S.A. Please pray for me. Don’t tell anyone but I’m scared stiff! Bye for now.

Love, Derek.

I stared down at the piece of paper and found it shaking in my trembling hands.

So Derek was gone, too.

And would he ever live to make it back to his home in Hawaii?

I hoped so.

I prayed so.

I folded the letter back and put it back in its envelope; then, folded the letter in half to fit it into my dress pocket. I’d keep it on me so I would never lose it.

Maybe—just maybe once the war stopped!—I’d go and visit my blood country of the U. S.A.

But today I had other matters to tend to, like milking the three goats and getting some sort of breakfast for the wounded men on our back porch.

I smiled in spite of myself.

So the soldier guys liked my milk, after all. What a relief to my poor nerves when nothing else seemed to go right.

At least I had my “milk fans” still to tend to and keep me busy while my stepfather, Hwang, and Derek were off in who knows where.

Thinking Derek now, I had to admit I’d pray extra hard for him. He was a pretty sweet guy to cope with all my fussing and war tight nerves. But then, I guess…he understood me.

Not too many people have entirely understood me in all my fifteen years, but Derek was one of the rare few. Just a lucky guy, I’d call him.

Suddenly, Lei was there asking me if she could help with the milking. I had promised her the night before that I’d show her how today.

“Sure.” I tried to smile, but Lei was another of those rare few who understood me.

“What’s wrong, Angel?” Lei asked in concern. “You look sad.”

“Derek’s gone.” I managed to say with a swallow, waving my hand over my eyes at a few pesky gnats.

Gunfire suddenly broke the morning silence with a backyard war roar. I stood up and hugged Lei tightly, “I hate war!”