Angel of Okinawa; Chapter 12

 

Angel of Okinawa; Chapter 12

© 2024 by Amber Wright

“Here we are.” I said dully, pointing to the multi-roofed house I have lived in since I was first born. “My home. Thanks, guys, for bringing me back.”

“No problem,” the guy called Wrigley let go of my arm.

“Uh,” stalled the guy who had been behind us, stepping around me with a quizzical look. “Can we get a drink or something? It’s awfully hot.”

I nodded and decided he knew there would be no poisoning here for the yard was full of U. S. tents and had even a U. S. flag poked in the dirt.

I cringed inside when I thought about what might happen once the war would finally end. We might get bashed out of our own home by the locals once the U. S. troops left.

Sweet anticipation! I told myself grimly and led the way up the walkway.

^{· · ·}

There was no peace of mind.

Bombs, torpedoes and machine gun madness filled my ears even in the house.

I overheard some guys on the back porch say the Japs were making repeated infernal suicide waves on the U. S. fleet in the sea with their kamikaze aircraft.

I sighed again when I heard this.

Once again I asked myself, What side of this War did I belong to anyhow? I loved my natives…and I loved my bloodline.

I loved them all…yes, even that guy who had accidentally killed my 3 year-old cousin, Phanny.

She hadn’t known what she was doing that day near that battle zone and…(I counted the tears dripping down my face as I recalled) he had even brought her to my aunt Phan.

Even though I loved that guy in the Christian way, just the very thought of him made my blood boil. How could anyone have been so stupid as to mistake a 3 year-old girl with a Jap soldier?

And was that guy really telling the truth?

Or was he merely wanting to “get his first Jap” as Derek had?

I didn’t know, nor would I ever know.

I stared at my shaking hands as I picked up the hairbrush to brush my hair for the funeral.

Yes, I had wondered when the next funeral would be the day I saw Hwang for the first time.

And here I was!

Instead of an indifferent stepfather’s funeral as had been in times past, this time it was the funeral for my adorable, lovable little cousin.

I don’t know how I will ever get over it but somehow I must in order to survive.

I took a deep breath and braided my hair into a coil on my head, and smoothed my black cotton dress and little mourning veil over my head and face.

I looked into the mirror.

Red eyes met me with a cold greeting, and I quickly looked away. Ugly or not, I had to face the day and attend my cousin’s private funeral.

I had to.

This was my last goodbye to the little girl of whom I have loved since the day she was born. What a sweet thing she was, so affectionate and funny and so happy.

I left the room and joined the others in the living room where the service was starting.

Aunt Phan’s sobbing almost drowned out the minister’s words, but I managed to catch most of what he was saying by listening hard even though I wanted to bawl myself.

I tried to hold on to sanity just a little longer…to be there when others would need me.

The minister was telling us about the great King David when he had lost his child.

“But David said, ‘I shall go to him’. He knew his child was safe and that some day he would meet him again.”

I watched as Aunt Phan began crying less, and she looked up at the minister—the man with the kind face and kind voice who had married Meema and Hwang the weeks before.

He looked around the room at each one of us, Meema, my sisters, and female relations for all the males were gone drafted as Jap soldiers.

“My friends, this is indeed a hard time for us all,” the minister then brightened his voice. “But as Habakkuk says, Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labor of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls:

“Yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will joy in the God of my salvation. The LORD God is my strength…and He will make me walk upon mine high places. Amen.”

We followed the minister outside to the little open grave some soldiers had volunteered to dig, and stood in a little circle as Meema and Aunt Phan gently lowered little wrapped up Phanny into the cool empty space in the dirt.

I choked in a sob as I watched Phanny’s head bobble some as she finally settled onto the brown dirt of silence.

“Jesus,” the minister prayed, “we give You from our arms this child to be with You…”