Angel of Okinawa; Chapter 23

 

Angel of Okinawa; Chapter 23

© 2024 by Amber Wright

I managed to get to Meema’s mother’s house without incident. People were so hateful nowadays there was no telling what they might do to a U. S. soldier helper.

Meema’s mother had company so I only stayed to pass her the food, plank a kiss on her wrinkly tanned cheek, and get back on my bike.

I rode home in a thoughtful stare. The war in Okinawa had passed but the war inside the people’s hearts hadn’t. It seemed like every Jap I met either snubbed me or ignored me completely. I was crushed.

What have I done? I asked myself. Sure, I helped Derek find the shortcut to the airport on that first day, but any Okinawan would’ve done that too if they were made to. Just because I’ve got American blood doesn’t mean I’m a traitor to this island! Brother, what a way to end this Okinawan war! A branded traitor.

No, I wasn’t. But would they ever believe I wasn’t, was the question.

I let the troubled thoughts roll down from my brain and exchanged them with brighter topics. Like enjoying a nice picnic Meema was planning on the East China Sea beach this evening. Ahh…how fun! I haven’t enjoyed that since the news of the advancing U. S. army!

The thought of the U. S. army stopped me inside.

Derek.

Yes, I was still praying for him like I had told him. But… what was that guy up to now? Was he still alive, or dead, or was he back in America by now? How will I ever know?

Sigh!

Then I prayed a Psalm, Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings.

And the Psalms answered me back for I found myself whispering faintly as I pedaled along the sandy roads. “The sorrows of hell compassed me. In my distress I called upon the LORD. He heard my voice. He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from them which hated me. He teacheth my hands to war. His gentleness hath made me great. Therefore will I give thanks unto thee, LORD, among the heathen.”

Later at the beach after we had eaten supper, Meema opened up the subject I most dreaded. My “Spy Issue” and our danger there.

“Daughters,” she said calmly and decidedly, “we must pray for what we shall do. Since we had to harbor U. S. soldiers there’s talk of us being untrue to our island.”

My sisters gasped and I chewed on my thumb knuckle.

“We will trust God. Do not be afraid.” Meema held little Dai close to her on her lap. “God will show us the way.”

^{· · ·}

The whole month of July passed in heat, humidity and hushed voices. During the long, hot hours of Okinawan summer we silently packed and sold our valuables. We didn’t know when any bad neighbor would begin to strike us, and we had to be prepared.

Even though our planned move was secret, we told our little minister who held church in our different houses on Sundays.

I promised him my two milk goats, Posy and Dozy, and Meema promised him Rosy. As soon as we would leave he would come and get them. We even gave him our little farm so that he could give it to somebody else after we'd left.

On the last day of July I stretched high in our garden, having worked in there all morning, and breathed in the gun smoke free air as I looked at our empty yard.

Ah, we had our privacy once again!

It felt pretty good knowing you didn’t have to step over bloody men in uniforms. They were all gone now. All besides the memory they had left behind. And unmarked graves.

The U. S. guys were now stationed in our airfields and their wounded had been transported to Navy ships for medical care. Most, anyways. Some were still in airfield hospital tents. At last they’re now taken care of by professionals, I thought with a sigh of relief. I am no doctor!

I walked over to our poppy patch in the garden and picked a few poppies that weren’t bent over by the heavy rains we had while I was out of it with the Okinawan fever in late May. Two months had passed since then, and some poppies were beginning to revive.

I say this with complete thankfulness. Even though the war had came into our backyard, we were lucky for our house hadn’t been touched by any bombs or grenades. Just a few bullet holes showed in our outbuildings, nothing more.

I was walking up the sidewalk when I realized the strangest sound that had met my ears in a long time.

Silence.

A few birds chirping.

I smiled with my hands full of orange and red poppies, and looked up into the blue blue sky with thin white clouds stretching along the horizon.

I heard little Dai happily squeal somewhere, a thing I hadn’t heard since little Phanny’s death.

“Thank You, God!” I told the air, kissing my bunch of beautiful flowers, God’s creation coming back to life.