Finally, Katrinka gave in, and left explicit instructions with Cricket, who was delighted to have the dog. She would take him over to the hospital for a visit with the patients.
The troupe would be heading out the following week, skipping Burma and taking a troop ship back to the States. Some of the dancers still suffered from injuries sustained in the crash, and everyone just wanted to go home. So as not to disappoint the troops, a British ENSA troupe would be diverting their show to include Burma.
Cricket was going to stay on in Guam, to see if she could get a job with the USO. She’d made a couple of friends with the Navy nurses and had no desire to return to California. She told Katrinka that she could come see her, and use the island as a home base in her exploration for Amelia.
Katrinka was thrilled. It would give her expedition a center of operations. A place to regroup and make plans. With so many military on Guam, she hoped to find a referral for a good commercial vessel with a reliable captain. Since this was going to be at least a year away, she would think carefully before broaching the subject with Wolfe. So much depended on his answer. And how she would react to it.
* * *
Nye woke early the next morning, wanting to see Katrinka one last time. His orders had come through and he was leaving early Monday morning. They had already shared a private and very emotional farewell. The nurses’ Quonset door was open, and he saw her just inside, sitting on her barracks bed.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he called in.
She looked up, seeing him standing in the sunlit doorway.
“You’re up early,” she smiled.
“Thought I’d better see you safely off.”
He watched as she dumped the contents of her knapsack into her locker, refilling it with her camera, a toothbrush and few other items, including some fruit. She finished packing, and he walked over to Farr’s barracks with her.
The sun was out and the air humid. Farr stood in the shade of a banyan tree, just outside the Quonset.
The two men shook hands, and Katrinka climbed onto the back of the bike, slinging the knapsack over her shoulder. Farr started the cycle with a roar, and they both turned, their arms raised in farewell. Nye watched them go until they were nothing but a small black dot in the distance. He stood watching, even after the dot disappeared completely, melding into sea air.
* * *
They headed north along the west coast. It was a beautiful day, with fat cumulus clouds resting over the Nago Mountains. Frothy waves crashed out along the reef, but the opalescent lagoon was calm. A large white bird stood with folded wings at his side, amid the jumble of sea rock.
Katrinka could see bowed figures out in the tide pools, carrying large baskets and plucking things from the rocks. Much better to keep focused on the sea than the battered and flattened villages. On this beautiful day, it was easy to forget the horror the island and its people had experienced as pawns of the Japanese troops.
They passed diminutive women walking with baskets on their heads, and babies slung over their backs. Young boys carried long stalks of sugar cane, and old men shuffled along, burdened down with sacks of rice or potatoes. Occasionally, an army jeep rumbled past them, but the traffic thinned as they sped north.
They stopped at a roadside shack where an old woman squatted on a bamboo mat, rolling balls of rice. Farr gave her some money, and she offered the rice on a palm leaf, with some greens and raw fish.
* * *
That evening they camped out somewhere north of Ogimi, and later they perched along the cliff edge to watch the fishing boats silhouetted against the purpling islands. A large, pale sun sank into orange-flamed clouds, and the close roar of the tide filled their ears and noses with spray. They sat for a long while, neither speaking.
When it grew dark, Farr took her hand, his eyes troubled.
“Katrinka. There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“When I was in Burma, I caused a man’s death.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
Farr shook his head. “It was an accident. But I went to see his wife, to explain to her what happened. I helped fix her hut, and she cooked me food. I was missing you so damn bad—”
She stopped him. “You don’t need to tell me these things.”
“But all along, I’ve held you accountable. For doing the same thing.”
Katrinka looked at his face, still marked with bites and infection, and thought of the terrible things he’d seen, the things he’d had to do.
“I am glad there were arms to hold you,” she said softly.
“But I needed your arms. I wanted your arms.”
She wrapped herself around him. “They’re here now, Wolfe.”
* * *
After dinner, they made love. Both were still weak from their recent illnesses, and it was a gentle lovemaking, interwoven with the muted sound of waves and the smell of salt spray in the warm nighttime air. Later, they lay back, watching the moon come up over the horizon. It was big and red, throwing its shimmering, jagged light across the water. The tideline glowed with luminescence, and the air blew soft on their faces.
Katrinka turned to trace a finger down his cheek, loving its sandpapery feel. “It might take a few years to get my expedition for Amelia organized and ready.”
He rolled over, studying her face. “In a few years I could get my schooling done, my electronics certificate. Then we’d be ready to go. We could go together.”
“I’d like that, Wolfe.”
“So would I.”
* * *
They got to the Marine encampment early next morning. Farr examined their broken radio, took it apart, and reassembled it with the new components. When it was in working order, they headed back.
The sun was already warm with a strong breeze blowing white cloud shadows across the water. High above them, a sea bird dipped and circled, shadowing the bike as it sped down the winding road from Hedo Point. Stretching its wings out over the rice terraces, it appeared and disappeared around the bends of the road, always following the sea.
Katrinka perched on the back, holding Farr in the circle of her arms. Swooping and diving with the bike, she leaned into the curves, seeing the endless blue sea to their right and the dusty road before them. And as she held him in her arms, she felt the last scars fly off her body, dissolving like mist in the wind behind her.
Farr accelerated. The warm sun on his face, and the closeness of her, filled the man with a deep sense of happiness.
Katrinka rested her chin on his shoulder and laughed, as the wind lifted her hair.
“Let’s just keep going, Wolfe. Straight down to the beach and across the ocean to California. We’ll be home in time for dinner. Papa will be so surprised!”
Farr saw the flash of metal a split second before they hit it. Suddenly, there was a loud explosion, and the startled sea bird swerved. A thick column of smoke rose above the road, and the bird passed over it before heading once more out to sea, its wings outstretched, circling above the sea foam of waves.
* * *
Later, Nye went back to her barracks.
He had chosen not to be there when the bodies were brought in. A cable sent to Amparo confirmed her final wishes. Her body was to be cremated and scattered into the nearest sea. They had all at one time or another, been her home.
There were no relatives or final wishes for Farr, so Nye did what he thought the man would have wanted, by keeping him with Katrinka.
He looked around the barracks room with a sense of helplessness. What could he have done? Surely, surely, she would be returning soon. Laughing and hungry, with Rolf leaping up to greet them. Rolf. He was curled up on Katrinka’s pillow, refusing to look at anyone.
Nye sat on the small bed, the contents of her locker spilled into his lap. Her book she’d always
carried. The small white glove, still smelling faintly of scent, with the mud-spattered letter rolled and tucked inside. He pulled it out now and stared at the blurred address. She was going to return it after the war. To meet Josef’s mother in Germany, and tell her about his last moments. He brushed a hand over his eyes. Here was something he could do for her. He could at least do this.
He pocketed the items. Picking up Rolf, he left the room. He did not look back.
* * *
The door opened, and a pleasant-looking woman in her mid-thirties with deep-green eyes looked up at him—a tall, barrel-chested man with sad-looking eyes. He was standing in the snow. He held a leash, which had a dilapidated sack of fur and bones at the end it.
“Frau Bischoff? Silke Bischoff?” he asked.
“Ja.” Pushing back a sweep of blonde hair from her forehead, she watched as Rolf began shaking, making small whining noises. The woman gasped, placing a hand over her heart, and slipped silently to the floor.
Nye was better prepared this time around. Carrying her into a room, he placed her on the bed. A tea towel was found, and he moistened it with cold water from the pump at the sink. He gently wiped her forehead until she opened her eyes.
“Der Hund,” she said.
Rolf had wormed his way onto the bed and was lying next to the woman’s side. She indicated a carved box on the bureau. Nye retrieved it and brought it back to her bed. She sat up, pulling out a much-creased letter. At the bottom of the page was a penciled sketch. It was of a sunny day, and a small dog with a freckled muzzle and bent ear. He sat on his hind legs, begging for a bit of apple from a young woman with laughing eyes and dark hair.
Katrinka’s words came back to him. “He was a boy I met on the road. We shared an apple.”
“It was the last letter I received from him.” She pressed the letter to her breast, and wept.
* * *
Later, they sat in the small kitchen near a large, green-tiled ceramic stove. Nye reached into his case, and withdrew the letter and glove, placing them on the table.
“He had these in his pocket,” he explained.
She fingered the glove and smiled. “I thought I’d lost it.”
Then she picked up the letter. Her hands trembled, but her voice was steady. “He was so young. His father was killed early, in Saarland. Later, they were conscripting the children. Josef had just finished his schooling, he wanted to study art. He was not meant for war.” She hesitated. “Were you there when he died?”
“Yes.”
“Was it… did it end quickly?”
“Yes.” Nye paused, wondering how much to say. “There was a young woman who knew him. She held him in her arms. He did not die alone.”
“Thank you for that. It makes it easier, knowing. And the dog, Rolf? How do you come to have him now?”
It was uncanny how Rolf had responded to the woman, wriggling and whining in her lap. He’d read once that dogs could recognize family members by their scent, even if they’d never laid eyes on them before.
“Your son had taken him from the streets after a shelling.”
“He had a kind heart, that way.”
“After he died, the woman… Katrinka…” It was difficult for him to say her name. “She took the dog.”
“She is here?”
“She died as well.”
“I am sorry.”
“So, I took Rolf. I wanted to find you. To return these things to you, as she had planned to do.”
They talked for a long time. She told him about her life before the war. She had been a school instructor, teaching languages and art.
Nye told her a bit about his growing up in Bristol, and his life on board Le Flâneur. Under her sympathetic gaze, he found the words pouring out of him. He told her about Katrinka, and then the tears came.
She listened, letting him cry.
The lamp was burning low when Nye finally stopped, his voice hoarse. A great sense of peace washed through him, leaving him very tired.
Silke rose and relit the lamp, then brought over a woven basket. “There is little fruit, but I have my trees. We will share an apple.”
Nye looked on, as she sliced into the sweet flesh of the fruit. Then he sat back, glancing around the kitchen, with its checked curtains and polished dishes in a wooden cabinet. He felt the warmth of the stove and inhaled the lingering scent of food cooking. He watched Silke’s face in the flickering light. Rolf was asleep now, curled up at her feet, snoring slightly. The man could not shake the feeling that in some obscure way, he had come home.
* * *
Nye rocked on his veranda, gazing out at the water, an unread newspaper on his knee. He sat in the fading light, enjoying the last rays of the summer sun, and watched Rolf dig yet another hole in the garden. Silke finished the dishes and came out with their baby, to join him. He glanced over, smiling.
It had been Katrinka’s final and ultimate gift of love, this gentle woman sitting next to him rocking in the chair, the baby in her arms. She had given him so many things in her short life. Through loving the young boy, she had guided his way to this.
A fine mist was blowing in from the Bristol Channel and across the green fields. It set the jasmine blossoms drifting in his garden, and the empty chair next to them rocking slightly. It could have been the breeze, but Nye, enveloped in the soft-scented warmth, chose to believe otherwise.
Chapter 18
Okinawa, 1983
Michael and his wife Katrinka sat in the rental car, pulled over at this small, scenic spot along the coastal road. Okinawan music played on the radio, intermingling with the sounds of waves crashing on sea rock below.
“I guess this means a lot to the old man,” Michael remarked quietly. He hoped Kat would explain to him more clearly why her father had asked them to come along on this sudden trip, halfway around the world. But Katrinka was silent.
Michael sighed, and got out of the car to stretch. A few moments later another car pulled up, and a young couple with a toddler got out. They began taking pictures, but the toddler bolted, and ran screeching toward the guard railing and a sea gull. The mother ran after her.
The man strolled over to Michael, smiling. “Beautiful spot,” he said, indicating the expanse of water. “You visiting, or are you stationed here?”
“No, just visiting,” Michael replied.
“From the States?”
“We’ve flown over from London.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “Helluva long way from home. What brings you to the island?”
Michael laughed. “Ask my wife.” He pointed to the woman sitting in the car. “We’re on a bit of a pilgrimage, I guess you could call it. My wife, Katrinka, is here with her dad.”
“A war veteran? So many are coming back these days. My dad fought here with the Marines. Never thought I’d be following in his footsteps.”
“Her father was a veteran, but didn’t fight here,” Michael replied. “He was on medical leave. Came here right after the war.”
The men sat on a small cement bench, looking out at the water.
Michael offered him a cigarette. “My name’s Michael.”
The man waved off the cigarette. “Pete. No thanks. The wife wants me to quit. Having a kid and all…”
Both men sat, watching the toddler. The mother had given the child a cracker, and they were breaking bits off, feeding it to the seagull.
“So, what’s the pilgrimage about?” Pete asked. “Did a buddy of his die here?”
“Two, actually. A man and a woman.”
“I’m sorry. Must be tough for him.”
Michael tried to explain. “You see, this whole trip was quite a surprise. A few weeks ago, her father was cleaning out his house. He’s moving in with us. He found an old book in the attic that used to belong to this young woman he knew, Katrinka. The one my wife
is named after.
“Katrinka and her lover were killed here, just after the war, in a motorcycling accident. Later, my wife’s dad built a small memorial, a roadside shrine, like they do when someone dies nearby. He’s brought the book here, to leave at the shrine. Said it was where it belonged.”
“Wow,” Pete gave a low whistle. “There’s gotta be a story behind that.”
“Yes. I wish I knew it.”
Pete’s wife came over with the toddler struggling in her arms. “Are you ready, honey? Sarah’s getting fussy.”
Pete stood, reaching down to shake hands. “Better head out. Good luck with everything.”
“Thanks.” Michael got up watching them go, then walked back to the car. Kat had gotten out and was leaning against the door, smoking. He put an arm around her waist. Both of them gazed out at the water.
Kat finally spoke. “You know, I can feel her here. I can see her on that bike, holding her lover in her arms. The wind blowing in her hair. Laughing.”
“So, who was she, Kat?”
“Don’t you see? I wish I knew.” She tossed her cigarette over the railing and faced him. “She was someone my father loved, before he met my mother. And she was with my half-brother Josef, when he died. My father never told me much about my brother’s death, except it was during the war. And he never talks about the war.
“When I was a little girl, I used to dream about her. Holding my brother in her arms as he lay dying. She’s been this mystery all my life, just knowing the odd bits and pieces. Mom never explained, not even before she died. She told me it was up to Dad. But one fact stands out. It was Katrinka’s love that brought my mother and father together.”
Michael nodded. Another sad war story. Just one of the hundreds of war stories that soldiers brought back with them. Keeping them locked tight in their hearts. He wondered what secrets the young Katrinka had kept locked in her heart.
He turned and looked up to the Nago Mountains behind him, now sprinkled with cherry blossom trees. It was a damn beautiful island. Evidently the entire place had been flattened in the war. Some called it the ‘Typhoon of Steel’. Hundreds of Okinawans had committed suicide, leaping from cliffs just to the north of them. They said that on nights of a full moon, you could see their upturned faces in the waves.
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