Dawn of a Thousand Nights

by Tricia N. Goyer

  The barracks’ porch light cast a shadow over Rose’s face as she cocked one eyebrow. She swished the last of the dark liquid in the bottom of the bottle, then finished it off. “So God is talking to you now? Libby, please. With all that’s going on in the world, you think that God really takes the time to send you secret codes about a boyfriend you dated, what, two years ago?”

  Libby shrank back as if she’d been slapped. “I don’t believe you just said that. I love Dan. We’re going to get married when he returns.” Libby touched the ring on her hand.

  Rose leaned forward and looked squarely at Libby. “I have to ask you, Libby. Do you love Dan, or do you love the idea of him?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know. The idea of your dreamy California flyboy, who is struggling to survive in order to make it back to you. The idea of someone being in love with you as much as you love him.” A breeze blew a strand of dark hair into Rose’s eyes, and she tucked it behind her ear.

  “I mean, how much did you really know him? Your relationship was just getting warmed up when the big, bad war got in the way. Do you think your feelings would still be the same if you had both stayed on the island? If the Japs hadn’t gotten in the way of your romance? Do you think you’d still be heading down the same path to married-ever-after if Dan had stuck around?”

  Libby stood and turned her back to Rose. “I can’t believe you would say that. Of all people. I mean, the other girls never met him, and maybe he does seem a bit too good to be true. But you were there. You knew him. You saw us together. You said yourself that we were made for each other.”

  Libby remembered the four of them laughing around the table at Lau Yee Chai’s, she and Dan, Rose and—

  Rose didn’t reply.

  Libby turned back to her friend and lowered her voice. “I know it’s hard for you, Rose. It was horrible what happened to Jack, but I need you to remind me again of my time with Dan. To offer me hope that we’ll be together again.”

  “Hope? Libby, you’re wishing for something against all odds. Things have changed, can’t you see? We expected to join this war and have it over in six months. Sometimes our image of how things should be blocks our view of how they really are.”

  Libby reached over and took her friend’s hand. “Rose, what’s gotten into you? I don’t understand. Ever since …”

  Rose stood and folded her arms across her chest. “Ever since July died? You’re right. July’s accident just woke me up to the truth. At first I thought being in the WAFS was wonderful. I loved all the women and really felt a connection. But if you could have seen her body—” Rose shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Sometimes not knowing is much easier.”

  Rose walked away, leaving her parting comment to replay in Libby’s mind.

  Sometimes not knowing is much easier.

  Maybe not knowing what Dan faced right now was easier. But God knows.

  Libby lifted her chin and watched the final trainer descend. She kept her eyes on its path until it finally touched down.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t worry. Thoughts of losing Dan and never finding love again haunted her. When she was tired or weak, those thoughts hovered over her like an oppressive darkness. Yet, despite all those things, she’d found something greater. Something she could hardly understand herself.

  All she knew was the truth had a voice different from those nagging worries. She’d discovered this truth in God’s Word, and the more she let it in—the more she meditated on it—the more this voice of truth silenced her fears.

  “I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust,” Libby said aloud.

  This was the voice she wanted to listen to. Yet even her closest friend thought she was a fool for doing so.

  “Lord, get me out of this darkness. I need to feel light and heat. I need to touch the flesh of another person.”

  Dan curled into a ball in a corner of his small cell. It was the last corner that hadn’t turned to mud due to the overflowing waste bucket.

  His cheek rested on the cool ground, and he tried to imagine a time when stench did not fill his nostrils. He thought of the azaleas that used to bloom on Oahu. Of the salty ocean air. Of the pine trees and mossy soil of the California mountains near his home.

  The memories of these scents stirred within Dan a knowing that someplace on this earth, all was well.

  He recalled the smell of plane fuel and oil, letting the memories take him back to Clark Field, where thousands of men had lived and worked together. And the scent of fried fish. He tried to remember it, thinking of crowded restaurants in Honolulu. The loud, playful banter of young soldiers, and the harbor, busy with the movement of men and machines.

  Freedom had been displayed in a happy rhythm of bodies at work and play. So different from this place where touch was nonexistent, and the only sounds of life filtered through walls that caged him.

  Man wasn’t made to be alone. Didn’t the Bible say something about that? He was sure he’d heard those words before. Men were created to live together and interact. To share joys and sorrows. To lend a hand to those in need, and to hold the hands of those dying.

  As the long days in the cell slipped into longer nights, Dan thought back to the times he had felt part of a community of people. And to other times when he’d failed to offer a touch to those who needed it. Images of men crumpled on the side of the road during the march in Bataan haunted him. He hadn’t known their names, but their faces, young and old, now radiated in his mind as heavily as the Philippine sun had borne down on his head.

  Dying, the men had stretched out their hands to those who passed. At the time Dan had thought they sought assistance—food, water, strong arms to pull them to their feet. But the more time Dan spent alone, the more he realized their outstretched hands simply longed for human touch. As they felt their souls slipping from this life to the next, perhaps they just wanted someone to hold them, to speak words of comfort, and to remind them they mattered and would be missed.

  Perhaps the greatest tragedy of this war so far was that so many men had to die alone.

  A faint tapping vibrated on the wall near his head. Dan’s eyes opened and he scooted closer. He missed the first letters, but soon caught on….

  … S-o-n o-f m-a-n i-s c-o-m-e t-o s-e-e-k a-n-d s-a-v-e t-h-a-t w-h-i-c-h w-a-s l-o-s-t. L-u-k-e 19 10.

  The message stopped there, and Dan pondered those words. He’d memorized lots of verses in Sunday school when he was a kid … but the prizes for memorization had meant more to him than the words themselves.

  It was different now, thanks to the patient communication of the prisoner on the other side of the wall. Ben Morgan, Dan had gradually learned, was a flier from Omaha, captured by the Japs after a bombing raid over New Guinea. He’d already faced more days in solitary confinement than Dan had spent in the hell ship and the coal mines put together. Ben had tapped out verses to Dan, encouraging him to put his trust in God.

  Dan wondered why he hadn’t clung to these truths earlier. As a kid he’d liked the idea of God, but as he grew older he’d taken more comfort in God’s remoteness. Since Dan couldn’t see Him and didn’t hear a loud booming voice from heaven, he’d figured that even if there was a God, He wasn’t too interested in communicating with His people.

  To believe was to trust, but what about his questions? Maybe questions were allowed … even if he didn’t know the answers.

  He’d heard many men cry out for God’s help. Those same men had died horrible deaths. Paulo came to mind. His disfigured face, lying in the pile of bodies.

  For Dan, it had been easier to keep pushing the thoughts of God away than to try and figure out why He would let these things happen. Only here there was no place to hide from the examination of eternity. Here, his every thought was exposed. In this place, there was nothing else to do except think.

  And pray.

  Dan opened his eyes and peered into the pi
tch-blackness, focusing on the thin thread of light where the moon dared to squeeze through the cloud cover and his window. He tapped to Ben a message he’d received from him a week before.

  I o-n-c-e w-a-s l-o-s-t b-u-t n-o-w I a-m f-o-u-n-d w-a-s b-l-i-n-d b-u-t n-o-w I s-e-e.

  That would make old Ben smile. Dan’s heart felt a strange peace because of those words—even in this hellhole.

  Thirty-Six

  GRACE BEFORE MEAT

  Every nation has its feast of thanksgiving, but the American Thanksgiving will not be confused with any of the others.

  The feast is not the food. What could be drearier than the traditional menu eaten alone and in silence? The biblical dinner of herbs eaten in the company of those we love would be better. Thanksgiving is a day of reunion. More important than what is on the table are the friends gathered about it. This is, for those who celebrate it properly, a day of forgiveness, of quarrels forgotten, a new recognition of the value of a friend.

  Excerpt from the New York Times, November 25, 1943

  Natsuo paced the small office at the Tokyo Main POW complex. His eyes darted toward the isolated barracks at the far end of the island. It was his greatest test, and thus far he’d succeeded. His will for his country was stronger than his love of a friend.

  Beware of those who stand in the way of clear victory. The time has come for those born in the imperial land to repay with decisive action. The imperial benevolence should not be confused with mercy. Honor is granted to those who obey with stern countenance. Who unite as one, ready for death. Who fight bravely until our long-cherished desire is achieved—all the world under the imperial roof.

  “No, I cannot do it. I cannot continue.” Natsuo’s voice was no more than a whisper, but the words that had torn at his heart for months now escaped his lips. Ever since the day D.J. was thrown at his feet, the same dream had met him during the night.

  He was in California walking home after a late night of study. His feet quickened as he heard a group of rowdy students exiting a bar. The group of young men circled, taunting him.

  “We know what you people have been up to,” one young man slurred. “Think it’s okay killing all those women and children in China? Huh, Nip?”

  Before he realized what was happening, Natsuo found himself on the ground. He curled into a ball on the cold sidewalk, wincing as they kicked him.

  Then one voice rose above the others.

  “Leave him alone, will ya? What’s he done to you?”

  Natsuo opened his eyes, and Dan’s face met his gaze. “D.J.?”

  “Come on.” Dan offered his hand. “They won’t bother you anymore.”

  Dan helped Natsuo to his feet. He was amazed at how the other boys scattered. Then he saw that a couple of other guys from the football team also backed Dan up.

  “Natty, these are my friends. As long as we’re around, nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  The same scene, same words visited Natsuo every night. It wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory.

  “I’m sorry, Great Emperor.” Natsuo ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the debt of his inner soul. “The emotions are too great. I’m doomed to fail.”

  Once a noodle boy, always a noodle boy.

  Natsuo sat on his metal chair and leaned over his desk. The morning sunlight glared in his eyes, and he reached over to close the bamboo shades. He attempted to concentrate on paperwork, but every few minutes he’d look up, eagerly watching for Yashimo to arrive for work. When he finally did, exactly on time, Natsuo called him into his office. The young guard bowed low before him, then fixed his eyes on Natsuo, eager to serve.

  “Bring to me the prisoner in solitary confinement, cell three. But first, give him a meal. Take him to the shower and make him put on the worker’s warmer clothes. Get him a haircut and shave. Then, when he no longer stinks, bring him to me.”

  Yashimo nodded, and a secret smile filled his face. “It is a very Christian thing to do. To love your enemies.”

  Natsuo glanced at the cross that hung around Yashimo’s neck, then turned his back to the man. “I am not Christian. And you’d better tuck that cross under your shirt. Go and do as I say. And mention it to no one. I could have you turned in for wearing that, as a soldier of the emperor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Libby awoke to a piece of paper being placed on the pillow by her head. The scent of Rose’s perfume wafted through the room. She scratched her nose and studied the note.

  Dinner tonight? Call me. Sam.

  “Libby, please. The guy’s going to drive me crazy. He just wants a friendship. Honestly, Dan would understand.”

  Libby crumbled the piece of paper and dropped it to the floor. “I told you I’m not interested. He wants me to go to his house for Thanksgiving—it sounds too close to ‘bringing the girl home to show the parents.’ ”

  Rose nudged against Libby’s hips until she scooted over; then she sat on the bed. “How about I join you? Then it wouldn’t be like that at all. I don’t have any plans.”

  Libby rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Fine. I’ll call him. We’ll go to Thanksgiving dinner, but that’s it. And if he keeps asking me out after that … I swear, you’re going to pay.”

  Rose stood and zipped her flight suit over her white blouse, and for the first time in ages, a smile played on her lips. “Yes, I’ll pay. Now just go make the call.” Rose sauntered out of the room. “Oh, and tell him we’ll need a ride,” she called back over her shoulder. “I don’t think the army will let us travel by our normal mode of transportation.”

  Cottonwood trees clapped their hands happily in the wind as Libby climbed out of Sam’s pickup truck after Rose. The ride to his house had looked strangely familiar—the rows of sky-reaching palms, the brown rolling hills, even Roy’s Fruit Stand. The farther north they drove, the more she realized that Sam lived amazingly close to Dan’s parents. I wonder if he’d swing me by to see them?

  Libby quickly pushed that thought out of her mind. How strange would that be, to show up with another man—no matter how innocent it was.

  Libby playfully punched Sam on the shoulder, noticing the passel of kids running around the white picket-fenced yard. “Why didn’t you tell me you were married and had so many kids?”

  Sam raised an eyebrow as a little boy on a tricycle zoomed in front of them, ringing his bell and waving. “Hey, Stevie,” he called. Then he turned to Libby. “Well, I thought if you knew, you wouldn’t come.”

  Libby’s jaw dropped.

  “Nah, those are just my nieces and nephews. Goodness, you are trouble.” He wrapped an arm around Libby’s shoulders and led her toward the small yellow house.

  This isn’t right. But I have to admit, his touch is nice …

  A girl about three years old with long, wavy brown hair ran up and lifted her arms to Sam. “Up. Up. I wanna touch the sky.”

  Sam pulled his arm away and lifted the girl to his shoulders, then began spinning in slow circles. “Here we go. Liftoff. Can you touch yet?”

  The youngster squealed, and Libby couldn’t help but laugh.

  Rose sidled up to Libby. “Now tell me that doesn’t just warm your heart.”

  Libby nudged Rose in the ribs. “Stop that. We’ve already had this conversation.”

  By the time he placed the girl back on her wobbly feet, a line of youngsters had formed in front of Sam. He turned to Libby and shrugged.

  “I’ll leave you to your fun,” she said. “Rose and I will introduce ourselves and see if your mom needs any help.”

  Sam rapped her chin with a soft curl of his finger. “There you go, being great. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

  Rose slid her arm into Libby’s as they walked toward the house. She cleared her throat. “A-hem. Did Sam just have his arm around you?”

  Libby forced a grin. “I knew I should have left you at home.”

  Dan felt alive again. His stomach bulged with his small dinner of fresh fish and clean white rice. His pink skin s
till stung from the scrubbing that had peeled off layers of dirt, and the sensation of his new clothes against his skin was almost foreign. He rubbed a clean hand against his shaven face. How long had it been?

  With a smile, he tucked the faded photo of Libby and the pocketknife into his trousers. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  The guard, Yashimo, led him to the main office. “When you enter the room there will be a man sitting behind the desk. You bow, stand at attention, and wait for orders. Understand?”

  Dan didn’t have to ask who the man would be. So many nights within that solitary cell his mind had played a game of tug-of-war, yanking his thoughts between love and hatred. When he couldn’t stand the conflicted emotions, he prayed for Natty, though at first it was hard.

  Now he found it was even harder to hate someone when he placed him at the feet of Jesus in prayer.

  “Yes, of course. I will honor him.” Dan paused and placed his hands over his face, overcome with emotion. He swallowed hard, then breathed out slowly. “I’m ready.”

  The room was lit only by the afternoon sun, and at the desk sat Dan’s former classmate. Fatigue marked Natsuo’s overall expression, and his once-glittering eyes sat as dark pieces of coal in his head, devoid of life. Natsuo waved the guard away, who closed the door.

  “Sit, D.J.”

  Dan bowed low, then did as ordered.

  “Do you remember how, even as I lived in the United States, I would work very hard and send money home?” Natsuo spoke to Dan, but his gaze was somewhere else, at another place and time.

  Dan nodded.

  “Japan is a very poor country. There are too many people. They need so much. Remember how you’d even help me save the lead foil from gum and cigarette wrappers? You did not know, but when the Japanese freighters came to San Pedro to buy American scrap metal, I would take them the foil. In a small way it was my contribution.”

  Dan watched as Natsuo’s eyes finally scanned his thin frame, then looked away.