by Dean Hughes
Anna was pulling the blanket back over herself when she heard her mother open the door, and then she heard a gasp and a little shriek. It sounded joyous, not fearful, but still Anna couldn’t think what it was. She got up quickly and walked down the hall. By then she was hearing a man’s voice. “Papa,” she whispered, and hurried to the door. Her mother had thrown her arms around him and was saying, “Oh, Heinrich, oh, Heinrich.” Brother Stoltz had hold of her, but he was looking over her shoulder, smiling at Anna as tears ran down his face.
In a moment, Sister Stoltz stepped back and let Heinrich go to Anna. He took Anna in his arms, gripped her tight. He was shaking with sobs by then. When he could speak, finally, he said, “Where’s my grandson?”
“Come with me,” Anna said, and she led him to her bedroom. She opened the door quietly and then walked to the little wooden cradle in the corner. She turned back the blanket and carefully lifted the baby, who let out a cry before he settled into her arms. She turned then and let her father look. He leaned close and whispered, “Oh, my. What a beautiful boy. So much like you were.”
“Like Alex, I think.”
“I see that, too.” He held his hands out, palms up. “May I hold him.”
“Yes, of course.” Anna put the bundle into his arms. For a moment the baby’s eyes came open as he nestled against his grandfather’s chest. Suddenly Brother Stoltz was crying hard again, his body shaking. Sister Stoltz put her arms around his shoulders and held him, tried to steady him. Anna, of course, understood what was happening, that her father was thinking about Peter.
“Why did you come now?” Sister Stoltz asked.
“We need to talk,” Brother Stoltz said. He was getting himself under control, but he continued to stare into his grandson’s face as though that were the only thing he wanted to do for now. After a minute or so, however, he handed the baby back to Anna, and she put him down again. Then all three walked to the kitchen. There, Sister Stoltz took her husband in her arms once again, clung to him. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” she asked him.
“I did. Didn’t you get my letter?”
“No.”
“I’ve gotten here faster than the letter, then. I thought you knew.”
“No. Sit down. Tell us what you wrote.”
Brother Stoltz walked to the table and pulled out a chair. Anna sat across from him, his wife next to him. She took hold of his hand. “Heinrich, it’s so good to have you here. But you said you wouldn’t come yet. I don’t understand.”
“Yes. This is what I want to tell you.” He didn’t look at his wife, however; he looked at Anna. “Alex came to see me. He brought your letter. He told me about our grandson. And then he told me to come home, to look after you—and to bless the baby for him.”
“Papa, does that mean he can’t come?” Anna asked. “He told me he would try to get another leave.”
“He can’t, Anna. Not even for a short visit. His commanding officer told him that he’s had his leave, that he can’t have another for quite some time.”
Anna had expected this. It was what Alex had told her would probably happen. But she had held out hope. “It’s all right,” she said. “At least you can give the blessing—that’s almost as good. What did Alex say about the name? I call the baby Gene, in my mind, but I never say it. I wanted Alex to decide.”
“Yes. That’s the name he wants. Eugene, after his little brother—and call him Gene. It’s what Alex wanted all along. And Alexander for a middle name, if you want.”
“I have thought, maybe Peter,” Sister Stoltz said.
There was a long, difficult pause. Anna knew what her mother was saying, and Brother Stoltz, of course, understood too. “Frieda,” he said, “I haven’t given up. Don’t think that. It was almost impossible to look for him, the way Germany is now. Alex can look more easily than I can. He has a better chance to find him. He promised me he will do everything he can. But if he can’t find him, I’ll go back again. I’ll keep searching.”
Sister Stoltz got up from the table. She walked across the room.
“What is it, Frieda? Do you think I should have stayed?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She tucked her hands into the pockets of her apron, and she looked toward the window. “Heinrich, we have to accept things as they are. We have to go on. Sooner or later, we have to do that. We can’t give this pain to ourselves forever.”
“Frieda, there’s no reason to give up yet. There are millions of German soldiers in prison camps. There’s no reason to assume he’s dead.”
“What will the Russians do with their prisoners?”
“In time, they’ll let them go, I would think.”
“You know what’s in the newspapers—how the Russians starve these boys, or work them to death. They’re shipping them to Siberia to work camps. What makes you think Peter could live through something like that?”
“But Frieda, the Russians will surely soften before long. They are bitter now, but those feelings will pass away.”
“Peter doesn’t have forever.” Anna had thought all these things before. Maybe it was time to accept, not to spend her whole life wondering.
“Frieda, there are so many possibilities. We don’t know that he was taken by the Russians. He could be—”
“He could have been killed, Heinrich. He could have frozen to death. You know that millions died in the east.”
“Yes, but—”
“He could have been caught, long ago—discovered for who he was. And if that happened, the Gestapo wouldn’t bother to hold a trial. They would shoot him, and how would we ever find that out?”
Anna was shocked by her mother’s voice, the seeming bitterness in it. She couldn’t remember her mother ever sounding this way.
Brother Stoltz got up. He walked to his wife, took hold of her shoulders. “Why are you doing this? You have always believed that he was alive, that he would come back to us.”
“I trusted you, Heinrich. Your feelings.” The harshness in her voice was suddenly gone. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “But the war is over, and why wouldn’t we hear something now—if he’s all right?”
“He doesn’t know where we are. How could he find us? The Red Cross couldn’t tell him. No one could.”
“So what are you saying, Heinrich—that we’ll wait for years and years, and no matter how long we do, we still won’t know?”
Brother Stoltz pulled her into his arms. “No. I’m saying this: Trust me for a while yet. I believe the Lord spoke to me. I still think he’s alive.”
“I thought that too, but now I don’t know. Maybe it’s only what I wanted to believe.”
“I know. I could be wrong. But I don’t think I am. And Alex will keep his promise. He can move about Germany more than most people can. He can check at camps. When records are available, he can get them. Maybe, in time, the Russians will provide names.”
“I just want to know,” Sister Stoltz said. She began to sob much harder. “I’m so tired.”
Anna felt much the same, in truth, but she said, “Mama, we’ll name the baby Eugene Alexander. That’s a hopeful name. Let’s be happy that Papa is here with us. It’s what we’ve wanted.”
But now little Gene had begun to cry, and Anna knew that she needed to change his diaper, perhaps nurse him again, although it seemed too soon. The thought that he might be fussy again today was difficult for her.
“Let me get him,” Sister Stoltz said. “I’ll change him.” Then she looked at her husband. “I’m sorry. I’ll be all right.” Sister Stoltz pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her apron and dabbed at her eyes. “I can get through this. We all can.”
“Frieda, I still think we’ll find him. If Alex doesn’t locate him, I’ll go back. I’m not going to give up.”
“Heinrich, you think you can always make things right. But some things can’t be fixed. The war came, and it changed everything. Now we have to live with what it’s done to us.”
&
nbsp; Brother Stoltz nodded, accepting that, but he looked heartbroken. Anna went to him, put her arms around him again. “We’ll be all right. We’ll be fine,” she told him.
Chapter 29
Wally could walk around the compound—anywhere he felt like strolling. He still couldn’t leave the camp, but just having this much freedom—no work to do, no more trips to the mine—was wonderful enough. Commander Hisitake was now letting the cooks use the bulk food sent by the Red Cross, and this meant meat with the rice, and other food in much greater quantities. For most of the men, it also meant all the cigarettes they wanted. The only problem with that was, with so many cigarettes available, Wally had lost his trading power. But he could get plenty of chocolate, and his body was getting used to it. He craved the stuff. He ate lots of it—and anything else he could get his hands on. Some things upset his stomach, his system not used to richer foods, but it was a great feeling to have a full stomach, actually to eat enough not to be hungry.
The Japanese guards finally got around to marking the camp with big letters, “POW,” on the parade ground and on top of the mess hall. That would have been a good idea back when the bombers were attacking, but at least now it meant that supply planes might spot them.
The better conditions were great, but everyone wanted to get home, and there had been no contact from Allied forces. After a couple of weeks, Hisitake turned over all the weapons in the camp, and the Japanese disappeared from the place. The prisoners had often spoken of retribution, if they ever got the chance, but that didn’t seem top priority for most of them. The men in greatest danger were Langston, the mess hall officer, who had treated his fellow prisoners so badly, and Honeywell, his crony. Both seemed to disappear with the Japanese. Some said they were hiding out in Langston’s quarters, but Wally didn’t care. He never wanted to think about those two again.
When the prisoners took control, the highest-ranking American officer, a dentist, took command. He ordered the prisoners to wait in the camp, not to leave, and to await the arrival of Allied troops—or for some instruction from the military. But a few days after the guards had left, the food ran out—and the cigarettes. This brought on some rage. The men had lived too well lately to go back to starvation rations. Wally was in on some of the discussions about what the men could do to feed themselves. Everyone agreed that the mine owner owed them food after all the work they had been forced to do for him. So they sent a representative to the mine owner with a demand for food and a warning that they would take over the mine and shut it down, should he not comply.
On the following day five large trucks pulled into the compound. Two trucks were loaded with rice, and two more with canned goods. The fifth was full of nothing but cigarettes. With the food had also come cooks, and the prisoners began to eat well again. But the anxiousness to get out of the camp, to go home, was only increasing. The American commander did give the men permission to go to the nearby beaches, where Wally began, every morning, to dig clams. That was a great treat—fresh clams, shucked and boiled—and he liked the activity. It was something to occupy his time. Some of the men organized a program with lots of funny performances one night, but most days were long, as everyone talked about only one thing: getting home.
Finally one day a B-29 flew over and released magazines and a note that told the prisoners to clear the compound for a drop. The big flying fortress came in again and dropped fifty-five-gallon cans of food and clothes, but it came in far too low, not giving the parachutes time to deploy. The cans slammed into the dirt and blew apart, or crashed and rolled. Most of the food was ruined.
The next time supplies were dropped, however, crates were let go from a reasonable height, and they drifted into the compound. By now, the men had all the food they could eat—and more. More drops only kept them well supplied.
Men who had been released from other camps also began to show up. They were simply wandering about, looking Japan over, and they, like everyone else, were trying to figure out how to get home. No one had the answer for how to do that, but the men of the Omuta camp decided their own commander was being entirely too strict. They started wandering out themselves.
One morning Wally and Chuck took cigarettes, soap, and some big GI overcoats, and they headed out. The overcoats had been dropped with other supplies by American pilots. Wally wondered what that meant—was the military expecting the men to stay through the winter? But most assumed it was a typical army supply foul-up, and they used the coats for barter on the local market. Wally and Chuck wanted to trade for fresh vegetables or fruit, or maybe some chickens. They weren’t hungry, but they wanted to do something interesting, see some of the area, and eat some things they hadn’t tasted for a long time. They walked through the demolished city to the train station, and they caught a train—although they had no idea where it was going. At a little town they got off, and then they walked into the country. Both were impressed with how beautiful and green the farmlands were, with rolling hills, a few little groves of trees, and farmhouses scattered about. The houses were certainly more than shacks, but they seemed insubstantial compared to homes in the States.
When they passed a house where chickens were running about, Chuck said, “Let’s go in and see if these people will trade for a couple of those little hens.”
So the two approached the house, and they knocked at the door. In a few moments a young girl, maybe fifteen or so, and pretty, opened the door. She was clearly alarmed. She waved her hand before her face as though she were pleading with them not to hurt her.
Wally spoke to her calmly, tried to reassure her. He knew a simple Japanese greeting, and he kept repeating it, and he bowed. She bowed, too, without ever looking them straight on, and then she hurried away, but she left the door open. In a short time a man came to the door. He bowed, and then, in English, he said, “Please. Come in.”
When Wally and Chuck stepped inside, Wally could see how beautiful the house had been at one time but how sparsely furnished it was now. The three men sat on the floor together. Wally and Chuck set the coats and the package of soap and cigarettes on the floor next to them. The Japanese man said, “We bring you something to eat.” Wally thought the man seemed too old to be the girl’s father. Maybe he was her grandfather. Or maybe he was merely worn down. His skin was creased, like the folds in dry leather.
“You don’t have to feed us,” Chuck told him. “We’re not hungry.”
The man bowed from the waist. He was dressed in a baggy pair of cotton trousers that buttoned at the calf, and in a loose blouse that tied across at the waist. “We are honored,” he said. “No more war.”
“Yes. We’re glad it’s over too.”
“Many people in Japan, no food. In winter, no warm, no clothing. Very, very bad.”
“What about you? Did you have to go hungry?”
“No.”
Wally wondered. Had he been selling off his possessions? Is that why the house looked so bare? On the wall he saw a picture of a young man—handsome, in a navy uniform. “Is that your son?” Wally asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he come through all right?”
But the man didn’t seem to understand.
“Is he alive?”
Now the man looked down. “We do not know. His
ship . . .” He hesitated, and then he pointed down.
“Oh, my,” Wally said, “that must be difficult. How long has he been missing?”
“Long time.”
Wally suddenly felt strange. “Your son could be a prisoner. Like us,” Wally said.
“Yes. We hope.”
“We were prisoners almost three and a half years.”
The man looked confused.
“Three years. Four months.”
The man nodded solemnly. “Very long time.”
“Bad food,” Chuck said. “Hard work.”
“Yes. I am sorry. War very bad.”
“But we’re going home now,” Wally said. “We hope your son comes back.”
> The man bowed again, but then he said, “Not come home.” Now he was saying what he really believed, and Wally suspected he was right.
The young woman appeared again. She was carrying a tray with bowls on it. There were cooked vegetables and rice in the bowls.
She bowed before Chuck, then got down on her knees and offered the food. “Oh, no,” he said. “We’re not hungry. We have plenty of food now.”
“Please,” the man said. “Please, eat.”
Wally got up. He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to do that, and not sure that it was right to turn the man down. But this family didn’t have much to eat, and he couldn’t take what they had. “We brought something for you,” he said.
The man was getting up. Wally knew there were rules of etiquette about that. He feared that he wasn’t being respectful. He bowed to the man. But this caused the man to bow low himself.
“We have cigarettes and soap. And we thought you might like these coats—when things get colder.”
“This is wonderful gift,” the man said. “Thank you. Please eat.”
But Wally couldn’t do it. He was afraid that he was hurting the man’s feelings, but he couldn’t take any of his food.
Chuck was already moving toward the door, and Wally followed. They both stopped and bowed again, and the man and the young woman bowed too. “Thank you very much,” Wally kept saying.
“I do hope your son makes it back,” Chuck said, and he stepped outside the door. Wally followed him, and then, outside, Chuck said, “Oh, man, I wish we had brought them some food. Maybe we can come back here some time.”
Wally glanced at the chickens. He was glad now that he hadn’t offered to trade before he had learned a little more. The man surely would have had the chickens killed for them.
