The Wooden Box

The Wooden Box

          “What a strange little man,” Dan thought, as he watched the aged Japanese gentleman carefully walk down the sidewalk in front of him.

          The octogenarian was dressed in a uniform, something like the ones the bellboys back at the hotel wore. Dan would later be informed the old gentleman was wearing the uniform of a Japanese Naval Aviator, circa 1941 actually. He carried a wreath of flowers and was followed by a contingent of people who Dan assumed were relatives.

          Their pace was slow, matching the stride of the old gentleman. Dan seized the opportunity at an intersection with another sidewalk to pass the small group and walk on down the path to his destination, which was the battleship Arizona. He carried with him a small wooden box, unnoticed by the crowd; it contained a unique treasure.

          A visit to Hawaii was not complete without a tour of Pearl Harbor. As a young boy, Dan listened respectfully to the stories recounted by his father regarding the great war. His dad was a Marine. And, although his father did not talk much of the carnage of war, he knew of it; he was a part of it and it was a part of him--embedded into the fabric of his being. As a result, the spirit of the Corps was ever present and ingrained, as if by osmosis, into Dan as a child. His dad fought with the Sixth Marine Division on the Island of Okinawa. That conflict left an indelible impression on his father's life and, as a result, Dan was keenly interested in anything to do with the War in the Pacific, Okinawa, or the Marine Corps.

          “This is where it all began,” Dan thought as he watched the water part by the bow of the service boat taking the group of sightseers to the Memorial spanning the USS Arizona. He renewed his grip on the small wooden box.

          The day was picture perfect. He imagined it was much like the day the Zeros and dive bombers plummeted from the sky dropping their bombs and spewing cascading waves of machine gun fire. It was amazingly silent as they approached the landing for the Arizona—much different, he imagined, from the cacophony of shrieks, explosions, and cries on the morning of December 7, 1941. The sounds of that morning resided in the past as memories of a moment in infamy when a nation was rudely awaken from its slumber. All Dan heard on this morning was the steady chug of the launch's motor and the quiet parting of the water as they neared the Arizona. He noticed the surface of the water was shiny.

          “That’s curious,” he thought.

          Then he remembered the oil tanks of the Arizona were full of fuel when it was sunk. The oil had burned for two-and-a-half days. For the last sixty years the ruptured tanks continued to leak oil a drop at a time, keeping the surface of the water around the Arizona sheathed with an oily ribbon—the only continual activity of the mighty battleship, as if it were still bleeding.

          Dan glanced around the open cabin of the small vessel in which he was riding—anxious to see if anyone else noticed the oily ribbon. He saw only somber faces contemplating some aspect of the Memorial, just as he was--perhaps it was the oily surface; perhaps it was the reverberating silence of the moment; perhaps it was the crippled skeleton of the superstructure they were approaching. He did not have time to consider it further for his eyes fixed on the eyes of the elderly gentleman in the uniform, holding the wreath of flowers. They were bold eyes, strong eyes—not the eyes of an old man, but rather the eyes of a young warrior. Lost in thoughts focused on the significance of that place, Dan had not noticed the old gentleman was among the party visiting the Memorial. But, he now realized he would never be able to escape those eyes for as long as he lived.

          The group of visitors filed off of the boat onto the suspended deck of the Memorial, which bridged the hallowed Arizona—not touching it. Separated from the other sightseers, he walked the exhibit area and paused at the rail, gazing into the still waters enveloping the fallen ship. It was the final resting place of 1,700 servicemen. The solemn impact of the moment washed over him like a gentle wave. He gripped the little wooden box he carried. He wasn't quite sure why he brought it with him; he considered the contents of the box. Holding it in front of him, he released the simple latch with a ‘click.’ Opening the lid he could see the contents therein; it was a small silk flag, somewhat tattered and dirty. His family claimed possession of the flag for over sixty years. Dan’s father captured it on the Island of Okinawa.

         "Why did I bring this here?" Dan asked himself quietly. He didn't have an answer. Somehow it seemed appropriate—a trophy acquired in the last battle of the War. He considered that maybe it was to symbolize the finish of what was began at this place.

          Dan remembered the story as his father told him. The sun rose on cue that morning sixty-three years ago. High cirrus clouds caught the rays of the sun and painted orange fingers across the sky meeting the horizon and the ocean. A young Marine carefully descended down the netting secured on the side of the ship. His buddies were either toiling alongside him or had already taken their places in the landing craft. The beauty of the morning was lost to him as the weight of the purpose before him assaulted his emotions. On the island, a young Japanese airman drank in the full beauty of the morning. The sunrise streaking the sky reminded him of the flag he tucked into his vest pocket. The rays on his flag were written inscriptions of the family histories of his comrades. He would carry it into battle and afterward he would fly it proudly as a sign of honor and courage for years to come.

          It was the first day of April, ‘April Fools Day.’ What a joke they were playing on the Japanese Army. In a short while the Marines would storm the beaches of Okinawa and lay claim to this strategic military site. Slowly the Allied forces had pushed the Japanese from island to island within a continuing decreasing radius, constantly getting closer to the sacred homeland at its center. And, as the Japanese Army pressed its back to the wall of the homeland island, their ferocity and resolve to prevail or die increased exponentially. And so they died on Okinawa; oftentimes it was a horrible and violent death, for the Marines retrofitted mechanisms onto their tanks which turned them into deadly flamethrowers. That was the only effective way to clear the myriad caves where each became a battlefield.

          Dan’s father was the young Marine. He fought his way across the island. The campaign lasted almost three months. Over the course of the battle, the buddies who climbed down the netting with him either died or were wounded. His father never saw them again. Yet, he would remember them forever. Fighting his way across the island, he gave no quarter, there were no prisoners. But then there were few opportunities, since the Japanese would rather commit suicide than surrender. Many got that opportunity and took it.

          His father had very little to remind him of that experience. He brought back only two items from the battlefield. One was a Japanese rifle. It was damaged. A bullet hole had penetrated the stock, showing the path the bullet had taken when the soldier carrying it was killed. One solitary soldier tied in a tree pinned down his whole company, until his life was dispatched. The soldier was left in the tree; his rifle fell to the ground where Dan’s father claimed it. Much later his father fashioned a new stock for the weapon and stored it in his gun case as a silent testimony of one man’s conflict against another. Years following, the rifle was stolen.

          The other token from the battlefield was a small flag. It was wrapped around the arm of a young Japanese flier who died on the battlefield at Yontan Airfield. It was soiled and torn; it would never fly again. Instead, it was folded and stuffed into a duffle bag. Over the years, it found its way to a drawer containing various keepsakes. The Japanese airman who carried the flag was forgotten. His family long ago accepted their sacrifice for the Emperor, not knowing of the fate of the flag which was carried into battle. Years afterward, Dan found the flag midst the memorabilia of his father, who also had also passed away, as an old man far removed from that battlefield. But yet, the flag endured.

          The flag captured Dan’s conscience as well as his emotions. He folded the flag and kept it in a drawer for quite a while, not knowing how to display it. At the time it was captured, it represented the commitment of a people who attacked his country while she slumbered and would see her defeated in battle. No longer should it fly in honor of the principles it represented. Such was the fate of those who lose in war. But, Dan respected the men who believed in a cause and died for that belief. Nevertheless, his father gave them little respect, having seen his buddies killed. So, when the flag passed to him, Dan decided to store it honorably. He purchased a simple but tasteful wooden box; he carefully folded the flag and placed it in the box. Over the years he unsuccessfully tried to get a translation of the writing inscribed on the flag, never knowing what the characters written on that flag meant.

          Dan closed the lid to the box and focused on the present, the waters of Pearl Harbor Bay, the Arizona. Looking around he became aware that attention was directed to a scene happening not too far from him. On the deck of the Memorial platform Dan saw the elderly gentleman kneeling. His eyes were closed and although Dan could not understand the muttering of the old man, he realized he was praying.

          Carefully the elderly gentleman rose to his feet, with a little help from his companions. He took the wreath of flowers, approached the railing, and tossed the wreath into the waters next to the Arizona. Tears streamed down the old fellow's cheeks.

          Moved by what he was witnessing, Dan touched the shoulder of one of the elderly gentleman’s companions, who were standing in front of him. An attractive middle-aged woman looked to Dan in response to his touch.

          “Yes?” she quietly asked.

          “I’m so sorry; and don’t mean to intrude. But, can you tell me what is happening here?” Dan inquired.

          The woman smiled and explained, “This is my grandfather. During the War, he was a Naval Aviator. He fought in many battles. He was here on December 7, 1941. He dropped bombs on the ships anchored along the berths, perhaps this very ship.”

          Dan glanced quickly at the old man. He recognized the eyes of the warrior there, which had been a proud member of an air squadron many years ago. Dan was keenly aware that the old gentleman before him had been here, at the beginning of the conflict; he fought in the first battle of the War.

          The woman continued, “My grandfather has lived with a great burden for many years. He is sorry for the pain he brought to the families of these who died at this place. He has come here to ask them to forgive him. As he knelt, he prayed that they would hear him. He affirmed that they were honorable men and begged their forgiveness. He cast the wreath in the water to seal his pledge to them. The tears you see are the tears of an old man. But, they come from the heart of a warrior who respects those who fought against him.”

          “I see,” Dan replied. “Do you think they will? I mean, the fallen; do you think they will forgive him?”

          The woman smiled, “I do not know. Maybe it does not matter. It happened so long ago. All that is important to me is that my grandfather believes they will. Only time will tell.”

          “Maybe they have.” Dan returned.

          “Excuse me?” the woman inquired, furrowing her brow.

          Dan smiled at the woman and repeated, “Perhaps they have. Do you think I may speak to your grandfather?”

          She looked at him curiously and replied, “I don’t know. I will ask him?”

          “Thank you.”

          The woman made her way through the small crowd surrounding the aged airman. She whispered in his ear, motioned to Dan as they both examined him. The old man spoke to the gathering and turned toward Dan. The group parted and the old man made his way to Dan. As he walked forward, Dan did not perceive the image of an old man tottering to him, but that of a young, virile soldier, confident and proud. The old man stopped before Dan and spoke in heavily accented English.

          “Yes, I am Sato Hiroshi, how may I assist you?” the old gentleman stated as he bowed slightly and returned his eyes to Dan’s.

          Knowing that the Japanese always give the surname first, Dan replied, “Mr. Sato, I have been moved by your honest demonstration at this Memorial. My father was an American Marine fighting in this conflict. He was on the island of Okinawa and came home a different man. I do not know if he was able to come to the place of forgiveness as you have, but, I would have wanted him to. He has died and I will never know.”

          Hiroshi bowed his head and remarked, “I am sorry for your loss.”

          “Thank you; but the reason I have asked to speak to you is because of a trophy I have that should no longer be a trophy but rather should be a memorial, just as this place here is a memorial.”

          Dan paused to gather his thought. The aged gentleman smiled and spoke softly. “And, how is it that I may help you with this memorial?”

          Dan handed the wooden box to Sato Hiroshi. “I would like to give this to you. Somehow I think my father would approve, and perhaps the brave men buried here would understand also.”

          The elderly airman opened the box and removed the flag, tattered and torn. He held it out so he could see the inscription written on the flag. He then began to fold it and replace it in the box.

          “This flag does not belong at this place,” Hiroshi stated solemnly. “It has lost its honor and cannot fly here. But I will take it back home. I respect the man who held it to his breast. The inscription tells me the aviator’s name was Sagawara Sado. This is his prayer flag.”

          “I never knew his name. It has been written there for sixty years and no one knew his name.” Dan responded solemnly.

          Hiroshi closed the lid to the box, tucked it under his arm, smiled at Dan, then bowed, turned, and walked slowly away.

          Hiroshi’s granddaughter turned to Dan and spoke, “I think maybe you are right. I think maybe the fallen warriors of the past hear our pleas for forgiveness and have answered. Thank you.”

          She bowed without waiting for Dan to respond, turned, and followed her grandfather back to his companions.

          “I guess so,” Dan spoke to no one in general, maybe the waves, maybe the Arizona, maybe his father. “Things change. The world changes. Our enemies are us, with a different perspective. There comes a time for forgiving; maybe this is the time.”