A Song For Lisa

by Clifton La Bree

  The attitudes of the former prisoners were changing with every mile the ship sailed towards home. Anticipation of going home and knowing that their loved ones had been informed of their rescue was a tremendous lift to their morale and dispositions. In between sessions with the doctors, dentists, eye specialists and internal medicine specialists, the women were quick to adapt to life on the ship. Magazines and newspapers were devoured page by page. They caught up on the current war news. The invasion of Europe seven months previous to their release from prison was greeted with great enthusiasm. Movies were a favorite pastime.

  The women packed the movie auditoriums every day. Movies such as Going My Way, Jane Eyre, Casablanca and Gone With The Wind helped them make the transition back to normal life. Some of the movies made them cry openly in the auditorium.

  Their prison experience was something that would always separate them from mainstream citizens. It conditioned every aspect of their lives, and defined them as human beings. Food would never be wasted; clean water would always be a luxury; fresh air would never be taken for granted again; and the greatest gift of all, freedom, would always be treasured. Three years of their lives had withered away almost as completely as their bodies. They had a lot of catching up to do, but time would never be frivolously wasted again. The sheer pleasure of being alive, with a full stomach and a promise of more in the future made it the most precious gift of all. Life had meaning at last!

  Lisa’s auburn hair had been cut just below her ears. The naval-nurse-turned-hairdresser suggested that with her round face, she would look good in bangs. Lisa agreed, not caring much how it was cut, as long as it was free of lice. The end results drew compliments from her companions. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were still sunken deeply into their sockets. They stared back at her with a hard disinterested look as if she were a stranger. Her Jeff would not know her now. Her protruding cheek bones gave her an unearthly look. The few days of a normal diet had improved her appearance, but she had a long ways to go to be the girl Jeff remembered.

  On the second day at sea, Lisa walked about the ship. At first it was difficult to coordinate her steps with the slow rhythmic movement of the ship as it cut through the southwest Pacific. Time and practice gave her confidence. The solitude of the sea was a source of strength to her. Its immensity and its infinite moods reminded her of the green spruce-fir forests of her beloved New Hampshire. They evoked the same kind of emotions. Lisa’s first sunrise and sunset at sea were a revelation. She never knew such spectacular panoramas of color existed. The beauty exceeded a sunset in the White Mountains. The sun colored the entire sky from horizon to horizon. Small isolated cumulous clouds floated in a sea of color. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen and it touched the creative and artistic elements of her makeup. It made her feel alone and a melancholic sadness filled her heart. Beauty always made her cry ─ tears came easily.

  The magnificence of the scene rekindled her belief in a just God. During the long years in prison, she had given up and believed that He had forgotten them. Not once did God give her, or any of the other prisoners, a sign that He loved them. She had been a firm believer and was deceived by His absence. She could believe again if He would give her a sign explaining why the women were allowed to suffer for so long. What lesson was there to learn from such brutality? Answers were still wanting!

  Lisa leaned against the rail watching the blue water being parted by the passage of the ship. Two smaller coast guard ships maintained a course and speed abreast of the ponderous hospital ship. She had been told that there was a danger of enemy submarines. It seemed to her that the smaller ships had intentionally positioned themselves to intercept a torpedo if one was launched at the hospital ship. The willingness of the coast guardsmen to place themselves in danger to protect others was an act of courage that brought tears to her swollen eyes. She thought of the young Ranger, Lieutenant Wright and his men who had placed themselves in harm’s way to free and protect them. Were such acts an instrument of God’s plan? She believed it could be so, and found comfort with that knowledge.

  The sound of a piano being played somewhere on the ship broke her reverie. She followed the sound and arrived at a recreational room with several wounded soldiers in it. The piano held her transfixed. She had not played or heard a note of music for three years. A wounded soldier with one arm missing was picking out the melody of a song popular before the war, September Song.

  An urgent desire to play the piano grasped her. She stood beside the soldier and listened carefully. He noticed her presence and stared at her stark appearance.

  “It’s a beautiful song isn’t it?” asked the soldier. “I used to play quite well they told me. Now I’ll never be able to again…” He looked at his empty sleeve with sad eyes.

  “I remember the song,” said Lisa. “You do it well with one hand.”

  “Do you play?” he asked.

  “I used to. I haven’t seen or heard a piano for three years,” she confessed.

  “Please, take my seat, lady. You never forget if it’s in your blood.”

  “You’re kind. I had no intention of interrupting you,” replied Lisa.

  “I was just killing time. Please try it out,” the soldier vacated the seat and motioned for her to take it.

  Lisa was nervous and shook all over. She flexed her fingers and ran them over the keyboard doing the scale several times. The soldier watched with interest. She closed her eyes and concentrated on a song she had loved to play, Clair de Lune. The melodies came to her as soon as she touched the keys. Small thin fingers ran up and down the keyboard giving the song life and heart. The song touched the soldiers and others in the room, and moved her to tears. She didn’t know how much she missed music until this moment of discovery, three years hence. She played September Song for the soldier. He turned away from the piano to hide his own tears.

  Lisa played several of her favorite classical pieces, such as Chopin’s Polonaise. Everyone in the room now flocked around the piano. Some were in wheelchairs. Loud whistles and cheers erupted when she stopped. Opening her eyes, Lisa saw the people around her and smiled. The power of music was limitless. The soldier with one arm listened in awe to her performance.

  “Lady, I’ll give up the piano anytime to you. You were magnificent. Thank you for playing.”

  Lisa nodded her head in acknowledgment and suddenly felt hot and weak. She was burning up and began to shiver. She got up from the piano and fainted. Perspiration streamed down her forehead. She was having another malaria attack.

  Chapter Nine

  The cavernous hospital ship dropped its anchors in Apra Harbor off the coast of Guam, an island west of the Philippines and part of the Mariana Islands. Lisa sat in a wheelchair on the top deck of the ship with several of her women companions. She had suffered a relapse when the malaria attack seized her two days ago. High fever, severe chills, and profuse sweating and dehydration had drained her resistance and energy. Lisa was at a weaker and more vulnerable state now than she was when she left the prison compound.

  The staff had worked diligently to bring her fever down with cooling baths. She was already in a weakened condition and the staff was afraid that the trauma of the malaria attack might be more than her body could handle. They were quick to hook her up to maximum glucose intravenous feeding and administered massive dosages of quinine and some of the more modern medicines to halt the disease and ultimately cure it, as long as she did not return to the malaria-infested area of the tropics. For two days she was too weak to walk.

  The fever and chills produced intense headaches. Every muscle and joint in her body ached and her abdomen felt as if it were on fire. She was a very sick person and the doctors were concerned about her ability to resist the ravages of the disease. It was not uncommon for additional attacks to take place every three or four days.

  While the ship was resting against its anchor chains, a two-engine Catalina float plane landed in the calm waters of the anchorage. The w
omen clearly saw the pilot and waved as the plane settled in the water and taxied to the amphibious ramp on shore. The ship was in the process of discharging a hundred soldiers that had been treated for minor wounds and were capable of returning to active combat duty. The nurses told the women lining the deck rails what was taking place and announced that a few severely wounded men were going to be brought on board for transit to Pearl Harbor.

  Lisa looked out over the rails wearing the sunglasses the doctor insisted she wear to protect her already weakened eyes from the harmful rays of the tropical sun. The malaria attack had deteriorated her sight even more. She saw the island of Guam as a green mass of land without any distinctive definition. Everything looked fuzzy to her. She was able to see the plane as it landed but could not distinguish the pilot.

  The breeze was brisk and chilled Lisa as she wrapped herself tightly in the heavy white robe she wore. She was uncomfortable most of the time, either too hot or too cold. Finding a suitable balance between the two extremes was difficult. When she was cold, her body began to shiver and shake until her teeth rattled. About the only thing she could do was sleep, which her body desperately needed to successfully fight the disease. Lisa asked the nurse to wheel her back to the ward so that she could lie down.

  The Island of Guam was a busy communication and supply center. There was a small detachment of American troops stationed on the island since it was taken from the Japanese a year ago. It had been an American protectorate before the war. A large United States flag proudly waved from the roof of the large building at the amphibious ramp where the Catalina float plane was being secured to a dock. Four seriously wounded soldiers were onboard, including Lieutenant Jonathon Wright. He was unconscious when they left Luzon and was still unconscious as the sailors lifted him from the fuselage of the float plane. They temporarily deposited him and the other wounded men in an infirmary where they were checked by doctors and nurses from the hospital ship. It was a precautionary move before loading them on a landing barge for transfer to the hospital ship.

  Jonathon was sheathed in white linens and strapped securely to a stretcher. Doctor Day took his pulse and checked his heart. A small bottle of glucose and blood plasma were hanging from a post attached to the stretcher. Doctor Day asked one of the nurses to replace both intravenous bottles before the men were transferred. So far, Jonathon seemed to have made the trip without any complications. As soon as he was placed on board the ship, Doctor Day and others would be able to make a more detailed evaluation.

  An hour later, the soldiers were in examination rooms deep in the hull of the ship. Its powerful engines began their distinctive hum and lifted anchor. Its destination was the Pearl Harbor anchorage on the island of Oahu. The trip would take up to two weeks. Jonathon and the other soldiers were examined thoroughly by the ship’s staff. He remained unconscious. His next in command, a burly staff sergeant, had petitioned their commanding officer to write up Jonathon’s performance on the raid for the Medal of Honor. He had led the raid from the front with competence, displaying a courage and daring that stirred his men to maximum efforts. His calm leadership under extreme conditions was a source of inspiration. He led by example instead of by command, and his men followed him with assurance. He had a reputation for being creative and clever. The men were saddened to leave him at the aid station. The scuttlebutt was that the wounds would very likely terminate his army career.

  The aid station and a regimental operating center had stabilized Jonathon so that he was no longer bleeding through the wounds on his right arm and leg. Torn flesh wounds were dusted with sulfa powder and quickly dressed. The open wounds of his leg and arm would require X-rays before surgery could be performed. Broken bone pieces were removed where possible, but no effort was made to repair the bone damage until it could be adequately assessed at a more advanced facility. Morphine was generously given to Jonathon to relieve the pain that accompanied the massive trauma he had sustained. It could be addictive, yet, its superlative power to make pain disappear had few equals. Glucose and blood plasma were immediately administered intravenously at the field aid station, a decision that probably saved his life.

  When the ship’s surgical team removed Jonathon from the stretcher, they were alarmed that he had been bleeding so extensively. The bedding was saturated with blood. The surgeons quickly stripped Jonathon’s clothing and the dressings that had been applied, so that they could evaluate his condition. He presented a challenge to their dedication and skill.

  The humerus, the main bone in his upper arm, was broken in several places and completely shattered at one end so that it would never be able to restore itself. The ulna and radius bones of his lower arm were also broken but had not been disintegrated. The surgeons agreed that reconstruction had to be done immediately, and they fashioned a stainless steel rod to help hold the humerus in place. Luckily, his elbow joint and wrist had escaped serious injury. They dressed the wounds after removing all of the broken fragments of shattered bone and placed temporary casts on the upper and lower arm so that his elbow and wrist could not be moved.

  The most severe damage to Jonathon’s body was to his right leg. It looked to the surgeons as if a sharp knife had cut away all tendons and tissue. His kneecap was destroyed and the femur (thigh bone) was broken in two places. The fibula and tibia (bones connecting the knee to the foot) were also broken in several places. Steel pins were used to secure all of the leg bones and to repair his kneecap. The surgeons were most concerned about the ability of his body to replace the lost muscle and flesh in his thigh. They spent hours reconnecting the torn tendons and blood vessels, and debated about leaving portions of his leg free of any solid cast so that they could begin skin grafting procedures soon. Finally, a cast was fashioned to be strong enough to hold his leg in position without undue movement, leaving portions of his thigh open. A cast around his ankle and foot was held in position with temporary rods running from the cast on his knee to the foot, and from his knee cast to a cast fashioned around his pelvis.

  Jonathon’s upper torso was covered with superficial cuts and abrasions that had bled extensively. They were sterilized and dressed with heavy compress bandages. His upper body was wrapped with several layers of bandages to help the ribs mend. He also had two broken ribs. They would be a source of pain and shortness of breath, but they were far from being as serious as his leg injury. For ten hours the surgeons labored over his broken body. The consensus was that Jonathon’s army career was at an end. Neither the arm nor the leg would heal completely.

  A radio dispatch filled with information from the four soldiers’ record files was sent to the ship from Pearl Harbor, where main records were kept. Most of the information was routine. There was a special attachment added to Jonathon’s files:

  First Lieutenant Jonathon Wright has been nominated for the Medal of Honor for action behind enemy lines in Manila. The awards section of the Army was being notified so that appropriate investigations can be carried out to verify the accuracy of the nomination. Regardless of how the nomination goes, Lieutenant Wright is a very brave soldier.” Signed, Major General Arnold Hayes, USA, Executive Officer Special Operations, Sixth Army.

  A week later when the hospital ship was halfway between Guam and Pearl Harbor, they experienced a submarine attack. The protective convoy of two destroyers and two coast guard cutters had located an unknown submarine trailing the convoy. The escorts formed a security ring of vessels around the hospital ship and began dropping depth charges. The destroyers and cutters were like charging mustangs as they were pitched and tossed in the heavy wake of the powerful ship of mercy. They were trying to protect it and at the same time trying to eliminate any threat to its safety.

  Lisa was watching the small escorts when a torpedo hit a cutter and almost broke it in half. The light cutter lifted out of the water and buckled from the impact. Lisa saw the explosion and screamed. She saw two bodies being flung into the air as if they were rag dolls. They landed in the oil-soaked water, which instantly
burst into flames. She started to cry, horrified at the fiery death of the brave coast guardsmen.

  A second torpedo fired at the cutter missed and came within inches of hitting the hospital ship in the rudder. The remaining destroyers and cutter unleashed a blanket barrage of depth charges that produced a powerful muffled explosion below the surface. The water rose in a fountain of spray filled with bits and pieces of the enemy submarine. Diesel fuel spread on the water as secondary explosions followed in quick succession. The hospital ship launched several small motor boats from the lower deck to help look for survivors from the stricken coast guard cutter. Before the small boats were in the water, the two pieces of the once proud cutter disappeared beneath the water.

  Anxious spectators stood in awe at the sudden eruption of the violence that consumed a ship and its crew. The recovery launches picked up only twelve men from the smoking debris field. Over one hundred men went down with their ship! The magnitude and severity of the catastrophe overpowered their imagination. They wept for the brave men who were protecting them from the same fate. It was a scene etched on their souls that they would carry to their graves.

  Lisa became hysterical and had to be comforted by her companions. June Schenk found her at the railing and took her in her arms. Large tears formed in Lisa’s eyes, and dropped on her cheeks. June held her and placed a handkerchief in her hand. Lisa’s malaria attack had given all of them concern that she might suffer long-term ramifications from the high temperatures. She was slowly overcoming the effects of the malaria attack and her weight was increasing at about a pound and a half per day. The doctor insisted that she continue using the wheelchair so that she could conserve her energy. They were pleased with her recovery; it reflected a strong constitution and a firm resolve to get well.