A Song For Lisa (9 page)

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.  

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
women 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.

Good food and proper medicine were working their magic.
Lisa’s eyes reflected the progress she had already made. The dark discolored
sections of skin under her eyes had disappeared and the lines about her face
had begun to soften and would soon vanish as she continued to gain weight. She
wheeled her chair through the women’s wards, talking with them and playing
cards. She especially liked the movies being played every evening. It eased her
transition from prison camp life to normal existence, but the piano was the
biggest factor in her quick response to the care the navy lavished on her. The
daily piano recitals were gaining a wide circle of admirers, who flocked to the
lounge when the word went out that she was playing.

Lisa also rolled herself through the men’s ward on the same
deck. She was shocked at the severity of their wounds and at the large number
of young men, most younger than her, who would carry ugly reminders of combat
for the rest of their lives. She thought she would find a gloomy atmosphere in
the wards, but to her delight, she discovered that the men were playful and
positive instead of morbid and negative. They laughed and kidded each other a
lot and encouraged those who were on the brink of giving up. No one was allowed
to suffer alone. The way they rallied around their more severely wounded
buddies was an inspiration to Lisa and others who witnessed the close bond and
positive spirits in the face of massive human suffering. She often played
cribbage with the men. It helped all of them pass the time.

One day after the torpedo disaster, Lisa was wheeling her
chair through that portion of the men’s ward near the nurses’ station, where
patients in need of intensive care were placed. One of the patients had not
moved or talked since they had placed him in the ward. Out of curiosity she
checked the clipboard hanging at the foot of the bed and saw the name, “Lt. J.
Wright.” She looked closer at the patient’s face to see if it was who she
thought it might be. His right leg was suspended slightly off the bed and was
wrapped in several layers of sheets. His arm and shoulder were covered with a plaster
of Paris cast. It was the same man she remembered. His eyes were closed, and he
looked pale and drained. She drew closer to the side of his bed and spoke
softly to him.