A Song For Lisa (13 page)

Soon, Lisa became a regular performer and soloed frequently.
She was especially adept at accompanying singers and soloing violinists. Her
modest and serious demeanor quickly earned the affection and respect of all of
the orchestra members. She was a good team player.

Life had been difficult those first years after the war. She
recalled being in a constant state of exhaustion, with bills adding up to more
than her teaching salary could pay. As soon as she accepted the weekend
positions playing with the Pops, her financial worries lessened. During the
summer months, she stayed in Boston so that she could participate in the
performances at the Shell beside the Charles River. The Fourth of July performances
were her favorites.

Her sister Angeline attended every performance and insisted
on looking after Terry during rehearsals and evening performances. Terry
enjoyed the experience. With each passing year the boy absorbed the sights and
sounds of the people of Boston celebrating their country’s birthday. On Terry’s
fourth birthday, he was old enough to understand the role his mother had with
the orchestra. He was proud of her. During the 1949 Fourth of July performance,
Terry sat in front of the Shell with his Aunt Angeline. He saw his mother wave
several times to him. He beamed all over, and returned her wave.

When Lisa and Terry arrived home in Twin Mountains, she put
Terry to bed first thing and then checked her mail. There was a letter
addressed to her from a Lieutenant Colonel Jonathon Wright. She used a knife to
open the envelope and sat quietly to read the letter.

 June 10, 1950

Dear
Miss Carter,

I’m not sure if you
remember me or not. I was in Boston for a quick visit and attended a Boston
Pops concert, a favorite of mine. I haven’t seen you since we said good-bye at
Pearl Harbor on the hospital ship. That night in Boston the piano player looked
familiar to me. And when you played one of your solo selections, I knew that it
was you.

Your playing is still
a moving musical experience. Congratulations are in order. Now, the rest of the
world can enjoy your special gift. I salute your accomplishments and am glad
that you appear to be doing well. I wanted to stop by and say “hello,” at the
end of the concert, but duty called… I had a plane to catch and did not have
time.

I remember that you
had decided to carry your child. At the time, I was too involved with my own
injuries to think about anything else. I want you to know how proud I was of
you. I understood what a difficult decision you had to make. It was a privilege
to escort you and your companions out of the Luzon jungle to civilization and
freedom.

As for me, I’ve made
a complete recovery from my wounds. I fanatically fought the advice of several
doctors who wanted to amputate my leg. The Lord was with me. It finally healed
and with therapy, I’m as strong as ever.

My mother and my
daughter, Faith, accompanied me to the pops concert. She’s been playing the
piano since she was four, and she’s now nine years old. She was mesmerized by
your playing and remarked several times during the performance how powerful it
was for her. Now, she’s an enthusiastic fan of yours.

I’m currently
attached to army intelligence based in Japan at MacArthur’s headquarters. I had
kept your old address and hope this note finds you well and happy. Again,
congratulations.

Best
Wishes

Jonathon
Wright,

Lt.
Col., USA

Tokyo, Japan ─
June 24, 1950

Lieutenant Colonel Jonathon Wright sat in the office of the
Army Intelligence Evaluation Division, Tokyo, Japan, reviewing intelligent data
from sources all over the world. He had read and reread the material in their
files on the North Korean army. Something was up, but no one could connect the
dots to predict what, when, or where. He wiped his eyes and leaned back in his
chair. For hours he had tried to glean some clue that others had overlooked.
His inability to predict explosive events angered him. He ceremoniously cleaned
his pipe of cold ashes and filled it with Half and Half pipe tobacco. The first
puff from a freshly lit pipe full of tobacco was always the best, and he closed
his tired eyes to savor the moment.

Colonel Henry Lee walked into the office and took a seat at
a desk facing Jonathon. Lee was an American-Japanese officer with a short
compact build and a round face with laughing eyes. His good humor and mild
disposition masked a very determined man who drove himself relentlessly. He was
a graduate of the University of Hawaii with a degree in law. He and Jonathon
had become close friends. Lee looked at the haggard lines around Jonathon’s
eyes and asked, “Any luck, Jon?”

“None, Colonel,” Jonathon answered, carefully tamping his
pipe so as to not let any of the live sparks land on his uniform. He already
had several pairs of pants with burn holes. “Something is taking place, but I
have to agree with the rest of you, I don’t know what it is or if it’s
significant.”

“Well, we can’t produce miracles unless we have the
information,” sighed Lee, searching his briefcase for a notepad, which he
dropped on his desk. “Do you remember the conversation we had a while ago about
that prison commander on Luzon?”

Jonathon looked up at Lee, remembering how it had been five
years ago. “Yes, he was a major, I believe. Like I told you, I hauled him off
an American woman and forcibly restrained him. The women inmates eventually
killed him. I can still see his eyes just before he died. His haunting look has
stayed with me. I’ve often wondered what kind of person he was. Have you been able
to locate any information about his family?”

“A couple of weeks ago, after our conversation, I started an
investigation to determine what I could. Accurate Japanese military records are
not easy to come by, but I’ve got something. The commandant was Major Toshio
Taniguchi, a career army officer who did well in the pre-war Japanese army. He
was a demanding officer with a long record of violence and brutality. He
occasionally beat his subordinates inflicting permanent deformities on a few.
In that respect he fit in well as one of the bright young officers.”

“I can believe that of him,” replied Jonathon, puffing his
pipe.

“His father is Horio Taniguchi, a renowned violinist in
Japan. His address is on this pad,” said Lee, passing the notepad to Jonathon.

“Thanks, Colonel. I appreciate the information you’ve dug
up. I wonder if I’m making a mistake opening a can of worms capable of
inflicting more pain. Old wounds can still hurt, I know that from experience,”
mused Jonathon.

“That all depends on how badly you want to put that period
of your life to rest, Jon. Since you’re already in Japan, it might not hurt to
pay the man a visit. The short bio sketches of him stated that he spoke some
English and had visited the United States in the early thirties.”

“You may be right, Colonel,” replied Jonathon, taking the
sheet of paper from the pad and placing it in his tunic pocket. “I’m going to
turn in for the night. If I look at one more page, I’ll scream. I’ll see you in
the morning, Colonel.”

“Take care of yourself, Jon,” said Lee again, looking at the
weary lines under his eyes. “I wish we had more to offer General MacArthur on
his daily briefing tomorrow. Why don’t you take a couple of days off? You
should have taken a longer leave last month. I don’t know how you’ve been able
to function as well as you have. If you need more time off just say the word.”

“I appreciate your concern, Lee. It’s friends like you that
have helped a lot. I don’t need more leave time just now, but a couple of days
off would be fine,” Jonathon replied, collecting his hat from the valet. “Good
luck, Lee.”

The air was warm and the skies above Tokyo were filled with
stars glowing in the dark void. The half moon was hanging in the eastern sky on
a base of cumulous clouds. Jonathon breathed easier. He was physically and
emotionally exhausted. The officer’s club stayed open twenty-four hours a day
offering good food and drink. He entered the club and served himself a hearty
breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and lots of coffee. He ate alone near a window
watching the sun climb over the skeleton-like remains of bombed out buildings
within the city.

Thoughts of his wife Hope and daughter Faith filled his
heart and consciousness as soon as he left the intense atmosphere of the
intelligence office. At work, he was able to apply himself to the task at hand.
Once it was completed, his mind wandered to the loss he still mourned. Memories
were priceless and painful. The club was beginning to fill with officers
preparing for early posts. He saw an old friend of many years, Major Jim
O’Hare, at the buffet line. Jim spotted him and took a seat at the table with
his tray.

“You look beat, Jon,” surmised Jim, a small wiry Irishman
with flashing eyes. He went through life rarely taking anything too seriously,
especially himself.

“It’s been a rough night, Jim,” conceded Jonathon.

“I’m glad I ran into you, Jon. I’ve got a staff conference
in half an hour. After that I’ll be on my way to the airport for a flight to
Okinawa. I’ve got a parked Jeep outside. Would you turn it into motor pool for
me?”

“Sure, I’ll be glad to, Jim,” answered Jonathon, suddenly
smiling. “Lee just told me to take a few days off. How about if I take your
Jeep for a couple of days? I’ve got a few errands to run in Tokyo.”

“No problem. The Jeep is permanently assigned to my military
police battalion. Use it as long as you want. I’ll be in Okinawa several days.
You could use some time. Your friends worry about you,” Jim said sincerely.
“The tank is full of fuel. Here are the keys.”

“Thanks,” said Jonathon, preparing to leave. “I’ll see you
around, Jim. Your Jeep has helped me make up my mind about something.”

Jonathon left the club feeling better. He had decided to pay
Mr. Taniguchi a visit! He drove through a main thoroughfare heading southwest
out of the city. The picture-card panorama of Fujiyama rose from the relatively
flat coastal plains to dominate the horizon. Solid and majestic Fujiyama loomed
above the ash ruins of metropolitan Tokyo and its suburbs, like the fabulous
Phoenix. Legend has it that the bird burns itself on a pyre of aromatic gum
wood every five hundred years and rises from the ashes in renewed vigor and
beauty.

Tokyo had been destroyed several times and always rose from
the ruins in greater splendor. As early as 1923, earthquakes and fires
destroyed the city killing over 150,000 people. Now the recently bombed ruins
were well on their way to rising again. Jonathon marveled at the tenacity and
industriousness of the people. New homes were being constructed and multilevel
office buildings were beginning to dot the barren landscape of broken bricks
and mortar.

Jonathon drove the Jeep to his quarters, where he showered
and went to bed. He was exhausted. The minute his head touched the pillow his
mind was filled with memories of Hope. Tears still came easy. Even now, five
years after her violent death, he could hear her voice and knew that she was
still with him. Her death in a train wreck had changed his life. More than ever
he needed her soft and gentle presence. She was the inspiration and motivation
for everything he did. Every memory, echoes from the past, she had called them,
included Hope. Now, he was going through life like a lost soul without a
rudder.

For a long time, he drank more than ever. It all started at
Pearl Harbor during the final days of his physical therapy treatment involving
his leg and arm injuries from the Philippines. Old friends were worried that
his drinking would jeopardize his desire to stay in the army. One night after a
heavy drinking session, he started a fight in the officer’s club and had to be
restrained by friends. Two days later he woke up in the navy hospital, where he
had been treated for minor bruises from the brawl he had initiated. Deeply
afraid of losing a way of life that he needed to cling to for his own sanity,
Jonathon vowed to go on the wagon. For three years he had not touched a drop.

The devastating train wreck had taken place in Pennsylvania
when Hope and Faith were traveling from Maine to California so that they could
be with Jonathon while he was recuperating from his injuries. Hope was killed
instantly when the passenger train was derailed.

Faith had only minor lacerations to her arm and back.
Jonathon was unable to leave the hospital at that time, so his mother took
Faith back to Monson so that she could continue in the same school system and
keep her old friends, which became most important to her after the tragic loss
of her mother. Just before the war started, Jonathon and Hope had moved into an
apartment in Monson. They agreed that an apartment was more suited to their
needs at that time. He had anticipated they would be together soon at the
military installation he would be assigned to. The war came and destroyed all
their plans, so Faith and Hope remained at the apartment in Monson.

Jonathon knew that it was not the best arrangement in the
world for Faith, yet, he failed to do anything about it. Then came his period
of drinking heavily. It helped him forget that he had a responsibility to his
daughter. He went home to be with her as often as he could, and they had spent
some good days together, but he always came away from the furloughs missing
Hope more than ever. He considered resigning his commission and was assured by
the army that as soon as his tour of duty in Japan was over, he would be
transferred stateside to at least a two-year tour of duty at some New England
university teaching in the Reserve Officer’s Training Corps (ROTC). Jonathon
and Faith both looked forward to that time when they could be together for an
extended period as a family.

In every letter he received from Faith or his mother,
Jonathon was informed of Faith’s aptitude for music, and the piano especially.
Jonathon insisted that she continue with her individual lessons on a regular
basis. When he did make it home, he made it a point to take Faith out to
musical shows, concerts, and other musical events. She was thrilled with their
visit to the Boston Pops where Jonathon recognized Lisa.

Jonathon awoke midday from a restless sleep remembering that
he had wheels in the form of the MP Jeep. An hour later, he was on the road
heading southwest to the Tokyo address Lee had given him. It was several miles
in the country far from the sprawling city limits. Miles of rice paddies and
sugar cane fields dotted the area, taking up every square foot of land not used
by roads or buildings. The land was intensely cultivated by the industrious
farmers for maximum production of foodstuff for the large population.

Mr. Horio Taniguchi’s address turned out to be a very modest
home surrounded by tall trees and landscaped with hundreds of miniature pine
trees in various sizes and shapes. Jonathon parked the Jeep off the street and
removed the ignition key, unsure if he should continue, or if this was the
right thing to do. His hesitancy had increased with every mile he drove. For
some reason, he expected a different kind of home rather than the orderly and
beautifully landscaped one before him. Ever since Lee had described the man to
him his curiosity had been honed. Reluctantly, Jonathon followed the walkway as
it meandered through a meticulously maintained garden. Admiring the beauty of
the lush vegetation, Jonathon almost tripped over a man kneeling beside the
pathway planting flowers.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” exclaimed Jonathon. His knowledge of
Japanese was very limited, so he did not even try to converse in the native
language. He had knocked one of the plants out of the man’s hand and exclaimed,
“Did I hurt you?”

The Japanese man was slender of frame and build with a small
mustache and white hair. He was dressed in a gray robe, a traditional Japanese
garment, especially for home wear. The man did not speak until he stood in
front of Jonathon and looked up at him. “No, you did not hurt me,” the elderly
man answered in English. “May I help you?”

Jonathon’s mind frantically searched for the right words to
announce his intentions. “I was distracted by the beauty of your garden and did
not see you kneeling beside the path. I came to see a Mister Horio Taniguchi.”

“I am Horio Taniguchi,” he replied, observing the array of
ribbons on Jonathon’s uniform.

“Sir, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Jonathon Wright. I came to
speak to you about your son, Major Toshio Taniguchi,” Jonathon stated in a
direct voice though he was a bundle of nerves. There was a reluctance on his
part not to continue the conversation and he was frantically thinking of some
way to gracefully leave the garden.

“Are you troubled by something, Colonel?” observed Mr.
Taniguchi. “Would my son, by chance, be the source of your discontent? It is no
secret that he has shamed our family and has been the source of much sorrow to
his mother and myself. Please, come into my garden where we can share a cup of
tea and discuss what is bothering you.”

Jonathon was unprepared for such courteous and gracious informality.
Part of the reason for the trip was to see what kind of man the cruel
commandant had for a father. Jonathon had no guilt about being the instrument
of his death, but he did have a lingering wonder if there might have been more
to the man than he and the women prisoners had witnessed.