I'll Never Let Go

“Hey Annie. Do you remember the first time we met?” Says Yuuto as a wrinkled smirk stretches across his face. 

    I close my eyes in memory. If you would’ve told me I’d be here with him now on that day, I would’ve laughed for sure. Yes, I remember it like it was yesterday. I was 18 years old, the world was consumed fully into World War II. I had enlisted in the army as a nurse and was sent overseas to a military base in Japan. It was a primitive place, made to look like any other little village among the forest. Myself and six other nurses were assigned to one hut, no bigger than a respectable bedroom. It was cramped and uncomfortable living quarters but the body heat was welcoming when the cold, damp, night air drifted in. The camp was set up as an infirmary. Being not far from the field of battle, very often poor wounded men would hobble into our quarters. Some with only a few cuts or burns, others on the brink of death. We lost many lives of the men too far gone to help with bandages and ointment. 

    One night, it had been quiet and still. The beds for the wounded were empty. Being one of the 36 nurses on the base, I laid peacefully on my cot assured that the other could handle the work to be done. My hut-mates were out helping prepare the meal for the night, and I finally had a moment of peace to rest my eyes. The silence was cleansing. For once, I felt content here.

    I heard a rustling in the forest behind the hut. My ears must be playing tricks on me. I thought to myself. Then I heard it again, and closer this time. Finally, I jumped up from my cot and reached for the gun that stood in the corner. 

    “Tasukete,” said an exhausted voice from the other side of the hut. “Tasukete Kudasai,” said the man who moaned and thrashed on the other side of the wall. 

    I knew from my brief, military training in Japanese that this man was in dire need of help. With gun in hand, I crept out of the hut, and around the corner. There laid a young man. He was Japanese, and clearly wearing the badge of our enemy on his sleeve. But, he was badly injured, unarmed, and desperate. 

    “Tasukete Kudasai!” He pleaded with me. He reached out. Then, I watched as he opened the tear in his pants showing me the extent of his wounds. A bullet hole could be seen through his thigh. Luckily for him, it looked as though the bullet went straight through without hitting the bone. He had lost a lot of blood, and was very weak. I cautiously leaned the gun up against the wall of the hut. I crouched at his side to assess the damage. He looked as though he’d been rolling in the mud. His pants were soaked with blood, and his face was coated with green, and brown paint for camouflage. 

    “Can you speak English?” I said slowly. 

    “H-Help. I Surrender. Need help.” Said the soldier in broken English. 

    I nodded my head. “Wait here,” I said. 

    I grabbed the gun in fear that he may try to use it. I ran to the cafeteria where my comrades were working. “Ladies, we’ve got a wounded man at Hut 4! Bullet wound through the thigh. Let’s go!” I watched as a group of fellow nurses gathered the stretcher, and the bandages. I wonder what they’ll think of our foreign stranger. As we neared Hut 4 and the soldier came into view, the women gasped. 

    “He’s a Jap!” Shouted one of the nurses. 

    We approached the man lying limp on the grass. 

    “Help. Mercy.” He said weakly. 

We looked at each other, then looked at him. “Well, best get him on the stretcher now,” said Helen, the head nurse. We lifted his battered body onto the stretcher and swiftly took him into the hospital hut. “Annie, Gloria, take care of him, I’ve got to send word to the general.” Said Helen. We nod in agreement. 

    “Gloria, run him a bath, he’s caked in mud.” I said to one of my hut-mates. While she was away, I took a wet rag and began to wipe the paint away from his face. He looked so young and so gentle. As I prepared him for bathing I noticed the bullet hole through his leg was not the only problem he had. His ankle was swollen and red. His foot stuck sickeningly off to the right of his leg. “Oh buddy, you’ve got some problems here.” I took his foot in my hands and with one swift jerk I pulled in back into place. 

He groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. In a state of shock he leered around the room, until his eyes fell upon me. He jerked back and tried to raise himself up. He looked scared and confused. “Anatahadare? Koko wa doko?” He uttered. 

“Shhh, calm down. You will be alright.” I said, taking him by the hand. He seemed to understand at least that I was trying to help him. He once again tried to lift himself up, but weakness overcame him and he fell back onto the cot fast asleep. After his bath and bandaging, he looked much better. His skin and hair were clean, his wounds tended to. He rested peacefully in his cot. I stood at his bedside, waiting for him to wake. 

Outside I could hear the alarm going off. A troop of wounded men were coming in. I ran out the door to line up for duty like usual. The general and the head nurse began to walk towards me. I stood straight in my place in line along with the other nurses. 

“Is this the one who found him?” Said the general.

“Yeah, this is she.” said Helen. 

“Miss, I realize that you were only doing your duty in helping this Japanese soldier, but, we need the bed space and he must be taken prisoner now. So, I will be putting you in charge of tending to him and guarding him while our troops are here.” The general said to me.

“Yes sir,” I answered. My mind raced. I was frightened because I knew my duty would be to shoot this man that I found if he tried to escape. Gloria helped me carry him back to Hut 4. There he laid in our room, on my cot. It was dark out, and all of my hut-mates were busy tending to the wounded troops. His eyes flashed open, again he searched his environment. This time, when his gaze fell upon me, he relaxed and stared at me contentedly. 

“Thank you” he said with a heavy accent. “You help me.”

“What is your name?” I asked

He stared at me blankly.

“Name?” still he did not understand. I pointed to myself, “Annie,” then pointed at him with an inquisitive look. 

“Ah, Yuuto,” he said, patting his chest. He pointed at me, “An-nie,” he said. 

I nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

*******

Yes, that certainly was a fateful day. We met at only 18 years old. Soon the war had ended and I went home. Only I brought home a souvenir. Yuuto is his name. We have lived many happy years together. Now, at the age of 93 we still cannot forget the tragic war that brought us together.

I laugh. “I don’t remember a lot of things, but that’s a day I’ll never forget. Yes dear, I wouldn’t trade the day that we met for any other day.” I take Yuuto by the hand. It’s the same hand that I held when I was 18 years old, in Japan, saving the life of my enemy. I’ll never let go.