Devil at My Heels - Louis Zamperini [124]
Another sign.
Before turning in for the night, I wrote a letter to Cynthia and Cissy:
My little lonesome ones,
Your daddy is thoroughly befuddled. So many things are happening back here that I am in a constant nervous state. I have been praying for the Lord’s guidance on these missionary trips, and doors seem to be opening in all directions. Tonight I got a very distinct lead. The Lord is really here.
Cynthia, the Lord has kept me here for my own good and yours. Our main interest is the Lord’s will first and I believe that getting a house is part of the Lord’s will. Pray hard and long and often about Japan, the juvenile program, that television show, and our house.
The only plane I can take stops in Los Angeles for ten minutes at 11:30 Sunday night, then takes off for Frisco. I’ll try to call you from Lockheed Terminal during our stop. I’ll try like mad to get home by Tuesday night. I guess I missed my dental appointment, so make two for me any morning.
I sure do miss your cold little feet.
Yours in His service,
Love, Louie
In Los Angeles, Youth for Christ International’s vice president said he’d help me make the money I needed to fully finance my trip to Japan, and he booked me on a speaking tour up and down the West Coast. I also became the director of their juvenile-delinquency program. In Washington State I met a team of young evangelists bound for the Orient, and we agreed to travel together for two months. They also raised money for me.
My non-Christian friends said, “Well, I sure wouldn’t do it. It takes a lot of guts.” The Christians understood. At least this time no one thought it was a publicity stunt.
I flew on a Northwest Airlines clipper prop plane to Hawaii, where we stayed overnight, and then to Wake. I’d bombed Wake and knew its every nook and cranny but had never actually set foot on the island. During the trip I had severe second thoughts about going and spent most of my time resenting my decision to return. I just couldn’t accept the reality of what was happening. But my confusion didn’t matter. The trip was God’s will, and I knew it. God doesn’t say we have to be happy in His will, He just says that we should be obedient to His will and joy will follow.
For the moment, I had to take that—and all else—on faith.
I STEPPED OFF the plane at Tokyo’s drab airport on a cool, gray October day in 1950, and was immediately reminded of hundreds of similar days when I’d been imprisoned, not knowing how much longer I’d have to endure to survive. Again I asked myself, What am I doing here? Again, I knew the answer. I just didn’t like it.
I cleared customs and met my missionary hosts and interpreter. A team from Life magazine’s Tokyo bureau stopped me in the terminal. They’d learned that I wanted to visit Sugamo Prison, where many of the men who’d guarded and mistreated me—along with the other war criminals—were held. They wanted to get inside for a story but had been denied. After hearing their report I didn’t know if I could get in, either, but I promised to talk with the chaplain at the army’s General Headquarters on their behalf, and mine, and keep them posted.
Driving into Tokyo, I could immediately see that the city had changed. Where I remembered charred building skeletons and pitiful, hungry people, a bustling metropolis now grew, with wide boulevards and residents seemingly full of energy and enthusiasm. I saw open-fronted stores filled with huge daikons, hanging meats, and jars of colored candy. Vendors pushed carts through the streets. Little shops sold paper and tea. New factories stood next to the firebombed ruins of the old, and swarms of small houses covered areas the B-29s had once left in cinders. The city appeared infused with hope instead of hate. I wanted to feel that way, too, and remained inwardly watchful for any trace of bitterness and enmity, especially when I thought of those who had beaten me with their fists and worse.
My schedule was full. Various Christian organizations had arranged meetings and public testimonials. Military chaplains asked me