Devil at My Heels - Louis Zamperini [126]
Afterward, a shriveled old Japanese lady approached me, bowed, and got right to the point. “I’m a Christian,” she said, plainly, “and the reason your life was spared on Kwajalein was because my son was an officer in authority there.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe my ears.
“My son’s words saved your life,” she repeated matter-of-factly.
I had so many questions, but I asked only this: “Is he still alive?” I knew that when the Allies bombarded the island, the enemy had been wiped out.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “He manages a department store in Tokyo.” She gave me the name, and I went directly there.
THOUGH I WROTE it down, I’ve lost the piece of paper and today I don’t remember the name of the man who saved me on Kwajalein, though I have his picture. It’s the sorriest, silliest thing. Nonetheless, we met and talked through an interpreter for nearly an hour, and I got the whole story.
“When you crashed at sea,” he explained, “you made headlines in America. We knew who you were because of the Olympics and USC. Everybody did.”
Americans today might not understand, but the Japanese then knew more about American movie stars and American athletes than we did. An American athlete could walk down Hollywood Boulevard and never be bothered. In Tokyo he’d be recognized. “When you were picked up at Wotje, we were beside ourselves,” he continued. “The officers on Kwajalein wanted to interrogate you. One had even gone to USC.”
“I know. We met.”
“After they decided you were of no more use to them, an execution date was set. All prisoners on Kwajalein were beheaded.”
“I know that, too.”
“But I went before the panel and made a suggestion. I said, ‘I have a better idea. Louie-san Zamperini is a famous American runner and an Olympian. Because of that and the publicity when he disappeared, it would better serve Japan’s purpose to send him to Tokyo as a prisoner of war, to make broadcasts. The panel agreed and contacted Vice Admiral Abe, who had given the original order that no prisoners leave Kwajalein alive—and he gave his consent.”
And so my life was saved. So simple. My destiny had been determined on Kwajalein.
I thanked him profusely and told him that the mystery of why I’d been spared had bugged me for years. “Now I know the truth, and I’m very grateful.”
We posed for pictures and shook hands all around.
MY TEAM AND I extended our travels outside Tokyo, to the other islands—and to Hiroshima. Sections of the city were still highly radioactive, but on the outskirts of town, houses had been already been repaired.
I was met by Mayor Oye, a devout Christian who had lived in a concentration camp during the war for his preaching. He didn’t seem in the least bitter, particularly about his imprisonment. “I have no reason to complain,” he chuckled. “I had the largest congregation I’d ever had—and they couldn’t leave!”
As a gift, he presented me with a rifle hit by the atomic bomb while in the hands of a soldier. It had melted and curled, and I couldn’t believe he had given me this symbol of horror and defeat. Talk about forgiveness. I was touched.
I talked to burn victims in the rebuilt hospital, going from bed to bed with my interpreter. One guy showed me his back, burnt from the blast, and said, “I feel honored that this happened to me, to save millions of lives.”
Honored? Save lives? Was he crazy? No. Though thousands were lost in the atomic-bomb blasts, students of the war know the statement makes sense. Still believing in the “divine wind” of old, the Japanese would have waited for a miracle and never surrendered, forcing us to storm their shores. The fierce, prolonged battle for Okinawa had been an example. In Ofuna, James Sasaki had told me that if the Allies ever invaded Japan, 10 percent of the 75 million population would die—plus untold numbers of the invading forces, most of whom weren’t real soldiers