“What’re you doing?“ she asked.

“What does it look like I’m doin’?“ I replied rather rudely, for I was still upset with her over the incident around the torpedo.

“Ya know,“ I added, “not only did ya make a fool outta me, but ya also got me into a lotta trouble, I didn’t appreciate.“

“I was only thinking of you,“ she replied.

“Thinkin’ of me!“ I exclaimed. “If that’s what ya think of me, then I don’t need your help.“

“You never heed my warnings,“ she insisted.

“Warnings!“ I exclaimed. “What warnings?“

“I’ve told you,“ she continued, “that you don’t belong here. And yet you continue to ignore me.“

“What d’ya want me to do, walk on water?“ I asked her. “Obviously, if I’d found the way out, I’d have taken it.“

“I am the way,“ she proclaimed.

I laughed. “If you’re the way, it’s no wonder I’m still stuck here,“ I concluded. “Why I can’t even see ya!“

“You’re so unimaginative,“ she replied. “When I opened the door for you back in Tokyo, you simply slammed it shut in my face.“

“And who do you think handed you forgiveness when you reached out for it back in Yokuska?“ she asked.

“Then why don’t ya just tell me what to do?“ I scoffed.

“You don’t listen!“ she exclaimed. “You don’t pay enough attention to your imagination.“

“What imagination?“ I mumbled.

“Who do you think is talking to you?“ she asked. “Is it not a product of your imagination?“

“I don’t know,“ I screamed out in anguish. “I don’t know who the hell you are.“

“Why don’t you try letting go of yourself, for just a moment,“ she hastily added, “and instead, try painting me.“

“Paint you!“ I exclaimed. “How ridiculous! I’ve already told ya, I can’t see ya. So how the hell do ya expect me to paint you?“

“I know you can’t see me, but don’t worry about that for now,“ she said. “I’ll stand right here in front of you as you slap paint on my form.“

“This is insane,“ I replied. “What d’ya think my superiors are gonna say when they see me wavin’ a paint brush around in midair?“

“They won’t know the difference,“ she responded. “I’ll stand right here in front of the pipes you’re supposed to paint. They’ll just see you painting the pipes.“

“I don’t know about this,“ I said. “This all sounds so silly.“

“Come on,“ she prodded me.

When I waved a brush full of paint in her direction, to dismiss her, I was amazed by what I saw—gray paint actually adhering to a form that’d previously been invisible to me. Giddy with excitement, I began to hastily fling paint in the direction of the pipes, and smear it around with my brush. While she giggled and goaded me on, I worked like a madman to cover her invisible form with enough paint, so that I could see her. In fact, I’d gotten so engrossed in painting her, that I was totally oblivious of the crowd that’d gathered behind me, back towards the fantail, to watch as I continued to fling paint at my invisible canvas with the agility of an abstract artist. Only instead of building up paint on a canvas, in reality, I was building up layer upon layer of paint on the pipes, until they looked like the trunks of some gnarled old tree. Just as I caught sight of the gray form of a woman standing naked before me, I heard a gravelly nasally voice shout out, “That’s enough, Dury.“

After taking one last look at her, I spun around, right smack dab into the face of an angry First Class Boatswain’s Mate.

“You did it,“ my soul whispered in my ear as she vanished. “You visualized me.“

“O, I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it, if only you used your imagination,“ I heard her say as her voice gave way to the groans of the boatswain’s mate.

“Not bad for a novice, eh?“ responded I to his great displeasure.

“Go on down below ’n’ pass out laundry,“ he snarled.

Staring at me as if I were nuts, did they all quickly step aside to let me pass. Not a one of them said a word to me as I went below.

“So this’s Yankee Station,“ I muttered to myself as we all laughed to assuage our fear of the dreadful truth this silence had stirred up from the depths of our beings.

Yankee Station essentially consisted of patrolling the coastal waters of Vietnam, in a semi-alert, battle-station mode in which we remained constantly on the lookout for enemy vessels both above and below the surface of the water. Our task was, of course, greatly simplified, since the North had a virtually nonexistent naval fleet. As we maneuvered up and down the coast, at varying distances from land, our greatest threat came from kamikaze sampans, loaded with explosives, or from artillery set up in the jungles along the coast to keep our ships with their big guns at bay. For the most part, we remained far enough out at sea, that I seldom saw land.

How easily were they seduced by this invisible body of nebulous feelings and deep dark emotions as it descended upon them with the caprice of an Olympian god. Instead of wrestling with this god, as Jacob had, they simply fell prey to all of its emotional bluster. In their inability to free their feelings from the emotional pall that overshadowed their souls, like a dark night, they failed to expose the naked truth of the god that lay hidden within the mood.

Having prevailed, thus far, against succumbing to the mood that’d descended upon the rest of the crew, like the plague, I was struck by the magnitude of its power when the ship pulled within sight of the coast of Vietnam. As I stood in awe of the dark foreboding clouds which hugged the earth and stirred the passions of her murky green waters into a squall, I sensed a great evil lurked about this land—that no good could come from our being here. “You do not belong here,“ I heard my soul scream out in the shrill voice of a Siren. Immediately, I saw her words as the truth which lay hidden at the very core of the mood that’d finally swept over us all.

Badly shaken by this sudden revelation, I turned aside, only to find Greg ’n’ Harold standing there with me. “We don’t belong here,“ I prophetically proclaimed.

The two of them just looked at me and smiled, as if to say that while they both agreed with my assessment of this external sign, they were at a complete loss as to what to do about it.

“Come in,“ responded the XO to the knock on his door.

“Mr. Drury, Sir,“ I reported upon entering his stateroom.

“Have a seat, Mr. Drury,“ he said.

“I have here a statement,“ he continued, “I want you to read very carefully. Once you have read it, I want you to sign it right above your name, exactly as your name appears, to acknowledge that you have read the statement and understand what it says.“

Looking down at the piece of paper he’d handed me, I saw two small paragraphs, each dated 23 May 1967, which read as follows:

You are hereby advised that because of the nature of your conduct onboard ship, you are being considered for discharge from the Navy for reasons of unsuitability, in accordance with BUPERS Manual, Article C-10310.

P. L. Merwin, LCDR USN, Executive Officer
By direction of the Commanding Officer

I acknowledge that I have been counseled and advised that any further irregular behavior on my part may cause my discharge from the Navy for reasons of unsuitability, in accordance with BUPERS Manual, Article C-10310.

Witnessed: E. J. Drury, SA
P. L. Merwin, LCDR USN

When I had finished reading the statement, I looked up at him.

“Do you understand what you have just read?“ he asked.

“I do,“ I replied.

“Then sign it, right here above your name,“ he commanded, whereupon I signed the statement just as he had instructed.

After the XO had signed his name beneath both paragraphs, he dismissed me.

Needless to say, I grew wild with excitement over the possibility of getting discharged if my behavior didn’t change. Why I felt as if the Navy had just given me the cue to misbehave. For lack of better insight into myself, I couldn’t have agreed with the Navy more, that I was totally unsuited for this way of life.

One night, as I worked down in the bilges, scrubbing a deck with soap ’n’ water, a third class petty officer nicknamed Shorty sneaked up behind me and, for whatever reason, reared back ’n’ kicked me, sending me reeling across the deck where I landed flat on my face.

Rolling over onto my side, I looked him right in the eye and smiled. “I’m sorry you feel that way,“ I said, whereupon he spun around and disappeared through the hatch.

That night, I touched Shorty in much the same way St. Paul’d been touched by the suffering of the early Christians. In other words, I awakened Shorty to his own feelings, from which he fled out of fear. As a result, I earned his respect, the respect a wild animal has for fire, once it has been illuminated by the light of its own feelings.

Nor did I ever report him. Given my reputation onboard the ship, I figured nobody’d ever believe me. Besides, in my naiveté, it never occurred to me that I could’ve had him written up for manhandling a subordinate. I did, however, find great satisfaction in just knowing that, from that moment on, I commanded his respect as a human being.

Only later, did I learn from a First Class Boilerman who, out of the kindness of his heart, had permitted me to stand with him, for a moment, to cool off in front of a fresh air intake port, that he’d been instructed to give me the hottest and nastiest work he could find.

Having snatched my records from the yeoman, the XO proceeded to read aloud the charge against me. “Mr. Drury, you’ve been charged with having violated Article 92 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, specifically the section which deals with dereliction in the performance of duties, in that while standing watch onboard the USS Davidson at 1230 hours, 13 May 1967, you did fail to report the approach of an oncoming torpedo during a fleet exercise. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?“ he asked.

“Not guilty,“ I proclaimed, as I struggled, like a lowly worm, to free myself from the hook that’d gotten under the Captain’s skin. While the Captain showed signs of squirming around my plea, I wasn’t let off the
hook that easily.

“Because you’ve pled not guilty,“ interjected the XO, “you have the right, Mr. Drury, to testify in your behalf or to remain silent. You may request the appearance, before this mast, of any witness whose testimony you believe to be pertinent to your case. If you choose to present no evidence, that fact may not be used against you as an admission of guilt. If there is any evidence you wish to present, you must do so at this time. Let me remind you, that whatever you say may also be used as evidence against you.“

“Do you understand, Mr. Drury?“ he asked.

“Yes, I do,“ I replied.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense?“ he asked.

As I agonized over how I could tell the Captain he’s not my master, I balked. If I told him the truth, my words would only be used against me. How could I convince him that my failure to see the torpedo, as he had seen it, had literally saved the life of my soul? How could I show him that it was he who was guilty of the greater offense here? While I’d only offended a mere mortal, I saw his participation in the exercise as an offense against the very soul of mankind, the Great Spirit She Who Must Be Obeyed.

“I have nothing to say at this time,“ I finally said in capitulation.

While the Captain’d been noticeably unnerved by the tone of my response, as evidenced by his fidgeting prior to pronouncing my guilt, he nonetheless sentenced me to 30 days of extra duty. Why the words’d hardly left his mouth before he scurried out the door, satisfied that he had dealt with this thorn in his side. Little did he know this irritant was in the early stages of developing into a pearl, the pearl of great price.

Visibly shaken by the whole event, I was dismissed and sent below. Though I still felt unwilling to simply fall into step, I was sure glad it was all over, for now. As shy as I was, I hated these encounters into which my soul forced me. And since I had no idea of just how miserable these guys could make my life, I greatly feared the price I might have to pay for my actions. Unaware of the price that had already been exacted from me for my participation in the Navy, thus far, I would buckle under for the time being, or at least until my soul forced me into yet another predicament.

Like a branch on a huge sycamore tree, did I extend a clenched fist into the dark night which overshadowed my soul. In a Herculean effort to free myself from the chains that fettered me to the earth, I cursed the day I was born. I cursed my parents for having pulled me down from the heavens into this wretched life. And I cursed God for having allowed this travesty to take place. I hated my parents not only for what they’d done, but also for the life they’d squandered away. I hated them. “I hate you,“ I finally screamed out into the night sky with a clenched fist.

Like the bursting of a long awaited thundershower upon parched earth, did I break down and cry. “Forgive them God,“ I sputtered in between sobs, “for they know not what they have done.“

As I caught sight of the ship, out of the corner of my eye, I flew into yet another rage. With a clenched fist, I reached out, only this time to condemn the crew of the ship. “I hate you,“ I screamed out in between fits of sobbing. “I hate all of you lousy bastards.“ But in my heart of hearts, I knew I didn’t hate them either, for they too knew not what they had done. Only I found it harder to forgive them since I, who was like them in so many ways, would ultimately have to forgive myself.

Sobbing uncontrollably, as I stumbled along, I beat my chest with clenched fists. “Ah,“ I screamed out. “I hate you. I hate this body. I hate this life.“

As this psychic storm brought relief to my desolateness, I found myself standing right smack dab in the middle of the shipyard, laughing, of all things, while I finished crying, for I had just grasped the true meaning of forgiveness. In releasing my hatred for my parents and the crew of the ship, I had simply released my own hatred of myself. In the past, I had failed to see that what I hated in them, I actually hated about myself, for I was treating myself in the same manner they were mistreating themselves and others, only in ways yet barely visible to me. And since none of us knew what we were really doing to ourselves or to each other, I had to forgive them for their trespasses if I was to find forgiveness for mine. In letting go of the hatred that’d clenched my fist, I freed forgiveness from not only my hand but heaven’s as well, for what is loosed on earth shall be loosed in heaven. More importantly, I freed myself from the chain of hatred, which binds us all to instinctively taking an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth in a heinous repetition of history from one generation to the next.

Like a drunken man who has come to his senses, did I slip onboard the ship, hardly noticed, and slither down the ladder to my sleeping quarters. Instead of lying down, I decided to stay up and write Mary a letter. Only this time, after recounting the events of my trip into Tokyo, including my encounter with Jun, I purposely left off telling her, as usual, how much I loved her. Thus did I deal with the other chain that bound me to the earth like the roots of a huge sycamore tree.

“Hello,“ she said.

Caught off guard, at first, by her boldness, I finally managed to say, “Hi,“ in response.

“I study English at university. You understand?“ she asked.

“Yes, I understand you perfectly. Can you understand me? Or am I speaking too fast for you?“ I asked, as I recalled my own inability to grasp every word of Spanish spoken to me during the course of a conversation I’d had with my Spanish teacher back in high school.

“Yes, I understand,“ she replied. “I study English, many years now. In Japan, English is student requirement in early grades.“

“My name is Jun,“ she added with a smile that seemed to invite me in, without any hesitation, and make me feel right at home.

“Mine’s Butch,“ I replied.

“Butch,“ she repeated. “You mind, I practice English with you?“

“Not at all,“ I answered. “I’d enjoy your company, for I’ve been roamin’ about the city since early morning, clueless as to where I’ve been or where I’m goin’. In return, maybe you can show me Tokyo.“

She laughed. “I show you Tokyo, practice English,“ she added.

“I student,“ she continued. “I study home economics at university. I in second year. And you—how long you visit Tokyo?“

“Alas,“ I responded, “I’m here only today, for in the morning my ship departs for Vietnam.“

“Vietnam,“ she repeated as her brow furrowed and her gaze grew distant. How quickly did her wonderful smile return to her face as she came back from wherever it was she had wondered off to.

While not a very pretty woman, she was attractive in her own way, especially when she smiled, since her whole face’d just beam with a warmth and genuineness that was really quite touching.

“I wish I’d met you earlier in the day,“ I finally said. “You could’ve taken me on a personally guided tour of the city.“

She laughed. “You come back to Tokyo?“ she asked.

“Probably not,“ I replied.

With a look of disappointment on her face, did she smile.

Changing the subject, I asked her about the unusual park I’d stumbled upon earlier in the day.

As I gave her a description of the park, to help her determine where I’d been, she suddenly blurted out, “You visit Emperor’s Palace.“

I laughed. “And here I thought it was a park,“ I interjected. “I wondered why you-all would’ve gone to the trouble of building such a massive wall around a park.“

“Emperor’s Palace,“ she explained, “open to public, two weeks, this time of year, no other time. Understand?“

“Yes,“ I replied.

“You lucky to see,“ she added.

“And what’re these unusual buildings?“ I asked.

“They buildings from World’s Fair,“ she answered.

Noticing the sun’d set, she told me she had to return to her dorm. “Have curfew,“ she said with a look that begged for understanding.

Disappointed, I asked her if I could take her picture.

In return, she asked me for my address.

“I write you, on ship,“ she told me. “You write back?“

“Yes,“ I responded.

“Good-bye,“ she said. “I enjoy visit very much. Look forward, hear from you. Good luck!“

“Bye now,“ I said.

As I watched her disappear into a throng of pedestrians, I was tempted to go after her but hesitated, only because I didn’t know what I wanted from her, sex or friendship. In my confusion, I wondered if somewhere behind my desires for sex was not hidden the much deeper need for relationship, a longing for a saner, more humane and civilized way of life. By the time I realized my mistake, I’d already let this angel slip away, as heaven’s door slammed shut in my face.

Onboard the train, I was amazed at the speed with which the train zoomed through the countryside, stopping just long enough to allow passengers to get on and off. And I wondered why we didn’t have in place such a modern and efficient means of transportation in St. Louis. I certainly would’ve had it easier, traveling from South County, where I lived, to see Mary at her parents place in North County.

What little I saw of the countryside from the window of the train was simply gorgeous. However, the lush beauty of the precipitous foothills that surrounded the quaint little villages, nestled snugly into every nook ’n’ cranny along the line, quickly gave way to a flattened terrain, monotonously dressed in the urban sprawl of a more modern Tokyo.

When it came time for me to disembark from the train, I felt as if I were stepping into some fantasy without the slightest clue of what was going to happen next. For I’d found no unfolding tale here to guide me, till I stumbled upon the most unusual park I’d ever seen, one completely surrounded by a massive stone wall, like the fief of some medieval warlord. Upon entering the grounds, through one of its large open gates, I wound up roaming about this dreamlike world for hours, taking pictures of its perfectly manicured gardens, groves of cherry trees in full bloom, and quaint old Japanese structures. I was never more impressed by anything I saw in Tokyo than by this singular glimpse into Japan’s past, for Tokyo was like any other large city in the States, choked with its monuments to commercialism like an overcrowded cemetery.

Having worked up an appetite, I flagged down a cabdriver who seemed to understand as well as speak a little English. When I asked him to take me to a good but reasonably priced restaurant, we sped off down through a maze of very narrow ’n’ windy side streets as if he were trying to catch up with the other entrants in the Grand Prix after having been forced to make an unexpected pit stop. So did I about have a heart attack whenever we zoomed past an oncoming vehicle traveling at the same high rate of speed. Not realizing what I’d gotten myself into, I thought my fate was surely sealed as I imagined a head-on collision with every car we passed. Still in a near state of shock by the time this roller coaster ride came to an end, I was miraculously left standing in one piece on the sidewalk in front of a place that looked like any other small ethnic, neighborhood restaurant back in the States.

Having regained my wits about myself, I entered the restaurant and sat down. Shortly thereafter, an elderly Japanese woman handed me a menu which, much to my surprise, was written in English. Looking forward to a good sampling of Japanese cuisine, I soon discovered that I was about to enjoy a good old-fashioned American meal. After feasting on a sumptuous steak dinner, I graciously thanked my very modest hostess for such an excellent meal, whereupon I quickly found myself back out on the streets again.

Having just gotten paid, I decided to spend the first day rummaging through the Navy Exchange in Yokuska where I’d heard I could find some good bargains. While I struggled to work up the courage to venture out into the countryside by myself, I went looking for gifts to give to my mother and Mary. With so much to choose from, I opted to buy my mother a beautiful set of china and a set of silverware, to boot. For Mary, I bought a Japanese doll adorned in the traditional dress of a woman living in the Japan of yesteryear. After seeing to it that these gifts were wrapped and shipped off, I realized how much I needed to do something for myself too. Thus did I finally make up my mind to go sightseeing in Tokyo on the morrow.

That evening, word reached us warning of a possible demonstration in front of the main gate to the shipyards at Yokuska. Ever since the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, have a growing number of Japanese adamantly opposed port of entry to any foreign vessel suspected of carrying nuclear weapons. Because the whereabouts of our nuclear arsenal was such a carefully guarded secret known to only a select few, they had no way of ascertaining whether we were actually carrying nuclear warheads on the tips of our torpedoes or not. For some reason, though, the demonstrators drew upon my sympathies, so much so, that had I been more aware of my own position on nuclear weapons, I might’ve joined them.