LA loo laa lollie doo, la doo daa lollie daa, I live in memories, among my souveni-i-i-irs— a watchband crafted of metals snipped from a derelict enemy fighter, nifty salt and pepper shakers fashioned from polished brass grenades, gold plated dentures and gold filled teeth and my trusty pliers, opium pipes, sake cups, sashes, sandals, a gas mask case and gas mask—Jesus, this damn gas mask; funny how you know at once that it's a Japanese gas mask. And the case—it still has the threaded characters on the canvas. Perhaps the soldier's wife had stitched his name. I know that part of his name was Yoshio, but I'm not certain whether the characters give his full name, or whether they represent his name at all. And in the years since the war, I've never bothered with mysteries of oriental calligraphy. But I can't forget his expression the last time I saw him, can't forget those terrible eyes. That was a long time ago, though, and the gas mask case is now stiff and mildewy. It was one of the souvenirs that I didn't sell, one that I added to my seabag when I was preparing to ship back to the States....

Okinawa is an island in the Ryukyu Archipelago in the China Sea. The name Okinawa means a rope in the offing. And it's true; the island resembles a kinked rope dropped on the waters. On Easter Sunday, 1945, in the last year of the war in the Pacific, I was on board the converted Danish freighter Thor's Horn when the invasion of Okinawa began. I was one of 50,000 American troops who were ferried ashore before the day ended.