June 24, 1952
The 4077th, Korea to Bloomington
Oh, Lorraine!
Things have been a little difficult here. The wounded have been coming and coming and coming and never stopping because of so many battles and offensives that it is not funny. However, one woman who came to us tugged at my heart's strings and broke them into thin threads and then into nothing throughout the whole ordeal. It made my body bleed in grief, especially at the very end of it. I think even this will make you cry too, Lorraine…
Big surprises come in small packages, Lorraine, and this one surprised me greatly. It all started when this poor woman came to our camp, beaten, shot at, starved, burned and naked and her wrists knifed at because of self-mutilation (that much I could tell). She survived a major bombing raid in her village and came to our unit as such. Her journey from her village to here had been hellish and nobody knew what had happened in-between. She was very much wounded, like her bloody American brothers, and also had a different story to tell.
"Since when do Korean women come in here offering themselves to me?" Hawkeye commented as he saw her come in, the nakedness obvious as she was ushered it. In the meantime, she was muttering in Korean about her "shame" and the family she left behind as she ran into some fire and soon was quickly rendered unconscious as we put her under.
I noted what she said and kept my mouth shut, since I knew what she was talking about, and I handed Hawkeye the first instrument. Well, I think the only people who would have known about what she said were Father Mulcahy and Margaret and even then, their grasp of the Korean language is not as large nor as extensive as mine is. In the meantime, I kept my mouth quiet as we operated on her (noting the broken ribs, burns, head wound, shot-up leg and bruises along her body) and put her on Post-Op to recover as Hawkeye finished up a couple of hours later.
After hours of surgery (it's been nonstop lately), we all came out, stiff and tired. It had been a day of working in the OR at least and warm sunshine filled the compound to cheer things up. As I walked out with Margaret, who was still chattering on about the demands of nursing and how to run the nurses while she's away in Tokyo next week, I was blinded by the light. I could not see and think quite clearly. However, in my mind's eye, I could see the Korean woman, muttering about her "shame" and what she brought to her family and her friends before running out into the line of fire, when her village was assaulted by the North Koreans. She tried killing herself as she ran and was eventually brought here before she could complete her suicidal deeds.
Lorraine, I knew that the woman was a homosexual. She was a lesbian.
I didn't see anything wrong with it, like most people did. As Margaret reminded me to be firmer with the nurses and to be harder with them (being a leader of a bunch of women who barely give me the time of day bores me), I thought about the poor woman. Before I knew it, our talk ended as we reached the Swamp. I parted from Margaret with a headache the size of this country and aching for something to make it stop pounding. However, the poor woman in Post-Op (and not Margaret) got me thinking…
I had never thought of a Korean woman who loved the same sex until I remembered reading about Korea's history and culture. Remembering my readings, I recalled that to be a homosexual was to being shame to a family, I know, even though it was talked about in their literature and in court circles centuries before. It was not polite conversation amongst the common people, come to find out in my reading, and it was soon considered an activity worth the killing. For this woman to come here and make a mark upon my life by "telling" me this…I didn't know. I wasn't sure what to think about it, even now.
To keep it a secret was vital. She told it out loud, even in her delirium, for a reason. For me to keep it was somewhat of an honor, a grace that was bestowed upon me that seemed to redeem me in the dark exile. I had to keep it well and talk about it carefully because if I mentioned it to the wrong person, it could mean the woman's death or an argument from Frank. Truthfully, I didn't want to deal with Frank about another homosexual, especially after the one soldier that came here, a war hero that was a homosexual and a good man.
It took me a while, a few days even, but I had to give myself the courage to visit her and see how she was doing, even though I knew that she was not doing well at all. She had no name and could not communicate with anybody in the camp, although many outside Post-Op had been clamoring for her blood. Father Mulcahy tried to talk with her (his Korean had improved somewhat in a few days), but all she did to him was turn her head and say some mumbled words of fright. She refused to eat and drink and she always liked ripping at her stitching, causing Hawkeye to repeatedly go back and redo the work. Otherwise, all she did was sit in her bed and stare out, seeing things that we could not and picturing images that replayed in her mind over and over again.
I went to Colonel Potter after three days of listening to Hawkeye complaining about his patient, pointing out that she might not even make it, so bad her condition was. The colonel listened to me as I talked about what I heard and even mentioned how she was acting in Post-Op. She was going to be malnourished if she continues to refuse to eat, have more loss of blood if she continues to claw at her bandages and stitches and a more irrational mind if nobody could talk to her and make her turn her head to reality. Then, I added to the CO that I was truly worried and was even disturbed when some of the Korean villagers from next to the camp asked about her, requesting that we hand her over to "village justice" (loosely translated).
"There's nothing we can do, Captain." As Radar left the office, Colonel Potter shuffled his paperwork around and then looked back up at me as I finished explaining those details, almost protesting about what we could do about it. "If we can't get her to say a word, then we can't do anything for her but release her to the locals. As you know, the Army doesn't like dealing with the LIP, especially when it comes to their own justice."
Colonel Potter then mumbled something about the war and how much of a hell it all was, but then collected his composure again before saying what I kind of wanted to hear. "Captain, you can try to talk to the woman and see what she needs or where she needs to go when she's walking. Our driver can take her home if she has one or we can send her off with the other refugees in the area."
"I don't think she has anywhere to go, Colonel. Remember, her village was bombed and the locals are braying for her death. That's the problem." I crossed my arms as I sat in the chair in front of his desk stiffly. "She said something that made me stop and think and I don't want to say anything. As a nurse and a woman, I should keep quiet and keep her words a secret. However, you finally knowing this might help her."
The colonel leaned forward in his chair with interest, which made me hesitate. I had to tell him though or I might not get the help I desperately craved.
"She's a homosexual, Sir," I explained, using as few words as possible, in case somebody (like Radar) was eavesdropping at the door and already running out to tell the world without really understanding anything.
"I see." Colonel Potter said no more.
I felt a little hopeful and brazen too. "I'll talk with her, Sir, and see what's going on. Then, we can go from there?"
My last sentence was a question on purpose. I was hoping that Colonel Potter would be very compassionate and, hopefully have this woman be sent elsewhere other than the people outside of the camp. That poor woman needed to get out of the country perhaps, somewhere she can be accepted. Oh, hell, even though homosexual people were frowned upon in the United States, at least she won't be killed for it outright and nobody needed to know what she was. She could have kept to herself and people would not have known the better for it.
"Yes, Captain, you can take charge of her." Colonel Potter finally looked at me. "I don't care who or what a man or woman loves, Captain, but don't let this spread around the camp. We know what can happen to her if the locals don't get to her first."
I knew that he was referring to Frank mostly, so I took it as it is. I was safe for now, especially when I conversed with her. I knew Korean and nobody else would understand me and her. It was perfect, the answer I was looking for, even though the solution was not perfect.
I saluted the colonel halfheartedly (and he back at me) and left without much of a reply, almost giddy with my assignment. I had to do it. I was the only one who had to.
I ran right into Post-Op without stopping, where BJ and Nurses Johnson and Donovan had a shift together. Quickly telling BJ about the situation (minus the part of her sexual orientation) he allowed me to talk to the woman about what was bothering her and see if we could help her, in any way possible without giving her to the villagers. I was warned by BJ (Nurses Johnson and Donovan also adding in some commentary) that the woman, with the damage that she has to her body, might not make it through today. They all agreed that it was better make her last hours as comfortable as possible and not make her angry or upset.
I nodded, looking over to the patient and walking over slowly. Luckily for me, the woman was coherent and awake as I sat next to her, smiling as I talked in Korean to her with ease. Pale and wane, she looked so close to death and yet…yet, there was some light and life in her and I had to make it last as long as possible. I needed to know her.
"Hello, how are you?" I made it simple. I knew that she heard me because her head turned slowly.
"What are you doing here? Are you here to judge me, like the rest of me?" The woman crossed her arms across her bandaged chest, her fingers inching to claw at it.
"No, I'm not here to judge you. I know what's wrong in a way. I want to make you comfortable in any way I could. What's your name?" My Korean was becoming fast-paced now and I talked quickly. "My name is Captain Morrison or you can call me Nurse Morrison. You can also call me Jeanette or Jeanie, if being formal is not comfortable."
"My name is Mi Cha."
The voice behind the woman suddenly turned from haughty and protective to small and childish, as if I hit a spot that nobody else had. Her head turned down to face a spot on the floor, making me swear that the woman was really a girl. When I studied her for a minute, I saw that it was true. She was not even sixteen years old and I knew it. The girl was not even in her twenties yet, had yet to taste life and had already enraged a village bent on destroying her. Now, she was dying and they didn't need to do anything about it.
I gulped audibly. "Where do you come from, Mi Cha? Where is your family?"
Mi Cha shook her head. The black wisps trailed down her back, initially confined by a white cap. "It does not matter now, where I am from and where my family is. My family is gone. They are killed. And so is my…my girl. My girl is gone. I ran from the bombs and I was hurt because they all knew. It was good. It's for the good of the family honor if I am dead. They are dead anyway. It is good that I am too."
"How could you speak that way?" My voice matched hers, except with much more bitterness than I wanted to show. "You have a whole life ahead of you. You're young and have someplace to go, where people don't need to know who and what you are. How could you say that your life should end because you love a woman and everybody hates you for it? Because you bring shame to yourself and to your good family?"
"How do you know?" Mi Cha asked me. Those dark eyes, eyes I noticed for the first time, were shining and angry. "How do you know of love and honor and of family?"
That hit a nerve with me. "You're right. I don't know anything about it. My family is very unstable. But it doesn't mean that I don't know anything, Mi Cha. My life is as equally harsh as yours. I was younger than you when things happened to me, things that I dare not say now. You can live beyond this, just as I've had to do. You can stand up and be your own woman. You can be powerful and not be some tool for your family because they are dead. You can live and work alone and not be a pawn."
"In America, it might be possible. Here, is it not. We are women." Mi Cha turned her head again, and this time, it was away from me. "Leave me now and let me die. It's all I deserve."
I sighed, getting up and readying myself to leave and talk with BJ about Mi Cha, but decided against it. I decided to bide the patient a farewell. "As you wish. You can call me when you're ready for anything, even talking."
However, BJ stopped me on the way out as I was leaving, still brooding about Mi Cha. "Did she say anything?" He seemed genuinely concerned.
"No, not really," I replied, fighting back some tears. "She said nothing of concern other than her name and what happened to her and her family. That was it."
"She's not interested in living still, is she?" Father Mulcahy asked as he came up from behind BJ. "She spoke of suicide many times to me, but I could not understand her other words. I tried talking her out of it. I think her mind is set on death though."
"Mi Cha was her name," I just answered softly, walking around the doctor and priest to mourn the loss of a woman, a young girl really, and how a generation was dying on our watch. "And her family and 'girl' are all dead now."
I think Father Mulcahy understood me. Behind me, he exclaimed, "Oh, dear!"
I went back to the Swamp afterward, lying on my cot and not moving for anything or anybody. Time passed slowly, as it always did here. Soon, the quietness of my solitude (crickets singing and nightly walks from others in the camp) was soon interrupted by Hawkeye and BJ, who came in to play volleyball with blown-up surgical gloves and a laundry line. Towards midnight, after the two played that and some card games and chess a few times, Frank came in from his evening shift, smug and smiling. He seemed grateful about something, but we couldn't figure it out until someone said something. And that someone happened to be me.
I sat up, saying the first words since leaving Post-Op. "What's the matter, Frank? Did Hot Lips actually start giving you that blow job you've always wanted?"
"Oh, go peddle up the lake with your fish, Captain," Frank answered smartly. "Because that Korean woman you were talking to earlier just died. The damage in her body was too much. She died, sitting up and not talking as always. Good, since we don't need any more Commie Reds in our midst! It was worth it to see her die."
"She wasn't one, Frank." I stood up quickly, BJ and Hawkeye too shocked for words. Knowing that this wasn't their fight this time, they me handle this on my own until I left or Frank was unconscious (either way, I was going to win). "She wasn't a Communist. She was a woman in love who thought that it was better to die from her wounds than to live and disgrace her dead family."
"It doesn't matter, she's all dead and buried now," Frank commented. "Colonel Potter ordered it before the locals got to her. We don't even have her name or a family that will claim her."
I walked over to Frank, my fists posed to punch him. "Her name, Frank…her name was Mi Cha, and she was a human being and a life worst saving."
Frank backed up quickly, knowing what I wanted to do, and was panicking. "Captain…now, Captain, don't get angry here. I'm just your superior officer…"
"Then, move out of my way, superior officer!" I yelled at Frank as we backed out of the Swamp together and were outside. "Move out of my way before I decide that it's worth the years in the stockade because I punched you good and hard! Dammit, move it, Frank!"
Frank moved all right. He moved and let me be, letting me storm out and about the camp in complete anger. I was angry at the war, angry at and for Mi Cha and angry about her family. I was so mad that I didn't know I was doing or where I was going until I reached the minefields, kneeling before them in the tall grass, crying. Besides me were my constant companions, the long, green blades of the life left behind, their watery tears crawling down their arms like mine was crawling down my face, cleansing me of guilt, shame and sadness.
To all those who have died so far and have yet to meet their Creator – for Henry and many more before and after him…
Love, kisses and hugs to the children. Please excuse my sorry and quick end to this letter, Lorraine. I will write more later.
Love, love, love, Jeanie
