Whispers of a New Dawn by Murray Pura Page A

Nordstrom, FBI. This is Agent Bill Jenkins. May we come in?”
    “Why…of course…but what is this about?”
    “We have some important information about a member of your family.”
    Becky felt a coldness sweep through her. As her father and the two agents went into the house she started up the steps. Moses did not join her. She looked back.
    “Aren’t you coming?”
    “No. This is something serious. And it is something for your family. Not something for me. Whatever it is, you can tell me about it later.”
    “Moses. You worked. You deserve to eat.”
    “I’m fine. I have more than enough in me. I had the milking kiss, after all. Many of them.” He waved his hand and climbed into his buggy. “God bless you in this. Whatever it may be.”
    She blew him a kiss as he drove out of the yard. Then she entered the house and saw the men sitting at the kitchen table, their hats off. Everyone else was at the table with them—her mother and father, Aunt Ruth, her grandparents. The two men turned to look at her as she walked in.
    “This is Rebecca.” Lyyndaya pulled back a chair for her. “Our daughter.”
    The men nodded.
    Becky looked at her mother as she sat next to her. What is it? her eyes asked.
    Lyyndaya didn’t smile. “They have found your brother. He is alive.”
    “Alive?” Becky felt like clapping her hands despite the heavy mood in the kitchen. “Where is he? When can we see him? Thank God!”
    Her mother put a hand on her arm. “Yes. We do thank God. But Nate is not well. The men are explaining matters to us.”
    Becky looked at the FBI agents. “He’s ill? How ill?”
    “Very.” The agent named Nordstrom folded his hands in front of him near a cup of coffee. “The American public knows very little about what the Japanese army did in China and Nanking. There were reports in the New York Times and a few other papers but nothing extensive. And right now, because we have entered into serious and delicate peace negotiations with Tokyo, I am directed to advise you that under no circumstances can the details I am about to reveal to you leave this house.”
    Grandfather Kurtz nodded. “Very well.”
    “The Japanese do not make war as we do. Or even as the Germans do. It has something to do with their warrior’s code of bushido . They treat prisoners with contempt and consider them cowards. They will work them to death or just kill them. Nor do they have any respect for the civilian population. In Nanking, to the best of our estimates, they killed at least 200,000, probably more. Infants, mothers who were with child, elderly men and women, it made no difference. Foreigners were generally left alone. There was a safety zone where citizens of other countries took shelter. A number of Chinese were in there with them. Most of the time the Japanese did not touch anyone in the zone. But other times they entered it at will and carried off hundreds of Chinese, raping some, torturing others, executing them all. Our intelligence services intercepted secret telegrams. Information came to us from contacts on the ground in China. The list of atrocities is endless. Your son tried to stop the murders.”
    Nordstrom looked into his coffee cup. It was full, steam still rose from it, but he didn’t bring it to his mouth. “He wasn’t the only one. Many did what they could. From what we can gather the Japanese had no regard for anyone of Chinese extraction. Chinese citizens were shot,bayoneted, burned to death after being drenched in gasoline, buried alive in holes in the ground where they suffocated, tied to landmines and blown apart. Your son rescued many from this fate—perhaps hundreds—hiding them in basements and attics in the safety zone. But one day he stopped a Japanese soldier from bayoneting a newborn still attached to his murdered mother by the umbilical cord. The soldier was injured, and your son was beaten and dragged off to where they kept the Chinese prisoners of war—though the Japanese did not want