The Northwest times. [volume] (Seattle, Wash.) 1947-1955, 1947-04-04
BY JOHN OKADA

The bright noon sun shone dimly
through the heavily curtained win
dow of the farmhouse and accentu-
ated the peaceful solemnity of the
bedroom. A small girl lay in the
large frame bed, the shape of her
thin body barely perceptible beneath
the covers. She was dying and her
pale face. calm and still, seemed
to await the end without thought OF
resisting further. After four days OF
violent struggle against the unre-
lepting disease that gripped her bo-
dy, she no longer had the strength
to open her eyes or the faintest de-
sire to prolong life
Softly. the door was pushed open
and huge figure stepped into the
room. 1t was old Benson He stood
by the door for long time before
he crossed over to the bed and
slumped slowly to his knees Stead
lily, helplessly the tired father look
ed upon his daughters face. Jan,
he whispered almost as if in suppli-
cation, Jan Jan"
= The girl remained motionless,
giving NOT the faintest sign that
she heard her fathers voice.
He continued to look at her, ten
derby, painfully. Tears washed free
ly down the leatherly, weather-scar-
redskin of his cheeks and soaked in
20. his heavy white beard. A giant
sob rose in his throat but, sud-
denly lowering his head into his
folded arms, he muffled it. The re-
sulting sound was like an empty
cry swiftly vanishing into the black
est night. 1t was cry of despair
note of botLcnless agony which
nothing could soothe.
AS he kneeled beside the bed, Old
Benson appeared in the dimness OF
the room like alnan bending over
while standing. His enormous head
was buried in the folds of his long,
heavy arms, his great shoulders
were drawn upwards alongsides his
short, muscular neck, and his broad
back rose and fell with laboring re-
gularity as he sobbed noiselessly.
Presently, the slow commissions
stopped and Old Benson began to
pray. He prayed in low. num-
bling murmur that filtered into
the bed covers. He had done
great deal of praying since the
seriousness of JAMS illness had be-
come obvious. Jan was all he had,
all he lived for.
From the kitchen below, the din
sounds of wood being thrown into
an iron stove drifted up. Mama, wor.
RED and exhausted as she was. ma.
mayed still 20 go about her house.
hold tasks Old Benson thought o.
his wife, of his deep gratitude fol
her courage and understanding
She, too, loved and adored Jan al
much as be did; but deep as he
grief was, she hadn't permitted her
self to collapse as completely as IN
had She saw that the cows weri
MIXED, the fields. plowed. and TIN
chickens fed. She managed the farm
and cooked the meals and comfort
ed him when his grief became TOT
great to bear alone.
As for him, all he had done TIN
past week was sit beside Jan. Whol
the doctor had ordered him out o
the room, he stood in the hallwa
by the door. From the moment jan
took sick, he thought of nothing
else He had stopped working en-
tirely, not caring whether the COW
were MIXED or the chickens fec
He did not even bother to give di
rections to the hired hands as h
hao done each morning for the pas
thirty years. Jan was his only con
Germ and if she were to die. h
could not care to live longer.
A quick tremOr ran through
the bed and caused Old Benson
10 lift his head. lie saw that Jan
was struggling TO remove the COW
Crs.
Jan! You mustn't" He reache
out swiftly and, murmGring softl
TO her, grasped her tiny arm. Sh
continued to fight and he felt tn
small strength of her dying bod
straining in his hands.
"Please Jan, please. You mus
rest quietly"
Her breath came faster and
harder through her open lips.
"Jan, you'll tire yourself. Pleas
lie still
She pulled at his hands, twistin
her. body slowly and staring throug
unrecognizing eyes at his stricke
face.
mo, Jan. Don't fight. Don't
fight. You need TO rest -. rest.
Little dots of perspiration brek
out on her forehead, her breathin
became heavier and still faster an
theTorce with which she fought hir
steadily incrcas ed.
"Jsn E. Jan
Suddenly, the struggle ended