3. Back to the U.S.

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I'm dead.
After I've travelled more than half of the world, I've finally reached Washington.
So much wasted time which had kept me away from Angie, more than 10 fucking months. It already took me forever to heal from my wounds and be able to walk again. Thanks to the help and good care of Mikomi.

Hope. That's what her name meant.
That's what she gave me. That's what helped me to stay alive, what gave me the strength to go on, along with the sweet memories of Angie's face.

Hope is exactly what left me as I put my feet on the ground. Sacred ground of United States of America. The land that bore me. And Angie. Maybe my child if I'm lucky.

I left Mikomi and her dad, on a fishing boat heading to China. Not really, in those times of war, Japanese and Chinese were like cats and dogs.
I'm already lucky I landed on that tiny island where Sensei and his people lived like in the 17th century, they even don't have electricity. They live in their own world, far from the war.

The ship's master kicked me out on a Chinese island in the middle of nowhere in the East China Sea, then I sailed from tiny islands to tiny islands until I reached China.

I managed to find a cargo ship heading to America. U.S.A. Read on my lips: U.S.A.
My Japanese was quite decent, but my Chinese totally non-existent and I
I swear when I found out I'd landed in California, I cried my eyes out. Fucking fate.

My original plan was to land somewhere on the East Coast, then ride a train, a bike or a fucking horse to Washington, where I could gather clues to find out what had happened to Angie. Or Jessie.
I was even ready to face Gessepp again if he was back in the Mother land and beg him on my knees, even kiss his bloody ass to know where she lived.

I 'd rather ask the War Department which was supposed to have all the slightest information available about that damn war, all the shit about our base included.

I struggled so much to make myself understood on that Chinese pier, unable to even write U.S.A. with current letters, those damn Chinese hieroglyphs still totally unknown to me. My face lightened at the sweet and weird sound, rolling off that Asian' s tongue:

"America? Yes, there!"
OK, he didn't really say that, but enthusiastically nodded his head, pointing at a big ship.
My tired brain was so relieved and happy that it assumed the boat was heading to the East Coast.
Fuck. Me.

San Francisco was beautiful though but I didn't have time for tourism.
I had to survive, find a job to have money, clothes and somewhere to sleep. I did dirty jobs, exhausting physical works; I was alternatively a beggar, a cow boy, a farm hand, a thief, whatever I could do to earn my keep. Keep going. Keep walking. Keep dreaming of Angie and my baby.
I made my way across the country, heading East by foot, sometimes hitchhiking, sneaking into a freight train when I was lucky.
I never rested, I never stopped, until I finally reached Washington.

Now, I'm losing my nerves at the War Dept, South East Asia sector office, biting my lips bloody as the bitch in front of me repeats her shit for the umpteenth time.

"I'm sorry, but it's classified as..."

" I don't give a fuck about classified! I risked my goddamn life in Japan to save your bloody American ass, I've travelled the whole country by foot to be here, so just give me the fucking answer I need! Where is She?? "

She startles as I slam violently my palm on the desk, marking each word I'm barking so I'm sure she fucking gets the point. I'm aware the whole hall turns silent and feel a thousand sets of eyes stabbing my back but I don't care. I keep staring at her with a murderous glare, leaning half my upper body over the desk, pointing a threatening forefinger to her face.

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