The Story of the Stone

 The Story of the Stone

The Story of the Stone

My father was a Go enthusiast. He taught me the game when I was about ten years old. I guess my ten year old mind grasped the concept and the rules, but not all of the nuances. In other words I never won and so soon lost interest.

Whenever he played, and that was a lot, he would put a black stone off beside the board. He said it was his lucky piece. When I was thirteen I asked him about his lucky piece that looked a lot like a Go piece. He said he would tell me the whole story when I was older. I shrugged and forgot about, that was until today.

Today I am much older, probably the age my father was when he told me he’d tell me the whole story. I was clearing out my father’s house since he passed away last spring. In an old jewelry box I found the stone. I picked it up and turned it around and wondered once again what the story was, thinking I’d never know now. In the bottom of the box was an envelope with Dad’s handwriting on it. It just said, to my son.

I opened the envelope and inside were just a couple of sheets of paper written in my father’s meticulous handwriting. It was dated at the top Sept. 1, 1973

Dear Dan,

If you are reading this I can only assume I am no longer with you. First let me tell you I love you because I may not have said that enough while I was alive. Second, I promised to tell you the story of my lucky piece when you were older. Well here it is.

During WWII I was the navigator on a B-24 and my best friend Rick was the bombadeer. We’d gone through basic training together and been assigned to the same squadron. It was our time during basic I taught him how to play Go. Once we were shipped abroad we had a lot of down time between missions. So we’d play Go and he got good. I still won most of the time, but he’d beat me often enough to keep it interesting.

We were headed back from a bombing run when when had engine failure and had to ditch in the Sea of Japan. The plane broke up on contact, but Rick and I somehow made it to a life raft. We were picked up three days later by the Japanese and taken back to an internment camp. We were both officers and we were put in different barracks. We’d have about an hour outside together and Our minds were turning to mush. Rick said he wished we could play some Go. It was then the idea hit me, if we used the starter grid of 9x9 we could remember the moves and I looked down and saw a stone that looked like a Go piece. It was black and smooth and I picked it up. This will keep track of whose turn it is. Rick usually took white and went first. We had some very intense imaginary games of go, especially when one of us remembered something differently that the other. We were in there together for nine months and neither of us was in good shape by then. One day I was looking for him in the exercise yard to hand him the stone and tell him my move but he never showed up. I never saw him again. We were liberated about a week later, if he could have just held out. Anyway, I was sent to a hospital on Manila and was there for ten weeks before they discharged me and sent me home.

So I kept the stone to remind me of Rick, and that there is nothing that can’t be endured. I hope you understand why I didn’t tell you when you first asked. Thirteen year old boys tend to romanticize war and I didn’t want to have to tell you a bunch of war stories. Mostly I wanted to forget the war but remember Rick.

It’s yours now along with everything else. Do with it what you will, but it might be something to keep around to remember your old man by.

It was just signed Dad

I stood there for a moment with the letter in one hand and the stone in the palm of the other, when the stone flipped over. I looked around, it was just me in the room. I said, “OK Dad” and stuck the stone in my pocket.