The sailor’s ring

Flickr image by Amy Palko

In 1990 I was in the Navy and homeported on a ship at San Diego Naval Station. One Sunday afternoon I was riding the San Diego Trolley back to base after a day spent downtown when the woman next to me struck up a conversation. By then I had been in town long enough to become attuned to those mentally ill people who occasionally rode the trolley and sometimes caused disturbances. At first I thought this woman was one of those sadly disturbed individuals but she was somehow different. A elderly Japanese woman who spoke broken English, she seemed friendly. Certainly harmless enough.

She struck up a conversation, asking if I was in the Navy and I responded yes. With this she gave an even bigger smile.

“My husband NAVY!” she beamed.

Husband, I asked? She nodded and grinned. Then she told me in her broken English how her husband had been a sailor in World War II, for the Japanese Navy I assumed. It didn’t seem to matter to her that we were on opposite sides back then, she was all smiles now.

I asked where her husband was now. She told me he had died long ago. I can’t remember now if he was killed in the war or died afterward.

We chatted some more, with me straining to understand her through her broken English and through the noise of the trolley. Soon the trolley was approaching 32nd Street, my stop. It was then that my new friend did something that took my breath away.

“Here,” she said. “You have this.” With that she handed me a ring.

It was a gold wedding band. A Japanese inscription was inside.

“What’s this?” I asked, incredulous. This crazy woman is making no sense!

“My husband’s ring. You keep.”

“Ma’am, I can’t take your husband’s ring!” I protested. I sized her up again, looking for signs of mental illness. All I could see was a lonely but proud woman, smiling back at me through tears welling in her eyes.

I tried to give her ring back to her but she refused again and again. She simply would not take it. As the trolley doors began to close, I finally relented. Bewildered at what had just taken place, I pocketed her ring, thanked her and stumbled off the train.

For years, I thought about what the woman had done, not really knowing what it had meant. My brother kidded me relentlessly that I’d gotten married to a stranger on the trolley. But why had the woman given me her deceased husband’s ring? How could she do this? Was she mentally ill all along? I had studied her closely and she had seemed lucid and competent, if overcome with emotion. It had to be something else.

Over Memorial Day 2010 I found myself thinking again of the ring. For the very first time I think I understood. Something about this Memorial Day brought out in me a deeper appreciation of my military service. Yes, it was a long time ago and a relatively 4-year enlistment. Even so, that was enough to forge a subtle but indescribable bond with those others who have worn the uniform. I had never met the husband of my new Japanese friend but that really didn’t matter: he and I shared the brotherhood of the sea. Though in a different time we may have faced each other as enemies, each of us had understood the concept of duty. Each of us had braved life on the cold, unforgiving sea. Had I ever met this man, I know we would have shared an instant respect for each other. It’s an understanding that has only come with time.

I think about that ring from time to time and of the widow who presented it to me, only now I no longer consider myself unworthy of its possession. Now I understand the bond that unites those who serve, particularly those who have served on the sea.

Fair winds and following seas, my friend. Whoever and whereever you are.