After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, we retreated to the Bataan Peninsula. Now I started to become a little concerned about my watch. With the enemy so close by, I felt foolish for bringing something that had been given to me by my mother. When we were told to surrender to the Japanese. I knew that my watch could become a Japanese souvenir. I couldn' t bring myself to throw it into the jungle, but I didn' t want to lose it to the enemy, either. I did what I could to outsmart my captors. I fastened the watch onto my left ankle and pulled my sock over it. For more protection, I put on a pair of leggings. Little did I know that I was about to embark on thirty-four months of playing a "hide the watch" game.
My unit surrendered, and then we were forced into the now infamous Bataan Death March. I wrapped the band around the watch and squeezed it into the small watch pocket of my pants. One day, while out on a work detail in northern Luzon, I was standing in the dump box of a truck, guarded by one of the ever present Japanese soldiers. His eyes were at just the right level to notice the lump in my small pocket. He reached out with a gloved hand and touched the spot. I froze and held my breath, fearing that I was about to lose my now prized possession. Surprisingly, the guard was not curious enough to ask about what I had in my pocket, and again the watch was safe for a while. Later, I managed to find a new chamois, and I swaddled the watch in it, concealing it in my shirt pocket. No matter how wet I became, the watch remained safe and dry.
The work detail lasted about seventy days. After that, it was back to another death march and on to Cabanatuan Prison Camp，where I remained for two and a half years. There I removed the band from the watch and wrapped the face in medical gauze and tape. It made a small, easy-to-hide package. At last, when my camp was liberated, the watch and I made the trip home. When I walked through the door, I learned that my mother had died. Now her watch, which had become a reminder of my own survival, was also a reminder of her life.
I had the watch restored to its original case and added a chain identical to the original. Once again, my mother' s watch was a delicate ladies' locket-style watch. I gave it to my wife. Later, I found that my brother still had the original watch chain. When he heard that I had restored the watch, he gave me the chain. Now, eighty-four years after my mother bought it, my daughter wears the watch. It is still in working condition.
放在精美礼品盒里的是一块镶有17颗宝石的“爱而近”牌手表，那是我的母亲在1916年9月结婚前买的。那块表极具时代感，功能齐全又有装饰作用——对于当时的女性而言，那是一件非常珍贵的饰物。当你按一下发条钮，小盒就会弹开，表盘便随之露出。在我十三四岁时，母亲将那块表送给我，我让人把它改造成了一块手表。对我而言，那仅仅是另一件属于我的物品。1941年4月，我离家参军时，带走了那块表。
我们的部队被派往菲律宾群岛。在横渡太平洋的海船上，我很粗心，在洗澡时将表系在吃水线上，险些丢掉。幸运的是，一位好心的美国兵发现了它，并将其归还于我。当时，那块表对我来说只是一件物品。除此之外，似乎再没有什么特别之处了。
空袭珍珠港之后，我们退到巴丹半岛。我开始关注我的手表了。敌军如此临近，我将母亲给我的手表带在身边真是笨极了。当我们被告知要向日本投降时，我意识到我的手表可能会成为日本人的战利品。我不忍将其扔进丛林，又不想其落入敌军之手，我想靠智慧过逮捕人员。我将表拴在左脚踝上，用袜子盖上。为了加强保护，我又穿了一双护腿。想不到的是，从此我开始了一场长达34个月之久的“藏表”游戏。
我们的部队投降了，被迫进入现在臭名昭著的“巴丹死亡行军”。我用带子将表裹住，塞入短裤的小表袋里。一天，我被遣往吕宋岛北部进行分队劳作，在一辆卡车的后斗里，我被一个始终都不离开的日本兵看守着。他的眼睛恰好看到了我小口袋的鼓包。他伸出一只带着手套的手摸了一下鼓包。我整个人都僵住了，屏住呼吸，恐怕会失去这件现今已很珍贵的物品。令人惊奇的是，守卫并没有好奇地询问我的口袋，我的表再一次安全了一段时间。之后，我想方设法找到了一件新的皮革，并将表放在里面，藏在了我的衬衣口袋里。无论我的身体或衣服有多么潮湿，这块表都始终完好无损并保持干燥。
持续了大概70天的分工劳作后，我们再一次回到死亡行军中，步行到了卡巴那端战俘集中营。我在这里待了两年半。我取下表的绷带，用药、纱布和胶带裹住表面，这样的包既小又易于藏匿。最终，我所在的集中营得到解放，我带着表回到家。进门后，我得知母亲已经去世了。如今，这块表让我回忆着自己的劫后重生，也让我回忆着母亲的一生。
我将表放回到它来的盒子中，并加了一条与来相同的链子。母亲的表再次成为一款精美的女士纪念表，我将它送给了妻子。后来，我发现我的兄弟还保留着先的表链。当听说我要重修这块表时，他将表链送给了我。如今，在母亲买这块表的84年之后，我的女儿带上了那块表。它还一直在工作着。
母女之爱，浩如烟海
Connection
苏珊· B. 威尔逊 / Susan B. Wilson
My mother and I are deeply connected by our uncanny ability to silently communicate with each other.
Fourteen years ago, I was living in Evansville, Indiana, 800 miles away from my mother—my confidante, my best friend. One morning, while in a quiet state of contemplation, I suddenly felt an urgent need to call Mother and ask if she was all right. At first I hesitated. Since my mother taught fourth grade, calling her at 7:15 A.M. could interrupt her routine and made her late for work. But something compelled me to go ahead and call her. We spoke for three minutes, and she assured me that she was safe and fine.
Later that day, the telephone rang. It was Mother, reporting that my morning phone call had probably saved her life. Had she left the house three minutes earlier, it' s likely that she would have been part of a major interstate accident that killed several people and injured many more.
Eight years ago, I discovered that I was pregnant with my first child. The due date was March 15. I told the doctor that was just too soon. The baby' s due date had to fall between March 29 and April 3 because that was when my mother had her spring break from teaching. And of course I wanted her with me. The doctor still insisted that the due date was mid-March. I just smiled. Reid arrived on March 30. Mother arrived on March 31.
Six years ago, I was expecting again. The doctor said the due date was toward the end of March. I said it would have to be earlier this time because—you guessed it—Mother' s school break was near the beginning of March. The doctor and I both smiled. Breanne made her entry on March 8.
Two-and-a-half years ago, Mother was fighting cancer. Over time, she lost her energy, her appetite, her ability to speak. After a weekend with her in North Carolina, I had to prepare for my flight back to the Midwest. I knelt at Mother' s bedside and took her hand."Mother, if I can, do you want me to come back?" Her eyes widened as she tried to nod.
