In Our Time

In the hot, humid summer of 1942, Sergeant Nano Lucero and 80 other U.S. soldiers lived in a mountain hideout near Manila. Their food was smuggled in by friendly Filipinos. Among those who came bearing gifts were a young woman named Romana Romero, her sister and her brother. When word came over the guerrilla grapevine that the Japanese were on the way, Romana was the first to give warning.

They fled--Nano, Romana, the sister and the brother--to the lowlands of Shantol, then to the tiny village of Malabo. The Japs were always close behind; sometimes Romana crawled along the ground under sniper fire to beg or steal food. She burned out the serial numbers stamped on Nano's army pants, finally got him a forged birth certificate which enabled him to pose as a Spanish farmer who had come to the Philippines before the war. After that life was easier; they could go back to Manila.

In the fall of 1943, Romana had a baby; it died a few hours after birth. Last January she had another, which lived. They named him Richard. Soon afterward, U.S. troops came back to Manila. In April, their life of hiding over, Romana and Nano were married.

Last summer Sergeant Lucero had his chance to return to the States. He was a hero. Romana and the baby came with him and moved into his mother's house in Albuquerque.

Welcome Home. This month there was a parade in Albuquerque. The city's veterans of the 200th and 515th Coast Artillery, 151 survivors of Bataan and Corregidor and the dark days after, marched proudly down the streets. Nano Lucero marched with them, in a uniform which he no longer had need to disguise. Romana stood among the cheering crowd on the sidewalks, but there was no pride or peace in her heart.

She had just been talking to the prosecuting attorney. "When Nano asked me to come back, I am afraid," she said. "I am afraid that I am so ignorant that I will not to able to act like they do in the United States. I cried and told Nano that he could go back alone. But Nano told me, 'I will take care of you like you took care of me.' So I came to America.

"We were happy until August. Then Nano's mother began saying, 'You must forget about Nano. You leave Nano alone.' One day he went away. He said he would be back Tuesday, but he never came back. I asked his mother and she told me to leave Nano alone, I should forget about him. But I cannot forget Nano."

Noncommittally, with the air of a man who knows he cannot compete with fate, the prosecutor wrote out a complaint of nonsupport.

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