Unbroken

The babies was no longer his monster. He was only a man.
In Sugamo Prison, as he was told of Watanabe’s fate, all Louie saw was a lost person, a life now beyond redemption. He felt something that he had never felt for his captor before. With a shiver of amazement, he realized that it was compassion.
At that moment, something shifted sweetly inside him. It was forgiveness, beautiful and effortless and complete. For Louie Zamperini, the war was over.

During the war, the Bird had been unwilling to let go of Louie; after the war, Louie was unable to let go of the bird.

A flask became his constant companion, making furtive appearances in parking lots and corridors outside speaking halls. When the harsh push of memory ran through Louie, reaching for his flask became as easy as slapping a swatter on a fly.

“If I knew I had to go through those experiences again,” he finally said, “I’d kill myself.”

“After three and a half years in prison camp, I had been liberated by the great American blonde!”

His rage against his captors was gone. Like all the men around him, he felt flush with love for everyone and everything.
Forgiveness coursed through all of the men at Naoetsu.

”There’s just one thing left to say as we bunk down for the night,” he continued, “an (sic) and it’s wonderful to be Americans and free men, and it’s might (sic) hard job even now to realize we’re free men.”