by John Kelly
The next morning around ten o'clock Mieko returned and the two women took a taxi to meet Masako. As she sat in the back seat of the taxi, watching the people walking along the pavement, Amanda imagined that the 6th of August 1945 must have been somewhat similar, until the bomb was dropped. People going about their day, off to work, shopping, going to school, just doing all the normal things people do in the course of their day. Somewhat apprehensive that she had come to a defining moment in her journey, Amanda was nervous, but constrained when the taxi pulled up and the two women began walking toward a large residential complex. It was in a quiet street some distance from the main road and enjoyed a front courtyard where children were playing. Moments later, Mieko knocked on the front door of an apartment on the lower level.
'Hello,' Amanda said, when a young teenage girl appeared at the door. Mieko then spoke to the young girl in Japanese asking if it would be possible to speak with Masako. The young girl listened, and then left them standing with the door slightly ajar. 'She is her grand-daughter,' Mieko said to Amanda. She has gone to check. 'What did you say to her?' Amanda asked. 'I told her that you were from Australia, and that you wanted to meet with her.' Moments later, the girl returned and invited both of them into the house taking them along a narrow corridor to a room at the rear. There, an old woman sat in an arm chair and smiled tentatively as they entered. In a friendly exchange, Mieko greeted Masako and introduced Amanda, explaining to her, the purpose of their visit. As she spoke, Amanda listened intently and noticed the old woman's reaction when Mieko mentioned the name, Derek Avers.
'Derek,' she said. 'You know him?' she asked in a heavy Japanese accent looking at Amanda. 'No,' Amanda replied. 'His son, Quentin, I know. He asked me to come.'
Amanda looked into her eyes and saw the pain of memories revived by her visit. She was anxious both to settle Masako and not to impose upon her any more pain than necessary. She turned to Mieko and spoke tenderly. 'Could you please inform Masako that Derek Avers passed away two months ago after a short illness? Please extend to her our deepest sympathies.' With that Amanda drew breath as Mieko relayed the news to Masako.
The old woman looked longingly at Mieko, but as the news was revealed, she allowed her head to drop down in sorrow while her grand-daughter quickly knelt alongside and placed her arm around her shoulders to comfort her.
Slowly she lifted her head and revealed a lonely tear sliding down her cheek. She spoke to her grand-daughter. Mieko relayed her words to Amanda. 'She said he was the only one to love her after the bomb. Despite all her injuries and her scars, he was the only one who showed compassion, until the girl's grandfather came along. He was a good man. She often thought about him and wanted to see him again after grandpa died.'
'What was it like?' Amanda asked tenderly, anxious not to frighten her. 'What was it like the day the bomb was dropped?' As Mieko translated, Masako instinctively drew back allowing her body to rest against the back of the arm chair. She raised her hands to both sides of her face, slowly. At first she appeared reticent, shaking her head slightly. Mieko spoke quietly to Amanda. 'She seems unwilling,' she said. 'Many hibakusha have been encouraged not to speak about it.'
'Why is that?' Amanda asked.
'We are in a difficult position. We know that we rely on the Americans for our economic and political stability. There is an attitude that silence is best. She probably doesn't want to talk about it.'
But Masako did want to talk about it. The question itself re-ignited the flash Masako first saw that morning and the memories so long suppressed. Her hands were still visibly scarred, and she ran them gently up and down her cheeks, the pain still visible in her eyes. She spoke in Japanese. To retell such horror could not be trusted in broken English. Mieko relayed her words slowly as a mark of respect for a hibakusha, a true survivor, and one who had carried the horrifying images and memories with her over sixty years, images that would continue to haunt her for what years she had left.
'I was up early that morning,' Mieko said, repeating word for word, listening to the tone of Masako's voice, watching her, determined to have her words properly represented, properly reflecting the emotion of her voice, drawn from deep within. 'I left home early that morning. There had been an air-raid siren, but the all-clear signal had been sounded. We had been warned that bombing raids were to be expected. Hiroshima had not been bombed up to that point. Some said that it was because the Americans were going to use it as their headquarters when the invasion came. Others thought the Americans were protecting certain favoured citizens in the city. I said good-bye to my mother and father. School was suspended for the summer but there were no holidays for us. As part of my contribution to the war effort I was assigned to help load some of the rubble from the houses that were demolished the previous day to make way for fire breaks. It was a project that had been in operation for some time. It was shortly after 7.30. It was a beautiful morning; there was a clear blue sky. I crossed over the river and joined my school friends who had also been instructed to attend, perhaps twenty or so, I'm not sure.
'I was about two miles from the hypocentre. I was helping to pile up some timber in large heaps for when the trucks came to load it up and carry it all away. I heard a plane. It was only one plane. I thought nothing of it. B29's often flew over us on their way to other targets at Kure and Tokyo. There was a shelter across the street where we were told to go if we heard the air-raid sirens. We kept our lunch boxes and things there. It provided some protection for us when we stopped for lunch and it also had a washroom. It was a warm morning and the work was very hard for me. I took a short break and crossed the road to get a glass of water in the shelter.
'I had just got to the door and opened it when the pika-don came. Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light and a huge roar of hot wind and I was thrown to the ground. The noise was terrifying. Houses on that side of the road collapsed and burst into flames. Debris was flying everywhere and it was incredibly hot. I was partly inside the shelter but I remember the building collapsing on top of me. Then it went dark, like the night. I must have lost consciousness for a time. When I became aware again, I looked up from where I was laying and realized a bomb must have hit the building, but I didn't think I was hurt. Then I heard people screaming. I climbed out of the collapsed shelter and the whole of Hiroshima was in darkness, underneath a huge cloud of thick black smoke. Across the road where my friends had been working there was nothing but dead bodies and fire. The sun had disappeared; everywhere, screams and shouting. I saw women covered in blood, calling out the names of their children. There were people walking past me, toward the river, their skin hanging from their arms, their flesh exposed and burnt, their clothes hanging from different parts of their bodies trailing after them. Some had lost all their clothes. Their faces were all swollen, bloated like balloons. I could not recognize anyone of my school friends I was working with. I climbed to my feet and felt dizzy, and then I felt an awful pain all over. I looked at my hands and they were all swollen in blisters. My shoes were gone, burnt, and my feet were also burnt. All around, the sky was dark and the ground was red, fires burning everywhere. Bodies lay everywhere. I decided to follow the others as they headed toward the river. I remember seeing men covered in blood desperately pulling away at burning rubble shouting out the names of their children, trying to rescue them from underneath the rubble. People were lying dead along the road and I had to step over them to continue on. At the river's edge, people were throwing themselves in, trying to get relief from their burns. The river was full of dust, debris and corpses. Most of those who went into the water never came out. Corpses were floating down the river and there was a dreadful smell. Others lay on the embankment, groaning in pain. I heard someone say we should try to get to the mountains. I thought of my mother and father across the river and knew I had to try to get home. The Yokogawa Bridge was on fire, but people were crossing over it running through the flames. I followed them. On the other side there were some trucks and soldiers loading people and taking them
to a hospital. I climbed on board, but at the hospital there were hundreds seeking treatment; too many, it was chaos. There was no treatment except for someone massaging oil onto my burns. I became very concerned for my parents and my sister, so I left the hospital and began walking home.'
Masako paused and dropped her head. She was living the nightmare once more; the pain of re-telling her experiences of sixty years ago. She reached for her handkerchief and dried the tears flowing freely from her eyes. Mieko took her hand but said nothing. The room was silent; the only sounds, children playing outside in the courtyard. 'You don't have to go on,' Amanda said, leaning forward, placing her hand on her knee. Masako composed herself. 'No, I want to,' she answered. 'It helps to talk about it; so long ago, and yet still so vivid.'
'Did you find your family?' Amanda asked.
'I walked along the street. All the houses were on fire. I couldn't find my home. I went up and down the street before I realized I was in the wrong street. My family lived in the next street. When I got to my house it was burning. There was a man outside, sitting by the road. He was burnt and almost naked and his face was all swollen. As I came nearer, he looked up at me and said my name. Masako, he said. You are alive.
'I looked closely at him and realized it was my father. 'Papa, I cried, 'where is Mama? Where is Taeko? He just stared at me with a blank expression. Then he pointed toward where our front fence used to be and I saw two lifeless bodies, lying on the grass. It was my mother and sister.
'The feeling of shock at what had happened was compounded. At that stage we did not know what had happened beyond some sort of incendiary bombing. I walked slowly toward the two bodies, but I did not recognize them. It was impossible to tell who they were. I turned to my father and said, 'Are you sure?' He looked over toward them, and then at me, and could not answer. He just nodded his head.
'I don't know how long we stayed with them. Papa had dragged them from the burning house, but they were too far gone and died shortly after. We wanted to take them to some place where we could honour them, but there was nothing we could use to carry them and our need for water was very great. We had to try and save ourselves.
'We must try to reach Uncle Mineo, my father said. He was referring to his brother who lived in Kabe, at the foot of the Uebara Mountains. We knelt together on the ground alongside my mother and sister and said goodbye. We began walking. We were in shock. I shut out the feeling of pain and thought only of reaching Uncle Mineo. I knew we would get some help if we could reach him. It was a very long way; twenty, perhaps even thirty miles, but we were determined to reach him. As we walked, we passed hundreds of people, all like us, dazed, burnt, bleeding and desperate for water. It was horrifying to see so many bodies lying along the roadside. I thought constantly of my mother and sister and wondered how much they suffered. My father remained silent, still in shock. We passed a temple where some injured people had gathered to get medical assistance, but there was none. As we continued walking further and further away from the centre of the city, the damage to houses was not as great. There were still some fires, but people were not affected as badly and gave us water. Food supplies had been scarce for months and everyone was affected. Still, some were willing to give us some rice porridge.
'One lady insisted we rest while she gently rubbed some cream on our burns and bandaged them with some of her best white sheets that she tore to pieces. She said her daughter worked in a factory in the city and was very concerned for her safety. She offered us a place to lie down but my father said we must try to reach Uncle Mineo, and so, after thanking this kind woman, we continued on our way. Several times we had to stop to rest and each time the stinging from our burns became so unbearable that we forced ourselves to keep walking and that helped take our mind off the throbbing and the agonizing pain. After some time passed, I don't know how long we had been walking, we turned back to look at the destruction and saw huge pales of smoke over all of Hiroshima, and fires everywhere. I remember my father exclaiming there was only one explosion. What kind of a bomb could do all this damage he said. Later we came by a stream and drank some water, but each time we leaned over to scoop up water in our hands, the throbbing pain was excruciating. Late in the afternoon, as we continued on the road to Kabe, a farmer came by in his truck and offered us a lift. He gave us more food, although it was painful to eat. He told us that he had heard on the radio that a new kind of bomb had been dropped on Hiroshima, but didn't know what kind it was. We were very grateful for his kindness. He was very concerned for us and drove us all the way to my uncle's house.
'We arrived there around six in the evening. We were both exhausted and Uncle Mineo came running out of the house when he saw the truck pull up outside. Somehow, he sensed that it was his brother come all the way from Hiroshima. They were twins and would often joke that they knew what the other was thinking, or what they were doing. He and his wife, my Aunt Tatako took care of us. He arranged for the local doctor to come to the house. The doctor gave us both morphine and tended to our burns and he also gave us something to help us sleep. I don't remember much else about that first night. The next thing I remember was about three days later, waking up to find Uncle Mineo sitting by my bed with my Aunt Tatako. They gave me something to eat and I could see tears in their eyes as they fed me with soup and vegetables. I asked them about my father and they told me he had died during the night. Uncle Mineo was devastated. He had suggested several times to my father that our family should relocate to the country, away from the city. Surely, he used to say, Hiroshima would be bombed sooner or later. Better to leave now and be safe. But my Father never accepted his offer to live with them. Now Uncle Mineo was making the same offer to me. He and Aunt Tatako told me I could stay with them as long as I wanted to, that I could attend school in Kabe rather than return home. The doctor had told them my burns would heal in time but not quickly. I would need ongoing treatment and that I should stay in the country and rest. I was happy to accept their offer, although I wanted to return to Hiroshima to see what was left of my home. Uncle Mineo said he would go with me when I felt strong enough. While he was speaking to me a radio broadcast announced that another horrible bomb, the same as fell on Hiroshima, had now been dropped on Nagasaki just hours ago. A terrible fear gripped me when I heard the news. To think that the poor people of Nagasaki were going through the same ordeal we experienced was too much and I began to scream. Aunt Tatako put her arms around me and comforted me. How many more cities would they drop this monster bomb? When would we ever be safe? Were they planning to obliterate us completely? We all felt very afraid and helpless at the news.'
Amanda didn't know what to say. Up until a few weeks ago she had only heard the American version of the story. That version contained little or no reference to the personal suffering experienced in the streets of Hiroshima. The American version of the story was always linked to the shortening of the war and the lives saved by avoiding a land invasion of Japan. That story was always caked in the most subtle of ways with the notion that the Japanese got what they deserved. As horrific as the dropping of the bomb seemed, it was always presented in the most positive of terms. But now, here in that very city, Amanda herself, was forced to confront the personal reality, the personal cost of human life, the suffering, the legacy carried through subsequent generations of innocent Japanese children, the quality of who's lives was pre-determined long before they were even conceived. As Amanda sat speechless in the wake of this appalling disclosure, Masako rested, satisfied with what seemed a personal need to tell what she had experienced.
Amanda looked closely at this diminutive, elderly lady. In her mind she contrasted the placid, submissive demeanour she had encountered in her dealings with the Japanese over the past few days. She realized that these people, like all people, were fundamentally gentle and peace loving. It was their leadership that soiled this nation's image, not its people. When a nation's leaders mislead their people, all manner of acts are possible; all manner of atrocities. That
is so of all governments. Even today, all manner of propaganda devised by the faceless ones inside the bureaucracy enable our leaders to put the case that a certain course of action is good for the country, when their real reasons are hidden. All governments are complicit; all are guilty. And it could be said that in 1945, the leader of the world's richest and strongest country was no less barbaric than Germany's leaders or Japan's leaders? Were all devoid of morality when it stood between their objectives and an otherwise more principled outcome? Clearly the American people had also been misled when given the reasons for unleashing this weapon against other human beings. Clearly the Japanese were trying to negotiate surrender. Clearly a dark and sinister conspiracy infiltrated the upper echelons of the US administration in the closing days of the war. Clearly President Truman was seduced into thinking that it was in the best interests of the US to drop the bomb rather than negotiate a conditional surrender with the Japanese; a surrender that would have produced the same result, without a land invasion, without further loss of life on either side, a surrender acceptable to all parties. Was Truman so short-sighted that he did not realize other nations would eventually develop this new technology, and that America's present advantage would be short-lived, thus placing the world in an even more dangerous position? Was this the story that Quentin Avers had sent her, Amanda Blackburn, at his own huge personal expense, to discover? If so, what did he want her to do? As Mieko pointed out, this was not exactly a secret. De-classified documents had already revealed the truth, several books had been written. Amanda recalled in her research, reading that in May 1983, the National Conference of Catholic Bishops in America tried to revive the nation's conscience by publishing a pastoral letter on war and peace where it urged Catholics to lead the way?
"We must shape the climate of opinion which will make it possible for our country to express profound sorrow over the atomic bombing in 1945. Without that sorrow, there is no possibility of finding a way to repudiate future use of nuclear weapons or of conventional weapons in such military actions as would not fulfill just-war criteria".
If such an influential body had been unsuccessful in changing popular opinion, what could one more lone voice do?
Masako had said enough on the matter. She sat back, and appeared somewhat exhausted for the effort expended in telling her story once more. But at the same time she was proud and pleased, and then almost as an after-thought said, 'But that is not the reason you are here, is it?'
Amanda was still in a state of distress herself, her mind racing over and absorbing all that she had heard. Her visit here was to ask Masako for the key to the safety deposit box in Kyoto.
'Er, I'm sorry, what did you say?' she said, looking at Mieko.
'She would like to know the reason for your visit,' Mieko said.
'Er, yes,' she said, collecting her thoughts. 'It seems almost trite under the circumstances, but Derek Avers' son, Quentin, asked me to come. He has asked me to seek your help in recovering a Meijji artefact. Apparently it is in a safety deposit box with the Bank of Japan in Kyoto and he says that you have the key.
'I will give you the key, but the Meijji vase is not there. It is at Kamakura, in the forest. It is buried there. The safety deposit box contains a map Derek drew that will lead you to where the Meijji vase is buried.'
'Where is Kamakura?' Amanda asked.
'It is about an hour from Tokyo by local train,' Mieko answered.
'Have you read the journal?' Masako asked.
Amanda nodded, but in the euphoria of the moment did not mention that it seemed to finish abruptly, that it was possible she had not read all of it.
'What about the Meijji artefact? How does that come into the story?'
'Tokuo found it among the ruins of our house. It belonged to my mother. It is not valuable, but when Tokuo found it someone warned us that it was radioactive and would not be safe for seventy-five years. Maclean san wrapped it in thick cloth and placed it in one of the boxes in the shed. He fixed a lock to it and kept it separate from the other boxes.'
'Maclean? Ronnie Maclean? You know him?' Amanda asked.
'Yes, he came to Uncle Mineo's house often.'
'I just met him a couple of weeks ago,' Amanda said, quite excited.
'He is still alive?' Masako asked.
'Yes,' Amanda replied. 'What happened to the vase after that?'
'Sometime later, a week or so, Maclean san gave the key to Uncle Mineo, and they buried the box at the back of the shed, and placed a marker above it, so we would always know where it was. Later, Derek dug up the artefact from the back yard and took it away. He told me it was buried in the forest at Kamakura. He didn't want anyone getting sick from the radiation. He then drew a map detailing how to find it, and placed it in the deposit box. It has been there ever since.'
'Why has no one bothered to bring it back here? Surely it is no longer radio-active is it?'
'No, I don't think it is. I'm not sure it ever was, but we did not know then. We believed what we were told.'
'But what is so important about it?' Amanda asked. 'If it is not worth anything, why does Quentin Avers want it returned?'
'I assume you are in contact with Quentin?' Masako asked.
'Yes, I will be calling him later tonight,' Amanda answered.
'Then I'm sure he will explain further as to what he wishes to happen. That is all I can tell you,' Masako said.
Amanda felt she had learned as much as Masako could tell her, but for one vital interest.
'What happened to Shigeko?' she asked.
'What do you mean?' Masako answered vaguely.
'Shigeko. The girl Michael, the writer of the journal fell in love with; the one who became pregnant and was sent by her parents to Tokyo.'
Masako hesitated as if collecting her thoughts, trying to remember.
'Oh the girl,' she started, 'I remember now. Tokuo brought her back from Tokyo and took her to Kaitaichi, to Dr. Kano. The doctor looked after her and helped to deliver her baby.'
'Where is she now?' Amanda persisted.
'I do not know. You should speak with Tokuo,' Masako replied.
'Were she and Michael reunited when Michael returned to Hiroshima?' Amanda asked, now starting to sound more like an investigative journalist than a guest. Masako seemed to struggle with the question.
'I don't know. I never saw Michael again. He never returned to Hiroshima.'
Masako's answer stunned Amanda. She was momentarily speechless. The visit she had looked forward to with such anticipation and from which she had learned so much about the dropping of the bomb, was loosing its depth. So much detail still remained unanswered.
'I think she is tired,' Mieko suggested to her.
'I don't suppose you have a photo or anything do you?' Amanda asked Masako.
'No,' she answered shaking her head. 'We had nothing like that.'
'And Tokuo? Where is he now?'
'Tokuo lives in Nara. He is old now, older than me,' she joked.
Amanda looked at Mieko for some indication of where Nara was situated.
'It's a short rail journey from Kyoto,' Mieko said.
Amanda realized that she needed to speak with Quentin Avers and try to learn more about her mission. She felt ill-prepared and insufficiently briefed to continue with Masako at this point.
'Can you give me the key to the safety deposit box?' she asked.
Masako nodded and signalled to her grand-daughter to bring her a box on top of a crockery chest.
Suddenly the grand-daughter spoke to Masako and reminded her of the code.
'Oh yes, I nearly forgot,' she joked, 'do you have some message for me?'
Amanda looked dumbfounded. 'Oh yes, the message! God what was it? I think I wrote it down,' she said, as she rifled through her handbag. After a few moments of extreme embarrassment, emptying out the entire contents, she found it, unfolded it and read, 'Dr. Kano has no more penicillin,' she said quickly, as if time were of the essence.
'Ah ha!' Masako sa
id. 'You are not good spy.'
The comment broke the silence with laughter, mostly from Masako, who took delight in her own light-hearted remark.
'Take this to the Bank of Japan in Kyoto,' she said, handing over the key, 'together with the instructions inside the envelope. They will give you access to the deposit box.' 'Tokuo's address in Nara is there also, should you need his help.'
'I'm very grateful to you for seeing me today. Could I come to see you again, perhaps tomorrow or the next day? I would like to speak with my people in Australia before I go any further,' Amanda said.
Masako nodded but said nothing.
'Then I'll say goodbye for now, and thank you for all your help.'
As the grand-daughter led them to the front door, Amanda noticed a bronze insignia resting on a small table in the hallway alongside a small framed photograph. With only a brief glance, she did not recognize the two people in the photo, but she was sure the insignia was the badge of the rising sun, the official badge affixed to the slouched hat, worn by Australian soldiers during World War 2. She noticed, but avoided showing interest, hoping to have another opportunity when she returned the next day to speak with Masako once again.
18.