Black Rain

by Masuji Ibuse

  It was only after she had let go that he realized she had led him there by the hand. It was the very first time, even including the days before their marriage and those when his old mother, who had died last year, had still been with them, that the two of them had behaved like this, tiptoeing furtively about the garden like lovers.

  The garden was surprisingly light considering how thick the mist was. “Shigematsu,” Shigeko began, busily brushing stray hairs back from her forehead as she always did when she was agitated, “I’ve simply got to tell you what I’ve heard from Dr. Kajita today. Nobody else must hear about it.”

  “Alright then, tell me. Nobody can hear.”

  A while ago, sometime after nine when Yasuko had fallen into a light sleep, Shigeko had slipped out to Dr. Kajita’s house and asked him what had happened when he first examined Yasuko. It appeared from what the doctor said that Yasuko had been surreptitiously looking in books on home medicine and trying to treat herself. If this story got about, Shigeko said, people would get the idea that Shigematsu and his wife had neglected to do anything about her radiation sickness until it was really serious, an idea that would be further encouraged by the popular notion that the disease was incurable at any rate. There had been a similar case in one of the neighboring villages only recently. Occasionally, Dr. Kajita had said, a young woman’s sense of modesty would work with an extremely stubborn disposition to produce tragic results.

  “First of all, she got a temperature,” Shigeko whispered, “so she looked it up in the home doctor and took some aspirin. But it didn’t go down, so she looked it up again and took Santonin.”

  “But that’s for worms, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, well then she had diarrhea, and her temperature went down after a few days. But then she got a painful abscess on her buttock. She was too ashamed to go to the doctor, and put some antibiotic ointment on it, thinking it was some nasty disease.”

  “Come to think of it now, she didn’t use the bath for quite a while, did she? She must have been afraid of giving it to other people.”

  “Well, then the boil burst and she felt a bit better, but her temperature went up and her hair started coming out. Then it dawned on her with a shock that it was radiation sickness, and she ate three or four aloe leaves. It was after that she broke down and told you all about it. All this I heard from Dr. Kajita.”

  “Now that you mention it, I noticed that the roots of the aloe were sticking up as though someone had been pulling at it. The leaves are supposed to be good for anemia, aren’t they? She must have thought it would increase the corpuscles in her blood, poor girl.”

  “Poor girl, yes—but more than that, it’s the sheer silliness of it that gets me. Why ever should she get so complicated about a mere boil? Why couldn’t she have told us earlier? I’m perfectly sure she’d no reason to suspect anything more unpleasant….” Her voice failed her, and she drew in a deep breath.

  Shigematsu heaved a sigh too. As things were now, there was no help for it but to see that Yasuko got plenty of nourishment and to keep her quiet in order to give luck and the doctor a chance.

  The next day there was a heavy shower, and a thunderbolt struck the great pine tree on the site of the old magistrate’s office. When the rain cleared, Dr. Kajita from the hospital came to see Yasuko, and it was arranged that he should come to examine her every three days. For the sickroom, the doctor selected a room in the separate wing where Shigematsu’s mother had lived. Shigeko was to do the nursing, and they decided, without telling Yasuko, that Shigeko should keep a daily record of the progress of the disease.

  Where food was concerned, they would do just as the doctor said and make her eat the same things as Shigematsu, who had a mild case of radiation sickness himself. Yasuko was to lie down when she felt like it, and to go for a walk when she wished—but three meals a day, the doctor said flatly, were absolutely imperative. In the alcove of the sickroom, Shigeko hung a landscape allegedly by the famous painter Chikuden Tanomura. The scroll had been left with them about five months after the end of the war, on the day of the year’s first snow, by a textile dealer from Shinichi. He had come to Kobatake, apparently at the end of his tether, to try to buy food, and had bartered the scroll with Shigematsu for three shō of rice and five devil’s tongue roots.

  Shigematsu decided to show himself in the sickroom as little as possible, so as not to depress the invalid. He had been the first to fall prey to radiation sickness, but now their positions were reversed; Yasuko’s symptoms were far worse by now than his, and it could hardly be pleasant for her to be constantly reminded of it. In fact, Shigeko said, she seemed to be shying away from him—though not, she added, wanting to go back to her parents’ home. On the second day after she had moved into the separate wing, Shigematsu, going in to put an early-blooming pink in the vase in the alcove, was shocked to see how rapidly she had weakened. Catching him staring at her, she shut her eyes. In the past few days her color had deteriorated badly; the white, transparent-looking skin of her face was a clear sign of anemia.

  Shigeko described each of the symptoms to him in detail, and showed him the record of the disease that she wrote down every night before going to bed. She wrote it not as a professional nurse would, but as an ordinary diary, with occasional descriptions and personal impressions mixed in with it. Even so, they were soon to find that it was well worth the trouble. Shigematsu, at a loss for further ideas on the illness, decided in desperation to go and consult the head of the Hosokawa Clinic, where he himself had been operated on, and to take the record with him as the best account available of the progress of the disease.

  “Why don’t you send this to ABCC in Hiroshima?” said the doctor after glancing at a page or two. “It seems to me it gives a good picture of a typical group of three—a hospital doctor, an atomic disease patient under his care, and the person doing the nursing. A trio of people, with the victim at the center, all worn out from not knowing what to do. A trio of victims, you might say….That’s clear from this at a glance. The ABCC in Hiroshima keeps records of all data on the victims of the atomic bomb, and from time to time publishes accounts of what is happening to sufferers from radiation sickness.”

  Shigematsu had not known of the existence of ABCC. Now he learned that an occupation army survey team had come to Hiroshima, together with doctors from Tokyo University, in the autumn of the year the war had ended. As the team went about its duties, it gradually developed into the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission, an organization set up to carry out studies and gather statistics on the victims of the atomic bomb, and inspired by the highest ideals. Nonetheless, although it investigated the way the disease occurred in the victims, it did nothing to treat them.

  Shigematsu was more concerned about Yasuko than about ideals. “The thing is, doctor,” he said, changing the subject, “I know how busy you are but—” He said what he had hesitated to say before. “Doctor—if you’ve any spare time, I wonder if you’d read that diary? If you do I’m sure you’ll realize why I’m looking to you for help. You see, as you’ll learn from the diary, it’s one of our family who’s down with radiation sickness.”

  “You mean, that I should….Radiation sickness?” said the doctor, looking extremely doubtful. “I’m a hemorrhoids doctor, you know. Any kind of piles, I’ll treat. But radiation sickness is—well, we can say it’s a kind of freak disease. My young brother-in-law had it, and I did everything I could, but it was as good as useless. But I’ll have a look at the diary if you like—tonight, if I can. So I’ll keep it for the moment.”

  The doctor having agreed so readily, Shigematsu left with a promise to come back in a few days’ time.

  The diary covered a period of seven days, beginning on the first day that Dr. Kajita had come from the hospital to see Yasuko. Shigeko had written it in an untidy scrawl, so he copied it out neatly onto ruled paper, altering the style to suit his own taste wherever he felt like it:

  DIARY OF THE ILLNESS OF YASUKO TAKAMARU

  July 25. T
hundery rain. Festival of the Tenjin Shrine.

  10:30 Attack of violent pain and retching, Yasuko suffers pitifully. The pain subsides after ten minutes or so. Temperature 100°. A little hair falls out.

  About 2:30, heavy rain. Two or three great claps of thunder.

  3:30 p.m. The rain clears and Dr. Kajita comes to see the patient. Temperature 102°.

  The abscess on the buttock has broken, he says, and another has formed somewhere else. I do not watch, for Yasuko’s sake. Finally, he says he has finished and it’s all right now. I place a wash basin and hot and cold water on the veranda outside, and go in.

  As soon as he goes out on the veranda, Yasuko covers her face with a towel. “That thunder a while back was enough to make one jump wasn’t it?” says the doctor, and gives a laugh, then he takes Yasuko’s pulse again and says to himself: “Better inject….a hundred thousand units of penicillin.” He gives the injection with a practiced hand.

  I see the doctor to the gate and am told: “She seems more listless than yesterday. It’s the effect of the fever, I imagine.”

  For supper, stewed dace, egg, tangle, shallots, one bowl of rice, tomatoes. The doctor said before he would come every three days, but after talking with my husband and with Yasuko, I go to Dr. Kajita’s house to ask him to come every day. He agrees.

  The patient goes to bed at eight.

  July 26. Fine. A cool breeze.

  In the morning a temperature of 100°, feels chilly. Bean paste soup, dried seaweed, shallots, pickles, egg, half a bowl of rice.

  Noon, 97°. No appetite, so just tomato and lettuce for lunch.

  3 p.m. Dr. Kajita comes. He says, “Let’s check the stool just to be on the safe side, shall we?” and Yasuko very reluctantly agrees. The second abscess has burst and a third formed. He treats it. He gives us ointment and powders.

  Supper: Soup, fish sausage, dried mackerel, cucumber salad, two bowls of rice.

  She is reading Sōun Yada’s Life of Hideyoshi. Bed around nine-thirty.

  July 27. Great rain clouds.

  Morning, 99°. Feeling better. For breakfast, bean paste soup with eggplant, french beans, egg, two bowls of rice.

  Smiles for the first time in ages.

  Reading Sōun Yada’s Life of Hideyoshi, which she started yesterday.

  Noon, 99°. Pickled cucumber, burdock root cooked in oil with soy, stewed dace, omelet, one bowl of rice.

  A letter from a friend who used to work with her in Furuichi; writes a long reply and goes to post it herself.

  Lies down until around three when Dr. Kajita comes.

  Temperature normal, 98.6°. No sign of hookworm or roundworm, stethoscopy normal, the doctor says.

  After treating the abscess the doctor is just leaving when he says: “I had a call from my home in Ishimi this morning to say that my father has had a stroke, so I’m leaving early tomorrow morning. Dr. Moriya has agreed to take over from me, so please don’t worry.” Cannot help feeling rather taken aback. Recall a long-standing rumor that Dr. Moriya used get to along badly with Dr. Kajita.

  “But surely, doctor, you won’t be going back to Ishimi for good, will you?” I say.

  “Oh no, I shan’t do that. They say the stroke was a light one. Well, look after the invalid.”

  “Oh dear, doctor, I can’t help feeling let down somehow….”

  Just then, my husband comes back from the fish pond and we both see the doctor to the top of the hill. He sails off down the hill on his motorcycle and out of sight.

  Evening, 99.5°. New shallots pickled in brine, lettuce, stewed dace, meat croquettes, two bowls of rice, tomato.

  The evening is hot and sticky, so we all, Yasuko included, put out benches on the stumps of the kemponashi trees and enjoy the cool outside air. We help ourselves to salted soybeans and chat of this and that.

  Old Takizō from Shōkichi’s place, who is eighty-nine, brings three eels for Yasuko; the day after tomorrow, he says, is the fiercest of the dog days, when everyone is supposed to eat eels to keep his strength up. We sit with him on the benches and indulge in idle conversation. He is tactful and avoids all talk of sickness. Instead, he recalls old local traditions and tells various fantastic tales. He talks very solemnly and importantly, and Yasuko laughs a great deal. The old man remains perfectly serious, which makes it doubly funny.

  “Long ago,” he says, “when my grandfather was only a lad, they were there on a bench, sitting under that very kemponashi tree, when what should happen but along comes a wily old badger to eat the scraps the human beings had dropped, and pokes his face out at them from under the seat. Ah, those were the days, all right.”

  “Long, long ago,” he says, “when my grandfather was but a lad, there was a man called Yoichi over at Ogata in Kobatake, and he was very good to his parents. In fact, he was known in all the neighboring villages for his filial piety, and travelers knew of him too, and even the adders that bite human beings had heard of him, and had a proper respect for him. Those adders were particularly fond of biting travelers, so it came about that when a traveler saw an adder he would say ‘My name is Yoichi of Ogata!’ ‘I’m Yoichi of Ogata!’ he would say, and by the time he’d recited it three times the adder would bow its head and slither off smartly out of the way. So they all lived safely ever after!”

  “When my old grandfather was just a lad, long long ago,” he says, “a huntsman caught a deer, and was on his way home when a monk-wolf started following him, slinking along after him in its wolf shape. When the hunter turned round to look behind him, it leapt and sank its fangs in him. But the hunter was too smart for it. He had some salt hidden in a bag he carried on him, and you know how unclean spirits detest salt. So he sprinkled the salt about him, and thanks to that, he arrived home safe and sound after all. Ah, those were the days, those were….”

  July 28. Fine and sunny. A shower around noon, then sunny again.

  As soon as he gets up, my husband goes to Dr. Kajita’s home to pay for the medicine and take a parting gift. When he comes back, he says it looks as though the doctor has decided not to return to Kobatake any more. I suspected as much at once, from Shigematsu’s pale face and the heavy way he was breathing.

  The patient feels well, her temperature 98.6°. For breakfast, bean paste soup with taro in it, shallots, egg, pickles, and two bowls of rice.

  The third abscess breaks. She applies ointment herself.

  All three of us discuss which doctor she should go to, but reach no conclusion. At his wits’ end, my husband even produces, amongst other things, a book on divination, but gets no further than turning the pages. We decide in the end to let Yasuko herself choose, and after lunch she says she feels well and her temperature is normal, so she goes off to find a doctor. I want to go with her, but do not insist when she says she doesn’t need to be accompanied everywhere she goes.

  My husband leaves to see to the fish pond under the bank. I envy the way he can go off so cheerfully. The first mating of the carp was a failure, he said. The second time they succeeded, using the males and females they’d kept in reserve.

  I fillet one of the eels and broil it plain.

  Before that, I put Yasuko’s quilts out to air.

  About four o’clock, the old man from the general store comes hurrying over to our house.

  “We’ve just had a telephone call from the young lady,” he says. “She asked us to give you a message. She’s decided it would be best to go into a hospital, the Kuishiki Hospital in the next village. But there’s nothing particularly serious, and you’re not to worry, she said.”

  “Are you sure it was her?”

  “It was Miss Yasuko.”

  A bolt from the blue that leaves me stunned. I pull myself together and send a telegram to her parents asking for someone to go to the hospital right away. Then I go to the fish pond under the bank to tell my husband. He goes straight off to the Kuishiki Hospital.

  At dusk, the old man from the general store comes running over once more.

  “
Telephone from your husband. He’s talked it over with Yasuko’s father, and they’ve decided to let her stay in the hospital as she wants. He said to tell you he might be late this evening.”

  “How is she?”

  “He didn’t say. Oh, but I’m sure she’s all right.”

  I remember now that this morning my heart started pounding strangely, as though something dreadful was going to happen.

  July 29. Fine.

  My husband got back late last night. The diagnosis at the Kuishiki Hospital was rather different from Dr. Kajita’s. The fever, they say, is due to the abscesses. The abscesses are not due to a single germ, but to a combined infection by a mixture of different germs. In short, they have diagnosed other complications on top of a mild case of radiation sickness, and gave her a tuberculin injection.

  This morning on my way to the hospital, I drop in at the general store to thank them for coming over last night. The old man remarks that he saw Yasuko coming out of the Kuroda Clinic yesterday afternoon. At this, Mrs. Yoshimura, who happens to be in the shop at the time, says, “Now you mention it, I saw her too. Had a yellow parasol, didn’t she? I saw her going into the Ōmura Clinic.”

  The only girl in the village with a yellow parasol is Yasuko. Mrs. Yoshimura saw the parasol about half-past two, and the general store man saw her around one. She must have gone to the Kuroda Clinic first, then to the Ōmura Clinic, and then to Kuishiki Hospital. It’s true what they say—that sickness makes the mind lose its bearings. One drifts this way and that from moment to moment, doubting and fretting, clutching at one straw after another, any straw….

  The Kuishiki Hospital is built of mortar on a wooden frame so that it looks like a Western-style building, and the room, though rather cramped, is light and well ventilated. The bed is half screened by a curtain. As soon as she sees me, Yasuko starts weeping. She doesn’t sit up. “I’m sorry to be so selfish,” she says, and buries her face in the pillow. I make no comment, just talk about the broiled eel I’ve brought, then go on to give her what little information I’ve picked up about the rearing of carp. I might have saved my breath for all it does to bring her out of herself.