hibakusha - 6th august 1945

[morrigan]

I like to wake early, to take my breakfast tea in my garden before I go to work at the hospital. My job is stressful, but life is stressful at this time, the war has seeped into our souls, we are all toxic with grief. My garden is beautiful, there is a solitary quiet here, the morning is still, sunlight wraps and warps around the flowers and leaves. I can hear Yaeko in the kitchen, she sings a soft tune, complementing the birds who are perched nearby. I have yet to dress, it is warm and private here, so I am happy to sit in my underclothes, and feel the day rise from its slumber. Too often we do not take the time to be with the nature that is around us, and in turn, our own internal nature swirls chaotically. Chaotically, chaotically, the words are barely formed in my head before they are rendered invisible by the huge white light, and then another fills the whole horizon. At first I am stunned into immobility, I watch fascinated as a lantern in the garden becomes brilliantly lit and I wonder whether this is caused by a magnesium flare or sparks from a passing street trolley. The shadows in the garden recede. The birds have stopped singing. Yaeko has stopped singing. The view, which a moment previously had been glorious, is now dark and hazy. Through the blurring dust I can barely see my house, a wooden column that supports the roof is broken and the building sags dangerously. I move instinctively, my mouth is filling with the fine powder thrown up by the rubble, everything has been pulverised, I can barely see. I struggle towards the house, I want to find Yaeko. Sharp things puncture me, looking down I see that I am now naked, I wonder for a moment where my clothes have gone, how strange that my clothes have disappeared. I am bleeding, blood is gushing from a deep wound in my thigh and I can taste blood in my mouth. I reach up with my hand, I feel my cheek, it has been ripped open. I reach down, I feel my thigh, a huge splinter is embedded in my flesh. My neck hurts, I feel with my hand, my shaking hand, and I find a large shard of glass, which I remove, pull out, matter of factly. I stare at the glass in my blood drenched hand. I feel faint. Where is my wife? Where is Yaeko? I shout her name, I shout as loudly as I can, but blood begins to spurt, I wonder whether my carotid artery has been severed. I don’t know where my wife is. I think I might bleed to death. ‘Yaeko, it’s a 500 ton bomb. Yaeko, where are you?’ And then I see her, pale and frightened, emerging from our house. Her clothes are torn. She is covered in blood. As soon as I see her I know I have to control my own panic. ‘We’ll be alright, but we have to get out of here.’ We are alive, and we must get to the hospital, I am bleeding profusely, I know that I need medical help. We walk a few short steps, but I have to stop, my breath is short, my heart is pounding and my legs give way from underneath me. I am thirsty, so thirsty. I beg Yaeko to find me some water, but there is none to be had. All around us houses are collapsing, we must go on. I am still naked, and although I do not feel shame, I am disturbed to note that all modesty has deserted me. We round the corner and come upon a soldier standing idly in the street with a towel over his shoulder, I ask if he will give it to me in order that I may cover my nakedness. He surrenders his towel without a word and we walk on. Inexplicably I lose the towel, but Yaeko ties her apron around my loins. Our progress towards the hospital is slow, I cannot walk, the blood is leaving my body at a terrifying rate, it is drying on my skin, mixed with the dust that blows along the street. My legs will not carry me, I cannot go on, I have no strength, no will, I have nothing left in me. I tell Yaeko to gone on. She refuses at first, but I tell her that she must go to the hospital to find someone to come back and get me. She agrees, she can see this is a reasonable thing to do. She looks deep and hard into my face. I can see myself reflected in her eyes. Without saying a word she turns and walks towards the hospital, in a few short seconds she is swallowed by the dusty gloom. I lie in the road, I put my head onto the warm concrete, now I can only see sideways. I am passing in and out of consciousness, blackness descending from time to time, my mouth dry. The bleeding from my leg starts again. I press my hand against the wound, grinding in the dirt and dust, I press as hard as I can and after a short while the bleeding stops. I rise, determined to go on. I must reach the hospital. My movements are painfully slow but my mind is running at top speed. I am sweating. I have lost Yaeko’s apron, once again I am naked. I come into an open space, and through the dimness I can make out the silhouette of the hospital in front of me. My spirits rise, because I know that now someone will find me, even if I die, someone will find me. I stop to rest. I look around me. There are shadowy forms of people, glazed and murky, the dust is clinging to them and, although they are moving, they look like corpses. Some look like scarecrows, their arms held wide from their bodies, they are terribly burnt and their raw skin surfaces agonise as they rub together. I see a naked woman carrying a naked baby, I look away, perhaps they had been in the bath, but then I see a naked man, and I wonder if, like me, the strange thing that had happened has served to deprive us of our clothes. An old woman is lying on the ground near to me, her face contorted with pain, but she makes no sound, none of us make any sound. In this dreadful hell of naked ghosts there is no sound. ----------------------------------------------------- "If I were asked to name the most important date in the history and prehistory of the human race, I would answer without hesitation 6 August 1945. The reason is simple. >From the dawn of consciousness until 6 August 1945, man had to live with the prospect of his death as an individual; since the day when the first atomic bomb outshone the sun over Hiroshima, mankind as a whole has had to live with the prospect of its extinction as a species..." Arthur Koestler