XII: Personal Accounts
A Schoolboy
A Hiroshima ninth-grade boy wrote of his experience on August 6th: "The street car running from Hiroshima Station was crowded that morning. Although the motorman said, 'Please take the next car,' passengers forced their way on board. Threading past the newly ordered firebreaks, the tram had just come to Hachobori when there was a flash like that of the trolley against the trolley-wire. The passengers packed together inside were instantly changed to statues. Frantically, I pushed my way through the suddenly blackened crowd, and like charred fence posts, they toppled over behind me, one after another.
"I found myself in front of Fukuya Department Store. A dead soldier lay pillowed on his dead horse. A man burned black still grasped his bicycle with clenched hands. Another knelt, rigid, his face to the pavement. Fires were threatening from all directions. I was hurrying toward Hakushima-cho when a woman covered with blood ran toward me crying, "Somebody help ! My child, my child!" From beneath a fallen house came a childish cry, "Mother, Mother, it hurts, it hurts !" Unable to do anything herself, she pleaded with three wounded soldiers to help but turned their eyes away. Then a military policeman arrived. Throwing an order at me 'Do not leave the city; stay and act as a guard,' he joined the fleeing refugees and escaped. "That is no joke ! Can I die for nothing ?" When I looked around, the broken timbers pinning the child were afire.
Bereaved Parents
The following account comes from a book, "Floating Lanterns," published by the Association of A-Bomb Bereaved Parents of the Municipal Girls' High School.
"About 6:30 I finally found my child. Shiroko was sitting on a stone beside the river, her hair burned and face swollen. Even though her name was written on her work pants, without thinking I asked, 'You are Shiroko, aren't you ?'
"At midnight she was treated at Eba Elementary 101. In delirium she cried out, 'I want a drink,' and again. 'Give me a mat to lie on.' Then her fever subsided, never to rise again. She died at one o'clock with her classmate beside her. Nearby a boy of seven or eight, crying, 'Mother, where's my mother ?" drew his last breath, alone and lonely.
"What I remember most vividly is the scene by the river. Shiroko's schoolmates had escaped there and now lay dead, piled one upon another, one heap after another. The wounded ones lay motionless, suffering silently. Probably they were thinking, "This is what war is.' I shall never forget them."
A Father
Tamaji Kimura writes: "Aichan was alive. We finally learned that she had been taken to Ujina Akatsuki Depot My wife who was ill at the time, got out of bed and gathered up a cotton kimono and hat, and saying, "She likes hardtack,' some rationed hardtack and a can of food. These she put in a first-aid bag. Anxious to find Aiko, we hurried to Ujina. There was a notice posted outside a house, 'Aiko Kimura, 14, student, severely injured.' Inside, the soldiers at first just looked at us, but finally one said only, 'Too late.'
"Ah, too late! Aiko had been sent to Kanawa Island. There, six bodies lay in a row, covered with straw matting. At the far end a slender white foot protruded. Without hesitation, I drew close and it was indeed the Aiko we had been seeking so many days. "Aiko, how you must have suffered,' said her mother, laying her cheek against the child's. Then we folded the hardtack into Aiko's hand. How happy we should have been if only she could have eaten it.
"The next day, my wife and I took the road home, looking back again and again. Almost high noon, the sun was very bright, but what loneliness! In my breast pocket nestled an envelope inscribed, Hair of Aiko Kimura, died 2:40 A.M., August 12th., My wife, leaning heavily on her bamboo cane, walked silently beside me."