Kokka Sodoin Ho
National Mobilization Law
March 1938
Summer in Hiroshima is hot. No one can overstate how hot it is. The oppressive daytime heat slowly falls on everyone until condensation forms on the skin. Every movement, however slight, causes a sweat that does not evaporate. Soon the whole-body shimmers in a liquid film like a saturated washcloth; the yukata adheres to the body and forms a new layer of skin.
The night is sticky, making sleep uncomfortable at best. During the day, it is easy to see the ripples of heat enveloping everyone as if consuming the body, but at night, the heat becomes insidious. Nothing can be seen, only felt, like being struck blind in hell.
But Chiemi sat in a room filled with the sacred aroma of incense, the only one in the house of weather-worn wood siding, long halls and multiple chambers of polished floorboards that was cool; a room covered with comfortable tatami and enclosed by opaque shoji, paper doors. That was what Akamatsu Chiemi enjoyed most about this corner of the compound: the pools of fresh air settling above parts of the tatami (straw mats) especially in August. Her father called it “the room of whispering oni” when she and her siblings were children. The family referred to it as the Oni Room. The Devil’s Room. He said it, she reasoned, to keep them out of it, especially her younger naughty sister, Chisato.
Chiemi, the eldest sister called Oneesan, was a tall woman, a family trait, “big boned” with an attractive face with high cheek bones, smooth pale skin, extraordinarily dark eyes, and short but thick hair. No one however could ever convince her that she was a beauty. Though the kanji for “Chiemi” meant “blessed with wisdom and beauty”, she often scoffed at anyone who said she was appropriately named and would soon be married as a prize catch. To her mind, her age, not her looks, stood between her duties as a daughter and her independence. Marriage was the farthest thing from her mind. She was content to live and wait, caught by her obligations as the oldest child.
The only other area that was as cool was the large kitchen, but the floor and walls were concrete and brick, the sink with a water pump was metal and wood. Not comfortable enough for sitting and meditating alone, though there was a set of wooden steps leading down to the kitchen from the main part of the house. She could truly be comfortable listening to her own thoughts, clearly, while sitting seiza, (in meditation) in a relatively isolated room, whispering devils or not. The cicada’s whining, heard just beyond the open ricepaper door to the garden, called to her. Being the oldest of three children, she was forever taking care of her younger siblings, dealing with their quarrels, dealing with their problems. She didn’t think it fair, but she obeyed her mother implicitly.
Outside was no better. Even though the Akamatsu Compound stood on the border of the city and country, really part of the countryside, the noise of traffic intruded. When Otousan, Father, built the place, it was hoped the mountains and hills with their thick forests that separated them from the city would offer peace and a measure of temperate air. But the dirt road gently curved up from between the barrier-mountains, bringing the traffic right by the front of the house. The rumble, clouds of exhaust and dust of automobiles, trucks, and horse-drawn wagons disturbed whatever peace could be found in their lush courtyard garden with the babbling stream and samurai statue brought all the way from far-off Tokyo by her father years ago.
Then again, the scowling face of the samurai with raised katana (sword) had given Chiemi a frightened pause ever since she was a child. There was something in the fierce misaligned eyes that always gave her chills. It was like an avenging god threatening to strike anyone who dared intrude. Maybe he was the whispering oni, the whispering devil.
In the blazing summer heat of the street, the possible intruders went about their business, men in stylish Western suits or women in bright, garish yukata, all rushing towards town to do what and where was unknown. It didn’t seem Japanese to Chiemi somehow.
But by the road, one of the many tributaries and estuaries of the Ota River, the mother river that divided into six at the delta, flowed downhill to the city. Chiemi and her sister during their childhood often hunted for fireflies among the reeds and slow-moving shallow water with its smooth rocky bed. Chiemi liked the comfortable feel of the slimy stones on the soles of her feet. The stream offered a respite from modern Japan.
***
August was also the time of Obon when the dead came back to visit for a time. And so Chiemi sat in the Oni Room, before the open butsudan, the altar’s interior dark with black-and-white photos of sad ancestors peering out as if waiting for some sign of remembrance, while offering incense in their memory. The bell still vibrated with the presence of the Buddha. Chiemi leaned back on her haunches and brought her hands together in gasshou, (in supplication). She felt her fingers press to her palms, as she chanted her gratitude.
As she did so, she took in the perfume of plumeria wafting in from the outside. It was sweet, fragrant of course, and beautiful in its blossoming. Her eyes closed as her thoughts settled.
Around the compound, several vegetable, tree, and flower gardens proliferated. It was Chiemi and Chisato’s job to take care of the plants. Chiemi was particularly proud of the beauty of the sakura trees in the spring. Hideki was not expected to help since he was a boy, chonan or oldest brother in fact, a much-revered position in the family.
Chiemi touched each of four green incense sticks with the flame of a match. An ancestor instantly came to life, the flame eventually calming to a steady glow. The smoke climbed and swirled in the cool, haunted air, mixing with the scent of flowers. Quickly it filled the room and her lungs. She breathed in and then exhaled without choking; clouds of ghosts swirled about her. She continued the recitation as the curls of smoke engulfed her, blessing her.
Chiemi couldn’t help but fall into a dreamy reverie.
She is running through the streets without panting for breath, without strain in her legs, without perspiration. She suddenly becomes aware she is not alone. To her left and then right she sees the kindly faces of her grandmother, her grandfather, her uncles and aunts, and some lost cousins. How is this possible? Her mind tells her that her grandparents had died as did the aunts, uncles, and cousins (some in war, others accidentally, or naturally of old age). Yet there they are as alive as she; confusion swirls within and around her. She somehow manages to look behind her and sees a crowd of followers, all familiar, but she didn’t know them. A cheer rises as she continues to run.
She notices a sound, a noise about her. It is like a gurgling; no, more like water sloshing. It comes from her ample breasts, flopping up and down under her shirt. They didn’t hurt; she laughed. Her leg muscles grow sharply defined as she moves; her arms flex large. And she has long hair! Long black hair whips about her shoulders, exuding the perfume of youth. She hadn’t worn it like that since she was a child.
She then begins to glow from within. Her body vibrates. A bright corona forms around her. It gives her comfort, but then her clothes start to rip away. First her white school shirt, her blue scarf and then her pleated skirt. She can’t explain it, but she had on the uniform of a student. It is as if she had grown younger in the process. When her outer clothes fall away in shreds, her underwear begins to fray and tear. She can do nothing to stop the unclothing.
But she does nothing to cover herself. Her relatives and crowd cheer as she becomes naked, but still running.
A grin scratches across her face as she fights the shame of being in her “all-together” in public. No one seems to mind.
***
“Why are you smiling?”
The intrusion shocked Chiemi awake. She raised her hand to her neck under her chin and grasped it lightly to catch her breath. “You startled me! Don’t sneak up on a person like that.”
“Sorry.” It was Chisato-chan, her baby sister, looking a bit guilty with eyes askance. She was about half-a-foot shorter than Chiemi but much more mischievous. She had a pretty round face with a telling grin, long hair, and a touch of compassion about the eyes. Being sixteen years old, she was starting to display signs of womanhood, but, in Chiemi’s estimation, none of the maturity. She was still a baby to her older sister.
“What is it?” Chiemi snapped.
“Why were you smiling? Did the Buddha say something funny?”
“Baka!” Idiot!
“Well?”
Still the rudeness of youth, Chiemi thought. “None of your business why I was smiling. You didn’t scare your sister to find out what was so funny.”
“Okaa says we should get ready for the Bon dance,” she said matter-o-factly.
“Good, you can help me.”
“Do I have to?”
“Chi-chan!”
“Oh, all right.”
The two began rummaging through a convenient closet, Chiemi pulling out several yukata for selection. Chisato perfunctorily took them and put them aside.
“Neesan?” she started with a pout. Eldest Sister.
“Yes...yes,” she answered somewhat distracted.
“I have something to tell you. A secret that only Otousan and me know.”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“Can I tell you?”
“Don’t be so irritating. There’s no time now. Help me find an obi that goes with...yes, tell me later.”
***
As Chiemi waded into the festive tides of community and celebration, she felt the joy of the familiar. On August 1st, Otousan had suspended the paper lanterns along the width of the front of the house. Both sisters, all gleeful and exuberant, climbed to light them. Hideki, their brother, teased and shook the ladders to scare them. They complained and laughed wildly but no one fell. With the lanterns lit, the ancestors were assured to find their way back home. Both girls always liked the way they swayed in the wind as if beckoning the spirits. To be sure, one incense stick for each relative continuously burned in their memory. The Buddha was always present.
Otousan went to see the Mayor to let him know the land next to his estate was available for the Bon Dance later in the month. It was a formality since Gunhei always made the area available. The Akamatsu Obon wasn’t the only one in the city, but it was large, not the largest but substantial.
The community dance was as expected: the crowds encircled the centre of the clearing, in all manner of dress, but mostly in happi or yukata, the women with fans, clappers, and other Bon dance paraphernalia. The young girls with typically long hair and fresh complexions, the young boys with ruddy complexions and closely shaved heads, almost blue in the reflected light, milled about the central yagura tower as the drummer readied himself at its base and the musicians tuned their instruments perched atop.
Smoke drifted across the field. It carried the aroma of cooked meat: chicken, octopus, and pork from supplies held back from the military by local fishermen and farmers, no doubt. Incense floated from the in-town temple’s large portable incense burner. The Buddhist priest chanted the sutra in a constant stream.
Folks greeted each other like they hadn’t seen one another in a decade, when they probably saw them at the morning market trying to find fresh fish or vegetables or a bag of rice to buy. Still available but getting harder to find. Under a new law, the government conscripted factory workers to fight in China. Subsequently, the powers-that-be forced men and women out of their farms and small businesses to take the place of the factory workers. The fields abandoned, the businesses empty. At least with Obon, those factory workers and others could be together again. As if nothing else was going on in the world.
But then an impressive man in full Western suit with a vest and cravat (rather than a tie) stood before the crowd. He raised his arms and an audible hush fell. He began to speak in a loud, clear voice. Most within earshot turned away but stood in place. He cited the “Five Races under One Union” motto: the Japanese, the Han Chinese, the Mongols, the Koreans, and the Manchus were all one people. He insisted, “We must all hold to the belief that the ‘Go zoku kyouwa’ will preserve the house of Asia. And the roof of the Asian union is Japan. And the Emperor is Japan.
“With the united help of Japan, China, and Manchukuo, the world can be at peace!” He ended with the motto written on posters all over town. Go zoku kyouwa. Five races, one union.
“Obey the demands of the National Mobilization Law,” he added as an afterthought. “It is all for the good of Japan.”
Ignoring his ridiculous manner of dress, the patriots in the crowd cheered, “Banzai!” Chiemi remained mute. She thought of the Emperor. Would He command her or her family to die in His name, His glory?
Life is dukkha. A childhood lesson from the Dharma, the Teachings of the Buddha, repeated constantly throughout the month of remembrance. Life is suffering.
The speaker’s words did serve to remind everyone of the troubled times. Everyone knew of course but no one talked about what was happening all around them.
An ominous pall had fallen over the city. Hiroshima, with its mix of simple wooden houses with shale roofs and two-storey buildings with timber frames and stucco walls, was at war. As part of the movement of patriotism, the government started confiscating property, razing the structures, and constructing large industrial plants to supply the military campaigns in China.
These were indeed troubled times.
***
As if on cue, the taiko sounded with a loud thud, the shamisen plucked and rang out, and the choral voices intoned the words of folk long past. Like a huge gear rustled out of its inertia, the odori dance began to turn in a large circle. Arms swayed and went through the choreography and the legs moved as the feet went through the various positions.
Chiemi scanned the dancers until she found Chisato, her petite sister with her innocent face tilted just so. Chisato seemed like a natural going through the movements with great ease. Chiemi had stopped participating just last year. Women and men of all ages indulged in the celebration, but, for herself, she felt it was time to think about the future and not engage in something she had learned as a young girl. She was too old for such nonsense, though she stood swaying to the music and swinging her arms in the remembered choreography.
Hideki, their brother, watched from afar, not participating because he had serious concerns to consider.