Distant morning thunder always gave Chiemi pause. Yet there was no rain or lightning one late fall morning. It had to be an air-raid bombing. From her family compound, she looked to the skies over Hiroshima and saw nothing except the clear cold steel blue that she had expected. Farther to the south-east, she saw the horizon wounded by rising black smoke. She guessed it was the Kure Naval District, the shipbuilding yard, that had to have been bombed by the Americans. But there were no reports of a raid, no sirens, no street announcements by the local civil defense men. She let it pass, thinking she would learn soon enough.
She then wondered about Chisato-chan’s in-laws. The father (what was his name?) worked at designing and building warships. Kimura Hideo, she eventually remembered, was quite prominent in the industry. His wife Fumiko was severe but kept the household together. What would happen to them if there had been a bombing?
By evening, Chiemi learned it had been an explosion in a factory just outside Hiroshima. Five men were killed, but no explanation was given. One paper speculated that it was sabotage.
“Why would anyone do that? Blow up a building, I mean,” Chiemi said.
“I don’t know,” Okaasan replied, as she served bowls of rice to accompany the plates of tofu, sweet potatoes, and sardines for dinner. “Where did you get such lovely rice? It looks so delicious.”
“Black market. It’s from Korea. Can’t get Japanese rice anymore.”
“Expensive then,” Okaasan concluded with a worried look on her face and the delight gone from her voice.
The kimono business had slowed of late. Not that many customers came to buy. In fact, some days, no one at all. At some point, Aiko had to be let go, but Chiemi brought her on as a domestic at the compound for a small stipend and room and board. With her two daughters and the two boys, the place became quite raucous though there was plenty of room. Aiko’s children, Mitsue, the older one by a year or so, and Keiko, were older than the boys by about seven plus years, but they were inspired by Kuniya’s mischievous nature. All four were constantly chasing each other around the house. And Kuniya was the leader. Aiko constantly scolded her daughters, but the girls never blamed Kuniya. Okaasan scolded her grandchildren. Chiemi enjoyed the chaos and simply sat watching everyone. They were a family again.
By the middle of 1943, her giri-no ha ha had closed the shop by the Ota River and Chiemi closed the other before the beginning of winter. All the material was stored at the Ito’s house. Chiemi continued to live at the Akamatsu Compound. Her mother-in-law disappeared from her thoughts.
Money was tight and food rations were getting slim. Milk was a problem. Chiemi turned to soymilk. When she ran out of that, she resorted to using the milky water obtained from washing the rice and barley. The children complained of the chalky taste, but she ignored them.
All four children grew thinner and thinner. No one, thank the Buddha, was hospitalized or bedridden at home. Chiemi noticed that clumps of her hair came out with a gentle pull.
***
When the weather turned cold and grey skies dominated, Akamatsu Haruye received notice to come to the Military headquarters near the Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall downtown. The official invited her to bring along older family members.
“What do they want with us?” Okaasan wondered. “We must go. Have you caused any trouble?”
“No!” Chiemi complained. “Why would you even think that?”
Okaasan remained silent.
The two donned heavy dark haori or kimono jackets and scarves to ward off the cold outside and walked along the familiar path to the trolley stop. The trip was the usual for Chiemi, but her mother enjoyed the change of scenery. Being away from the children was good, though Aiko’s daughters were in school while Aiko looked after the twins.
Once they arrived at the wide and tall administration building, Chiemi led them to the headquarters nearby according to the letter. Inside they were met by a solemn young man in a lieutenant’s uniform. He knew who they were right away.
They were brought down a long corridor of linoleum and bare walls to a clean, well-organized office. Inside was an older, higher-ranked officer decorated with many garish ribbons and insignia. The young officer left them.
Lieutenant Colonel Tasaka introduced himself in a pleasant but mannered way and invited them to sit.
“Akamatsu Haruye and …”
“Ito Chiemi, desu. I am her daughter—”
“Ah yes, in any case, I asked you here to extend my condolences.”
Chiemi immediately thought her husband was dead, a victim of the war. But then she thought about it, and a sudden realization came to her. Her stomach clenched and her arms weakened.
“Your son has given his life for the greater glory of the Emperor and Empire. His was an honourable death.”
The words hit Chiemi like a punch of wind. It took her breath away. Hideki never wrote so she could never tell how much danger he was in. She looked to her mother.
Haruye remained calm and showed no emotion, but she lowered her gaze.
“How…” Chiemi began.
“He was lost in action. I can’t tell you many details, but while participating in a military operation, he lost his life in a courageous charge at the enemy. He killed more than a few of the enemy. His was a glorious death.”
“When?”
“Yes, that is a matter of contention,” the lieutenant colonel said. “We think early 1941 or late 1940.”
“1941? Why did it take so long to inform us?” Chiemi said with a hint of irritation in her voice.
“Forgive us. Communication lines have become frayed. Reports from the front have become few and far between. His battle was in an obscure location.”
It was a poor excuse, but Chiemi said nothing. She felt her face turn red.
The Lt. Col. paused to let the facts sink in and then gestured for the young lieutenant to re-enter the room. He carried with him a box wrapped in a plain, unadorned white cloth. He handed it carefully to Haruye.
“We respectfully bestow Private First Class Akamatsu Hideki’s remains to you. Inside you will find a kotsutsubo.”
Haruye gripped it tightly and began to cry, silently. Chiemi, the Lt. Col., and the young officer bowed before her and said nothing.
“You will shortly receive the China Incident War Medal,” the Lt. Col. informed. “Please forgive the delay. There are shortages everywhere.”
He looked up and added, “You should know that inside the urn is a stone, representing your son’s body…”
“Why?” Haruye asked in the pause.
“Quite simply, the body could not be recovered. That’s another reason it took us so long. We spent a great deal of time looking for any remains. What little was found was unidentifiable for the longest time. The stone gives the kotsutsobo some weight while, at the same time, representing your son. His spirit will always be with you.”
Aiko came to mind, but again Chiemi said nothing. How odd that the fate that befell their loved ones was the same.
Haruye shut her eyes tightly, bowed and stood to leave with Chiemi.
***
Both remained silent all the way home. Haruye tightly and carefully held onto the box, her face grim and sullen, while Chiemi looked exhausted and slumped in her trolley seat.
Home was quiet. Aiko must’ve taken the twins out for exercise and play. Good thing, too, Grandmother and mother could not have handled their mischief at that moment. They moved directly to the Whispering Oni Room where the family altar rested. It was colder than usual since it was winter, even with the screen doors closed. Chiemi still felt the stone samurai’s stare just beyond the screen. Haruye placed the box before the altar and sat on her legs. She silently wept and muttered the Nembutsu. Chiemi did the same.
At an opportune moment, Chiemi spoke, not so much to her mother but out loud for herself. “Why did Hideki have to join the army?” she said almost in anguish.
Her mother stirred and looked at her daughter.
“It’s in his blood,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
Her face settled into a serious conversation. “We are a samurai family.”
“I know that.”
“Yes, but we are warriors first.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Loyalty is one thing, but the Akamatsu ancestors were first warriors, then samurai. You know the statue in the garden?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You probably believe your father bought it as some kind of decoration.”
“We all did. He bought it in Tokyo.”
“Yes, but that’s not the reason he bought it.”
“Never thought about it.”
“Well, it was purchased to remind us we are warriors and not samurai.”
“Again, what’s the difference?”
“A warrior does battle to win the peace; a samurai battles to serve his master.”
“So, you think Hideki was a warrior?” asked Chiemi.
“Yes, and if he had lived, he probably would’ve become a Buddhist priest. So many of our ancestors did after they won the peace. It is the logical progression from a life of violence and duty to a life of spirituality, serenity, and peace.”
“Hideki may have become a priest then,” Chiemi surmised. “To find peace.”
Haruye closed her eyes. “Perhaps…his spirit is with the Buddha.”
Chiemi resolved to write Chisato. Her sister must be told, but the mail was not getting through. Chiemi would write the letter and then wait.