Right Mindfulness
8-Fold Path
Spring 1945 and the cherry blossoms, the sakura, painted the landscape in pink beauty. Chiemi, Aiko, her mother, and the children celebrated hanami, the festival of cherry blossom viewing, with a picnic at near the end of the season in early May. They sat among the nearby trees planted by her father so many years ago. It became a tradition to appreciate the transient nature of the flowers. Impermanence.
The boys chased each other around the tree trunks. Naturally, Kuniya climbed onto one or two branches. Takeshi did not; he was starting to exhibit signs of caution, another side to his character was emerging. Kuniya soon tired himself out and lay by his mother in a contemplative mood. The girls sat with the parents, demurely sipping their tea and biting into their mochi. Haruye made the sweet morsels with the last of the white rice, red beans, and sugar.
It was the kind of activity and day that took their minds away from the war, except for Chiemi. She thought of her last day with the captain.
As usual, they sat in silence at the end of lunch in the Club China House. This time, however, Inouye broke the quiet.
“Chiemi-chan,” he opened, “I have to tell you something.”
It was the first time he had called her by the term of affection. It felt like a betrayal of some kind. She said nothing and the moment passed.
As she fell into her thoughts, he continued. “I’ve been assigned to Tokyo.”
She suddenly became aware of the revelation. “What do you mean?”
“I have to go to Tokyo. I’ve been reassigned.”
“For how long?” Her eyes began to quiver; her hands clenched into fists.
“Permanently.”
Chiemi cast her eyes downwards towards the table.
“You know this couldn’t’ve lasted forever. I will rejoin my family…”
Her face flared with anger. Her cheeks turned red. She abruptly stood disrupting her plate and hashi, chopsticks. Her hands covered her face as she ran out of the restaurant. She even pushed Endo-san aside as he tried to block her.
It was the last time Chiemi saw Capt. Inouye. Reason soon descended afterwards. She knew their liaisons could not last forever, she should’ve expected it. In fact, she surprised herself with her reaction. She yearned for more time together. Their affair was too brief, not enough really to know him, to take in his spirit to become a part of her. Her body ached for him in the quiet darkness of her home.
In late April, when the hospital was exceptionally busy with new patients needing attention, Eiko ran up to Chiemi and tried to talk to her quietly.
“What is it Eiko-chan? Can’t you see I’m busy?” She continued to make one of the beds for a freshly wounded soldier in from the Philippines.
But Eiko insisted. She tugged on Chiemi’s sleeve until she paid attention. “Chiemi-san, I’ve got something to tell you!”
Chiemi stopped and stood to confront her bothersome friend. “Oh, all right, what do you want?”
“I was reading the list…you know, the War Dead List…and…,” she gasped.
“And what?”
“I saw Capt. Inouye’s name on it.”
“What? You must be mistaken.”
“No, I’m not. I checked it several times, just in case.”
***
Chiemi dropped everything, grabbed her light jacket, and ran out into the street, not really caring how it looked. She headed straight for the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall. The War-Dead List in front was the closest one.
The sun blinded her temporarily, but she soon regained her sight. The city streets were quiet for some odd reason; birds twittered from the trees; a few cicadas sang to the slight breeze. The nearby Ota River flowed with whitecaps through the delta into the Seto Inland Sea.
Out of breath, she saw the bulletin board outside the administration building. A small but insistent crowd had formed, but she pushed her way to the front. Her eyes trembled as they scanned the lists in front of her. The names were not in alphabetical order; instead, they were arranged chronologically. And since she didn’t know the relevant date, she had to finger-trace to find the name and to steady herself. Name after name after name, hundreds of them, flew by as she sought the familiar. Her breathing became more pronounced.
Finally, on page three, she came across Captain Inouye Shinobu. She read and reread the ideograms to see if it was a mistake. But no, it was her captain, the spelling familiar from the hospital records. He had been killed in the early March incendiary air raids of Tokyo, Japan. No mention of the captain’s whereabouts other than Tokyo, his circumstances; no mention of his family. She later learned that the bombing was part of Operation Meetinghouse when 500,000 died in total. Another prosaic number, so simple, so matter of fact in black-and-white.
She stood transfixed, concentrating on the name despite the jostling of others reading the list. She could not move on her own. She wanted to scream; she wanted to cry like the others around her. But could not. She was there forever, it seemed, until the crowd pressed on her to leave.
A dull pain formed in her stomach as she went back to the hospital. It stayed with her, but it subsided to a tolerable irritation. She said nothing to her friends, and they didn’t ask. In fact, they avoided eye contact. She resumed her duties.
At home, she sat in the Oni Room before the butsudan. She considered placing a photograph of the captain inside the altar to join her ancestors, but soon dismissed the idea. How could she explain the missing photograph from the hospital records? How was she to explain his inclusion? She did light an incense stick for him.
As she meditated in gassho, that stomach-ache came back. It was not from hunger or something she ate, neither indigestion nor gastric discomfort. Yet it was there and made her skin crawl as it expanded. Emotion rose in her, colouring her face red and causing mucus to run out of her nose. A moment later, she burst into tears.
***
Haruye’s voice brought her back to the present. “Chiemi-chan, are you all right? Where were you?”
“Oh, just thinking of an old friend.”
“Who?”
“No one special. Let’s enjoy our day of peace while we can.”
The boys squealed with delight.