CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“PREPARE FOR FINAL BATTLE ON IMPERIAL SOIL.”

Propaganda poster

I winced at the pain that shot through my head as I opened my eyes. I looked up and noticed a torn, dirty sheet tented above me. Why is that there? I sat up and touched the top of my head where it hurt the most. I felt some fabric wrapped around it. The dusty haze and devastation jolted my memory.

“Papa! Machiko!” I screamed. My stomach heaved, and I threw up.

Sumiyo ran toward me, stopped, looked behind her, and yelled, “It is Yuriko-chan! She is awake now. She is okay.”

Yet I felt anything but okay.

Sumiyo sat next to me, tore what looked to be a remnant of a kimono, and began to wipe my face. “Ah, Yuriko-chan, you are awake.”

“Did I faint?”

“Yes, but just for a short while. Maybe two hours. It is hard to really know the exact time without clocks and with an evening sky during the day. Let me clean your cuts and wrap your arms. They are still bleeding and must hurt an awful lot.”

“No, Sumiyo, I am fine. Please take care of yourself first. You are bleeding, too.”

Out of the dust and smoke, Aunt Kimiko came walking toward us. She had Genji in her arms. Her hair was matted and her face was bloody. Her red hands hugged Genji close to her. He wasn’t moving.

“Kimiko-san! You are alive! How is Genji-chan?” Sumiyo asked as she ran over to Aunt Kimiko.

“Thankfully, he is alive, but he is so quiet. His eyes are tearing; he seems to be in shock. Where is Yuriko-chan?”

“I am right here!” I shouted, feeling a sense of relief that both Aunt Kimiko and Genji were here. “Was Papa with you? Where is Fumi-san?” It sounded more like pleading than a question.

Sumiyo shook her head from side to side. “Fumi-san, she … she did not make it out of the house in time. I have not seen your papa.”

“How can this be happening?” I cried out.

Sumiyo touched my shoulder, but I turned away and began to limp toward the ruins where I had last heard Machiko’s voice.

Darkness covered us like a blanket attempting to hide the horror we were facing. Eerie blue lights shined on the rubble that was once sidewalks or streets. The macabre orbs were not from any gas lamp. They were from the many funeral pyres that dotted the land where houses from our neighborhood once stood. I saw an outline of someone where Machiko’s house used to be. I moved closer and recognized her father. I stopped behind him, not wanting to intrude. I heard him speaking to the dirt while clutching a piece of fabric. I craned my neck and recognized the fabric he held. It was Machiko’s blouse that she wore this morning. My hands balled into fists at my side as a chill traveled down the middle of my back. My mouth went dry and my cry was barely audible. “No, no, no, Machiko. I am so sorry. How will I live without you?”

Machiko’s father lit a match and threw it on top of some piled wood, saying “Oyasumi nasai, Machiko-chan. Take care of your mama and brothers. We will meet again.” He began singing a lullaby. I couldn’t take it anymore. I sobbed as I staggered back to our camp.

“Yuriko-chan, what happened?” Sumiyo met me and put her arm around my shoulder.

I couldn’t speak. I just looked in the direction of Machiko’s father and the blue fire. Sumiyo followed my gaze and a tear fell down her cheek. She led me to an area where one of the neighbors had erected a makeshift tent. Under it, Aunt Kimiko lay on her side hugging Genji close to her. Aunt Kimiko opened her eyes and sat up as we approached. Sumiyo and I sat next to her. Sumiyo shook her head at Aunt Kimiko. They both put a hand on each of my shoulders. No one spoke a word. Our entire tent area was quiet. Our glazed, bloodshot eyes stared at each other as if in a trance. What was the point of speaking?

I pulled my knees up, rested my chin on them, and closed my eyes. I willed myself to picture Machiko and me dancing at Sakura Hanami only a few months ago—instead of the image of her father lighting that match.

At some point that night, I fell asleep, exhausted. I woke up to Sumiyo shaking me by the shoulder. “Come, it’s light out—we need to go find your papa.”

My eyes popped open at the sound of his name. “I am ready.”

Aunt Kimiko walked under the tent with Genji in her arms.

“Aunt Kimiko, are you coming with us?” I asked as I moved toward her and rubbed Genji’s back.

“No, I will stay here. Genji is sleeping at last. It will be good to have someone here in case your papa comes back to the house.” Sumiyo and I turned on instinct toward our home. Our eyes met at the same time when we realized that there was no home left. Not even one room was intact. Pieces of shattered glass and shredded, charred bits of tatami spread out in front of us. Oddly enough, some bamboo remained where our backyard used to be. Strange white lines dotted their front side. The bamboo slanted backwards as if bent from a strong wind. Tattered fabric tents set up on either side of what was once our road. Iron from what may have been a stove lay crumpled like paper in a trash can. Nothing was recognizable. It reminded me of pictures of Tokyo from after the firebomb this past March.

Sumiyo took my hand and we headed toward the direction we thought would lead to the center of town. It was confusing since we no longer had any landmarks for judging distance. The roads were hills of rocks and cement. This made it difficult to walk as well. I did not care about the pounding in my head or the pain in my arms or my legs as I walked. I was determined to bring Papa back to safety. I would have plenty of time to feel pain later.

Fog from the smoldering embers and funeral pyres surrounded us. Incessant buzzing from the flies droned in our ears. The insects swirled around like dust shaken from tatami mats when they were being cleaned. With each breath, I inhaled the acrid stench of charred wood and bodies. I wondered if I would I ever smell the cherry blossoms’ fragrance again. As I looked around, the one word that came to mind was Jigoku—Hell. If Jigoku existed, this was what it must look and smell like.

People walked past us and their faces looked dead. They looked neither scared nor sad. No one acknowledged each other. They walked as if their main purpose was to keep moving—like mummies in a Hollywood movie. Some collapsed, but the rest of the death walkers continued to march forward. They stepped over the fallen bodies without ever looking down. I tried my best to not fall over the rubble or broken bodies as I kept up with Sumiyo’s pace.

“Ishikawa-san, Ishikawa-san,” a familiar voice called to us. We turned to see Okada-san, an employee at Papa’s newspaper, stumbling toward us. He was out of breath. Gashes on his forehead and face were bleeding. His shirtsleeve hung off his shoulder, exposing a blistering burn on his arm. Yet he sounded joyful as he called our name. “I have seen Ishikawa-san. He is at the train station.”

“Is he hurt?”

“Is he alive?”

Both Sumiyo and I spoke in unison. As I waited for answers, I held my breath. My stomach swarmed with butterflies.

“Hai, he is alive. He is injured, but I spoke to him. He wanted me to find his family, to make sure you are all right. He was very thirsty, but I told him not to move. There is no water safe to drink, but at least now I have found both of you.” As Okada-san spoke, he caressed the bloodstained hair on top of my head as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“We must go to him!” I cried.

“Of course, of course, follow me.”

It seemed as if we walked for hours. I no longer noticed anything around me—the funeral pyres, the dead bodies, those walking about like ghosts. I stared straight ahead with my one goal of finding my papa.

I came to an abrupt stop when I felt a tug at my sleeve and heard a small voice call out, “Please, help me. Help me find my mother.”

I turned to look behind me, expecting to see a toddler. Instead, I was looking at some demon. Its face was like molten lava. I could not tell if it was a boy or a girl. There was nothing left on this poor creature to identify it as a human being. I pulled my shirt out of what was left of its hand and screamed as I ran away.

I ran straight into Sumiyo. She saw what I ran from and embraced me. I looked up at her face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it. Tears made cracks on her dirt-covered cheeks. She had no words that would comfort me or explain what we had just seen. We could only push forward. Papa waited for us.

As I looked at the ruins around me, I could not imagine how we would find the train station. All the buildings were either leveled or mere shells. My palms began to sweat, and my head swooned like the time I was so frightened by the rat snake. What if Papa was under the fallen buildings? I pushed that out of my thoughts as Okada-san came to a stop.

The ruins of the train station stood before us—twisted metal smoldered in a heap. I looked around.

“Where is Papa? He was supposed to be here!” I wailed as I looked around at some of the dead bodies and blurry, whitish gray shadows on the platform.

Okada-san replied with urgency in his voice, “Ishikawa-san was right here. I used this rock as a pillow for him to rest on when I left him to find you.” He continued to point at the rock and did not look at us. “I told him not to move. He was right here. He was right here.”

“He must have been well enough to move and decided to find us himself,” I said. Okada-san did not answer. He shook his head from side to side and continued to stare at the rock pillow he had evidently made for Papa.

Sumiyo spoke in her calm, soothing tone, “Thank you very much for all your assistance, Okada-san. Please go, and find your own family. I hope they are all well.” She touched his arm and continued, “There is a shrine not far from here. Well, there was a shrine not far from here. Yuriko-chan and I will go there and pray to find her papa.”

Okada-san bowed low. As I bowed in return, I thought about his family and how worried they must be for him while he was out helping us. As Sumiyo and I turned in the direction of the shrine, I hoped he still had a family waiting for him.