Etching in mind the A-bomb experiences, Part 1
Jul. 2, 2010
by Tomomitsu Miyazaki, Kunihiko Sakurai, Masaki Kadowaki, and Aya Kano, Staff Writers
Sixty years have passed since the atomic bombing [this series was originally published in July and August 2005] and the average age of the A-bomb survivors has risen to over 73. Opportunities to hear their stories in person are now diminishing. The survivors feel pressed for time in their quest to convey the experiences of the bombing to younger people, who themselves are overwhelmed by the challenge of grasping these experiences and handing down the memories of the A-bombed cities. In this series, the Chugoku Shimbun explores efforts to pass on the A-bomb experience to future generations as the difficulty increases in step with the age of the survivors.
The mother in the wheelchair tried hard to say something, but little of it was understandable. The mother and her son were in front of the ticket gate at Yokogawa Station in Nishi Ward, Hiroshima. Indifferent to the curious eyes of passersby, the son wore a downcast look. "Are you saying we got on a train here? It's hard for me to recall."
On the day of the bombing, 60 years ago, Kiyoshi Yano, 62, an electrician, was told that he was indeed at this spot. "I have fragments of memory," he said. "I was at a train station somewhere. I saw people with the skin of their arms peeling off." He holds only brief flashes of memory from that time, at the age of two.
It was an indelible experience for his mother Shigeko, 90. That morning Shigeko, with her son Kyoshi and her two daughters, boarded a train at Yokogawa Station to go to her parents' house in Kabe, their planned evacuation site. The train was about to depart when a flash of light pierced the inside of the train.
The next day they were able to reunite with her husband in Kabe, north of the city. Then, while the children stayed behind in Kabe, Shigeko and her husband returned to their home in Nishi Ward. There, in the burnt ruins, they found her mother-in-law. Except for her abdomen, she had turned to bones. They took the unburned lump of her flesh with them back to Kabe and Shigeko, steeling herself, charred it thoroughly black. She intended to apply the burnt flesh, in place of medicine, to the face of her younger daughter who had suffered burns from the bomb's heat rays.
Her husband died, in agony, 16 days later.
After the war, Shigeko raised her three children alone, making ends meet by sewing kimonos. Now she has grandchildren. However, in 1982 and 1985, she suffered a cerebral hemorrhage, and this has left her body paralyzed. Only Kiyoshi and other family members can understand the messages she manages to utter.
Shigeko's desire to convey her A-bomb experience seems to have grown stronger than most survivors. About four years ago, she began to say, "I want my story published in a book." Kiyoshi, who could afford to spare time from his work, resolved to document her account. His mother's story was also intimately tied to his own life.
He sat at his mother's beside each day. She wailed when describing horrific and upsetting scenes, such as charring the flesh of her mother-in-law. But because her speech was difficult to understand, and it was hard for him to visualize the scenes of 60 years ago, Kiyoshi sometimes grew frustrated. His frustration affected her, and both would then tire. Still, after six months, they managed to complete her account in book form.
Earlier this month, Kiyoshi hired a special taxi, fitted with a bed, to take Shigeko to Yokogawa Station. He felt it would likely be the last chance he had to bring her there. At the same time, the visit could aid him in visualizing the scene and perhaps stir new recollections in his mother. But the effect was proving contrary to his hopes. They found that the front of the station had changed dramatically, as if driving them away from recapturing memories of that day long ago.
At first, he felt like returning home, but then he had a strong impulse to explore the area. They went through the shopping street and ventured around to the north exit of the station. "We headed north from around here, didn't we?" the son asked his mother. She looked up and nodded. "Thank you" she repeated to him several times.
On their way home in the car, Shigeko was quite talkative. She told Kiyoshi that she had gazed back at the blazing area where their home stood, wondering whether she should go back for her husband and mother-in-law. But when she looked at her three children, she abandoned the idea. It was a story Kiyoshi heard for the first time.
A new fragment of memory, he thought.
(Originally published on July 25, 2005)
Mother and son retrieve fragments of memory
Sixty years have passed since the atomic bombing [this series was originally published in July and August 2005] and the average age of the A-bomb survivors has risen to over 73. Opportunities to hear their stories in person are now diminishing. The survivors feel pressed for time in their quest to convey the experiences of the bombing to younger people, who themselves are overwhelmed by the challenge of grasping these experiences and handing down the memories of the A-bombed cities. In this series, the Chugoku Shimbun explores efforts to pass on the A-bomb experience to future generations as the difficulty increases in step with the age of the survivors.
The mother in the wheelchair tried hard to say something, but little of it was understandable. The mother and her son were in front of the ticket gate at Yokogawa Station in Nishi Ward, Hiroshima. Indifferent to the curious eyes of passersby, the son wore a downcast look. "Are you saying we got on a train here? It's hard for me to recall."
On the day of the bombing, 60 years ago, Kiyoshi Yano, 62, an electrician, was told that he was indeed at this spot. "I have fragments of memory," he said. "I was at a train station somewhere. I saw people with the skin of their arms peeling off." He holds only brief flashes of memory from that time, at the age of two.
It was an indelible experience for his mother Shigeko, 90. That morning Shigeko, with her son Kyoshi and her two daughters, boarded a train at Yokogawa Station to go to her parents' house in Kabe, their planned evacuation site. The train was about to depart when a flash of light pierced the inside of the train.
The next day they were able to reunite with her husband in Kabe, north of the city. Then, while the children stayed behind in Kabe, Shigeko and her husband returned to their home in Nishi Ward. There, in the burnt ruins, they found her mother-in-law. Except for her abdomen, she had turned to bones. They took the unburned lump of her flesh with them back to Kabe and Shigeko, steeling herself, charred it thoroughly black. She intended to apply the burnt flesh, in place of medicine, to the face of her younger daughter who had suffered burns from the bomb's heat rays.
Her husband died, in agony, 16 days later.
After the war, Shigeko raised her three children alone, making ends meet by sewing kimonos. Now she has grandchildren. However, in 1982 and 1985, she suffered a cerebral hemorrhage, and this has left her body paralyzed. Only Kiyoshi and other family members can understand the messages she manages to utter.
Shigeko's desire to convey her A-bomb experience seems to have grown stronger than most survivors. About four years ago, she began to say, "I want my story published in a book." Kiyoshi, who could afford to spare time from his work, resolved to document her account. His mother's story was also intimately tied to his own life.
He sat at his mother's beside each day. She wailed when describing horrific and upsetting scenes, such as charring the flesh of her mother-in-law. But because her speech was difficult to understand, and it was hard for him to visualize the scenes of 60 years ago, Kiyoshi sometimes grew frustrated. His frustration affected her, and both would then tire. Still, after six months, they managed to complete her account in book form.
Earlier this month, Kiyoshi hired a special taxi, fitted with a bed, to take Shigeko to Yokogawa Station. He felt it would likely be the last chance he had to bring her there. At the same time, the visit could aid him in visualizing the scene and perhaps stir new recollections in his mother. But the effect was proving contrary to his hopes. They found that the front of the station had changed dramatically, as if driving them away from recapturing memories of that day long ago.
At first, he felt like returning home, but then he had a strong impulse to explore the area. They went through the shopping street and ventured around to the north exit of the station. "We headed north from around here, didn't we?" the son asked his mother. She looked up and nodded. "Thank you" she repeated to him several times.
On their way home in the car, Shigeko was quite talkative. She told Kiyoshi that she had gazed back at the blazing area where their home stood, wondering whether she should go back for her husband and mother-in-law. But when she looked at her three children, she abandoned the idea. It was a story Kiyoshi heard for the first time.
A new fragment of memory, he thought.
(Originally published on July 25, 2005)
