Features

by Rie Nii, Staff Writer


After the atomic bombing, Mr. Nakazawa stayed with the family of a distant relative in another part of the city.

The society at that time was closed and bigoted, hardened by a sense of “turf” in each part of town. That’s where I learned about human nature. Today, these are peaceful times, so we talk about glossy things like love and warm hearts. But I experienced more than my fair share of how the strong will bully the weak, mercilessly and relentlessly, when people betray their true nature.

It was around the time a scab finally formed over the burn on the back of my head, which I had suffered in the bombing. I was walking down the street when I was surrounded by a gang of boys from the area. “Hey, outsider!” they called, and they struck me on the head. Their blows reopened the wound and the blood and pus splattered out. The boys just laughed.

My mother was blamed for stealing an umbrella as well, a crime she didn’t commit. We told them to check the place where we were living, a small storeroom. But they didn’t bother looking. “She’s a thief!” they said. “She came here to steal from us!” Then our neighbors dragged her to the police station. My mother was forced to write a letter of apology, promising not to steal again. The police even took her fingerprints. I can still recall the image of my mother crying that night, the experience was so mortifying to her.

The following summer, the Nakazawas moved to the Takajo district (now, the Honkawa district in downtown Hiroshima).

My mother was worried about what people would say if we continued living there. She even feared for our safety. So she went out to deserted army barracks and scavenged for pieces of wood. We then fashioned a shack in the Takajo district, where my uncle lived, and sought to make a fresh start in the post-war period.

Mr. Nakazawa began attending Honkawa Elementary School.

My last school taught me lessons in how to survive. At my new school I was determined not to back down from anyone. When someone picked a fight with me, I went at him without any hesitation. In the middle of the playground, with the other students looking on, I exchanged punches with a boy who was a kind of ringleader of a school gang. Fights between children would end with a nosebleed, and when that boy got one, he started to cry. After that, the whole school thought I was a tough kid. I became a ringleader myself until I graduated from the school.

Because of this, even when I didn’t do anything wrong, I would be dragged to the teachers’ room, endure a punch or slap as the “head troublemaker,” and ordered to stand there as punishment. This treatment was used as a warning to the other students. Even today, my old classmates say, “You were a bad boy, Nakazawa.”

(Originally published on July 11, 2012)