My Life: Interview with Sunao Tsuboi, Chairperson of the Japan Confederation of A- and H-Bomb Sufferers Organizations, Part 7
Jan. 28, 2013
Mother’s cries
by Sakiko Masuda, Staff Writer
Responds to desperate calls
Upon arriving at the temporary field hospital on Ninoshima Island (now part of Minami Ward), Mr. Tsuboi was taken to a room that was filled with seriously injured people. An estimated 10,000 injured were brought to the island.
There must have been about 100 people in that room, which was about the size of a classroom. Perhaps I finally felt secure, but in any case I was drained of all strength. The next morning two thirds of the people in the room were dead. My friend brought me some food, which kept me alive, but a few days later we had to part ways.
Because it was a military facility, I heard that it would be used to accommodate soldiers. So those who could walk, even if only barely, were to take shelter at another location. I was left behind. The seriously injured were not expected to live long, so there was no need for them to relocate.
A woman from Yano (now part of Aki Ward) had come to care for her son. My mother’s younger brother ran a soy sauce shop in Yano. I asked the woman to contact him. My uncle walked all night from Yano to my hometown of Ondo (now part of Kure) to tell my family where I was.
On August 8 Mr. Tsuboi’s mother Fukuyo (who died in 1976 at the age of 80) and his father’s younger brother came to Ninoshima Island by boat to look for him.
There were many dead and injured, and my mother couldn’t find me. They were to leave the island around the 12th, but my mother wouldn’t give up. She walked all over calling my name: “Sunao! Sunao! Are you here?” She was certain that even if I were unconscious, her son, to whom she had sung lullabies, would respond to her voice. Perhaps my mother’s love got through to me, because although I had to have been unconscious, I’ve been told that I raised my hand and called to her from my bed, “Here I am!” If it had not been for my mother’s cries, I would not have survived.
Mr. Tsuboi’s mother took him home to Ondo. He was unaware that the war had ended and did not regain consciousness until September 25, 50 days after the A-bombing.
I was crawling with maggots, my hair fell out and I had a high fever. I was badly burned, but I was breathing ever so slightly, so my mother cared for me around the clock. Nearly every day the doctor told her that I would die.
It was not until January of the following year that I was finally able to turn over in bed. I had barely escaped death, but even after that I suffered from ill health. The misery that goes on for years is the same for all atomic bomb survivors. My life had been spared, but I felt that just living was not good enough.
(Originally published on January 24, 2013)
by Sakiko Masuda, Staff Writer
Responds to desperate calls
Upon arriving at the temporary field hospital on Ninoshima Island (now part of Minami Ward), Mr. Tsuboi was taken to a room that was filled with seriously injured people. An estimated 10,000 injured were brought to the island.
There must have been about 100 people in that room, which was about the size of a classroom. Perhaps I finally felt secure, but in any case I was drained of all strength. The next morning two thirds of the people in the room were dead. My friend brought me some food, which kept me alive, but a few days later we had to part ways.
Because it was a military facility, I heard that it would be used to accommodate soldiers. So those who could walk, even if only barely, were to take shelter at another location. I was left behind. The seriously injured were not expected to live long, so there was no need for them to relocate.
A woman from Yano (now part of Aki Ward) had come to care for her son. My mother’s younger brother ran a soy sauce shop in Yano. I asked the woman to contact him. My uncle walked all night from Yano to my hometown of Ondo (now part of Kure) to tell my family where I was.
On August 8 Mr. Tsuboi’s mother Fukuyo (who died in 1976 at the age of 80) and his father’s younger brother came to Ninoshima Island by boat to look for him.
There were many dead and injured, and my mother couldn’t find me. They were to leave the island around the 12th, but my mother wouldn’t give up. She walked all over calling my name: “Sunao! Sunao! Are you here?” She was certain that even if I were unconscious, her son, to whom she had sung lullabies, would respond to her voice. Perhaps my mother’s love got through to me, because although I had to have been unconscious, I’ve been told that I raised my hand and called to her from my bed, “Here I am!” If it had not been for my mother’s cries, I would not have survived.
Mr. Tsuboi’s mother took him home to Ondo. He was unaware that the war had ended and did not regain consciousness until September 25, 50 days after the A-bombing.
I was crawling with maggots, my hair fell out and I had a high fever. I was badly burned, but I was breathing ever so slightly, so my mother cared for me around the clock. Nearly every day the doctor told her that I would die.
It was not until January of the following year that I was finally able to turn over in bed. I had barely escaped death, but even after that I suffered from ill health. The misery that goes on for years is the same for all atomic bomb survivors. My life had been spared, but I felt that just living was not good enough.
(Originally published on January 24, 2013)
