School Trip to Nagasaki
by Ako Kobayashi

[ed. note: In Japanese Buddhism, Jizo is regarded as a savior of children and protector of travelers. Roadside statues of Jizo are found throughout Japan. Geta are wooden clogs slipped onto the feet like thongs, today used mostly for leisure wear. Toward the end of World War II the United States dropped atomic bombs on two Japanese cities; Hiroshima and Nagasaki.]

The sky overhead was a bright, clear blue. We had come here to Peace Park as our very first stop upon arriving in Nagasaki. Here, I contemplated the Peace Statue, which I had previously seen only in pictures. One of our classmates went forward with our garland of a thousand paper cranes. Many people had visited here before us, leaving behind garland upon garland of one thousand cranes: cranes they had folded praying for peace; cranes they had folded praying for the repose of the dead. When I was in seventh grade, and again in eighth grade, we had folded cranes when the ninth graders went to Hiroshima. I didn't think, then, about what the cranes meant. But this year we studied about the bombings in preparation for our trip, so I tried to really put my heart into each crane, thinking about the meaning of the thousand cranes as I folded.

Now the thousand cranes I helped fold had been presented. Then, a minute of silent prayer. I looked down at my feet and closed my eyes. Being in Nagasaki, I felt like the victims of the bomb were right nearby, listening, and I wanted to make it a sincere prayer. With my head bowed, the sun was hot on the back of my neck. It went through my mind that on that day, too, the sun must have been beating down like this.

After silent prayer, we left the Peace Statue and went to see the Fountain of Peace. We were told that the fountain's spray had been designed to represent the shape of a dove, which is a symbol of peace. The beautiful Fountain of Peace must have been built for all those people whose cries for water had gone unanswered. If only there had been some pure, clean water like the water of this fountain, it might have saved a lot of people from death. The blast and the heat of the bomb had torn their bodies like tattered rags and parched their throats bone dry. Yet, I really wished I could give all those people who suffered so on their way to death a drink of water. A drink of pure, clear water.

After Peace Park we went to the museum at the International Cultural Center. I really couldn't say how I felt then. Part of me said I should go in and look at everything very carefully, but part of me didn't want to go in at all.

Just inside the entrance, on the right, was an old, blackened grandfather clock, stopped at 11:02 a.m. The long and short hands looked like they had been flattened against the face of the clock. Standing all by itself, the clock seemed to be surrounded by a different air. The atomic bomb exploded over Nagasaki at 11:02 a.m. As I looked at the clock, I felt almost as if time had returned to that very moment. Did this clock perhaps still have a memory of the things it saw when it was moving—of farmers sweating in the fields, of schoolchildren in an outdoor classroom, of mothers bouncing their babies on their laps? And from the moment of the explosion, had this clock become completely unaware of things happening around it? No, probably not. Probably it had continued to watch and remember everything, even after the fateful moment that changed the lives of so many people was permanently set on its face: 11:02.

I moved into the hushed building. The exhibits went from the second to fifth floors: glass with a melted surface, clothing torn into tatters. Horrifying photographs like those we saw in the video at school: pictures of the pattern from people's clothes burned into their skin, pictures of grief-stricken mothers holding their dead children, pictures that made me wonder how anything like this could have happened. A strange chill began to creep over me as I moved slowly from one picture to the next. All the things I was seeing gradually became more and more real in my mind. The hush inside the building began to seem kind of scary.

One particular picture caught my eye. It was labeled "Child's Burn Treatment," and showed a badly hurt child being treated. The pain must have been too much for the child, and, like little children often do, she was trying to pull away, screaming. It was a painful sight to see. Looking at that child's face, I felt so sorry for her that tears came to my eyes. I started to get really mad at the atomic bomb that took away the life of even such an innocent child. I was seeing the terrible power of the atomic bomb, which sent a chill up and down my spine.

I recalled a video we saw at school. Its pictures showed people with burns and injuries. The video showed people with faces that were all swollen, and people with keloids on their faces. The video showed people who thought they had been saved by being away when the bomb exploded, only to have their hair start falling out, or to break out all over with dark spots, and then to gradually grow weaker and die. Not knowing about radiation or its effects, they had wandered around the still-smoking, hell-like ruins looking for their father, or mother, or brothers and sisters, or some other relative. As they wandered here and there searching for their lost homes, wondering whether they had a home to return to anymore, they soaked up lots and lots of radiation. The video showed people who couldn't get treatment for their injuries because the hospitals and rescue centers were full.

Here and there arose fires for cremating loved ones. How did the survivors feel as they watched those fires burn? As they watched their mother or their father burn? How did the survivors feel as they watched their children or their brothers and sisters turning into tiny heaps of bones?

When we left the International Culture Center, I felt like I was treading on thin ice. The things I had just seen had put me practically in a state of shock. Though I have never experienced war myself, I am a citizen of the only country in the world hit by atomic bombs, and I think it's important that I learn about the bombs and pass that knowledge on to the next generation. Until I visited Nagasaki, I hated hearing about the war, but now I think I'd like to go to Hiroshima, too, if I have a chance, and find out more about what happened there as well.

That evening some atomic bomb survivors were scheduled to come and tell us their stories. The man who came to our group was named Mr. Uchida. He wore glasses and seemed really nice. Mr. Uchida was sixteen when the bomb was dropped.

He said, "It was a beautiful day. I had a job at the Mitsubishi shipyard at the time, but it happened to be my day off. So my friend Nakamura and I decided we would spend the day making geta. In those days we wore geta even to work.

"Suddenly there was a bright flash all around, and I felt like I'd been hit hard on the head with the pointed side of a hammer. And I also felt like my whole body was floating on air. Probably the blast of the bomb had thrown me into the air. When I came to, Nakamura was pinned under the fallen house and couldn't move. I tried to get him out but wasn't strong enough by myself, and I started to lose hope. Then a complete stranger came along and helped us. Nakamura and I clasped hands and cried for joy. Later, in an air-raid shelter, Nakamura followed his father in death.

"Survivors of the bomb all have memories of suffering and deep sadness, having lost their fathers or their mothers or their children. I know people who lost their entire families. I cannot forgive America for what they did."

I was really moved by Mr. Uchida's story. I could really feel how painful it must have been to watch his best friend die right before his very eyes. It was painful for me to listen to his story, thinking of how helpless and sad he must have felt. This was the first time I heard about what happened from someone who had actually lived through it. Mr. Uchida is working really hard to tell as many people as possible about the true horror of the atomic bombs because it is his deep and sincere prayer that the tragic events must never be repeated.

When I got back from our three-day school trip, I re-read "Angry Jizo." It is a story about the atomic bomb in Hiroshima.

A brilliant flash painted the town white. It was as if the sun
had fallen before his very eyes. People wearing scorched and tattered shirts fled past the fallen Jizo, dragging their feet on the ground. When the fires finally died down, the city of Hiroshima had become a vast field of burnt-out ruins, without houses or schools or office buildings or trees or flowers.

A badly burned little girl collapsed face down in front of the
stone Jizo. Her entire back was bright red, as if draped with a blanket of red peonies. "Mo-m-my, water. I want some water," the girl said, looking at the stone Jizo. "Some water, please, water."

Before this, the stone Jizo had been known as "Smiling Jizo," but at this point, tears fell from his angry eyes. Mr. Uchida and all the other survivors shed tears just like this stone Jizo. For the sake of all those who died, they have joined the movement to ban the bomb and they call for the abolition of all nuclear weapons. It's something they feel they just have to do.

The results of war cannot be expressed by declaring how many died or which side won. Uncountable numbers of people become the victims of war. What can possibly be gained by war? To me, there is everything to be lost and nothing to be gained in war. Homes, families, clothing, and food are destroyed by war.

People all have hearts. We must trust one another, and all the people in the world must hold hands and protect the peace. I can't help but be angry at all the countries that are making nuclear weapons. What I can do right now is to vow never to forget these feelings. I want to do whatever I can to help protect the wonderful earth we live on. The most important thing is to never stop hoping for peace.

[ed. note: It is a custom in Japan, when someone is serously ill, to fold a thousand paper cranes, each representing a prayer for recovery. The cranes are folded by the patient and by family and friends. Sometimes, as in the case of this story, cranes are folded in remembrance of those who died and in hopes for world peace.]

Ako Kobayashi, ninth-grade girl, Shuzan Junior High School, Kita, Kyoto
Prefecture. Keiko Nakamura, teacher.

Source: Treasures 3: Stories & Art from Students in Japan & Oregon [Orders]

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