Terminal Compromise, Winn Schwartau [sight word books txt] 📗
- Author: Winn Schwartau
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his father’s request, the patriarchal role in the immediate
family. The personal anguish had been excruciating. While
friends and family and officials praised Taki’s father and fami-
ly, inside Taki did not accept that a man could willingly leave
his family, his children, him . . .Taki, never to return. Didn’t
his father love him? Or his sister and brother? Or his mother?
Taki’s mother got a good job at one of the defense plants that
permeated Hiroshima, while Taki and his brother and sister con-
tinued their schooling. But the praise, the respect didn’t make
up for not having a father to talk to, to play with and to study
with. He loved his mother, but she wasn’t a father.
So Taki compensated and overcompensated and pretended that his
father’s sacrifice was just, and good, and for the better of
society, and the war effort and his family. Taki spoke as a
juvenile expert on the war and the good of Japan and the bad of
the United States and the filthy Americans with their unholy
practices and perverted ways of life, and how they tortured
Japanese prisoners. Taki was an eloquent and convincing orator
to his piers and instructors alike.
At 8:15 A.M., the Hiroshima radio station, NHK, rang its old
school bell. The bell was part of a warning system that an-
nounced impending attacks from the air, but it had been so over-
used that it was mostly ignored. The tolls from the bell were
barely noticed by the students or the teachers in the Honkawa
School. Taki though, looked out the window toward the Aioi
Bridge. His ears perked and his eyes scanned the clear skies over
downtown Hiroshima. He was sure he heard something . . .but
no . . .
The first sensation of motion in the steel reinforced building
came long seconds after the blinding light. Since the rolling
earth motions in 1923 devastated much of Tokyo, schoolchildren
and households nationwide practiced earthquake preparedness and
were reasonably expectant of another major tremor at any time.
But the combination of light from 10,000 suns and the deafening
roar gave those who survived the blast reason to wish they had-
n’t. Blindness was instant for those who saw the sky ignite.
The classroom was collapsing around them. In the air was the
noise of a thousand trains at once…even louder. In seconds the
schoolhouse was in rubble.
The United States of American had just dropped the Atomic Bomb
on Hiroshima, Japan. This infamous event would soon be known as
ayamachi – the Great Mistake.
Tuesday, August 7, 1945Taki Homosoto opened his eyes. He knew he was laying on his
back, but all else was a clutter of confusion. He saw a dark
ceiling, to what he didn’t know and he hurt He turned his head
and saw he was on a cot, maybe a bed, in a long corridor with
many others around him. The room reeked of human waste and
death.
“Ah . . .you are awake. It has been much time.” The voice came
from behind him. He turned his head rapidly and realized he
shouldn’t have. The pain speared him from his neck to the base
of his spine. Taki grimaced and made a feeble attempt at whim-
pering. He said nothing as he examined the figure in the white
coat who spoke again. “You are a very lucky young man, not many
made it.”
What was he talking about . . .made it? Who? His brain wanted
to speak but his mouth couldn’t. A slight gurgling noise ushered
from his throat but nothing else. And the pain . . .it was
everywhere at once . . .all over . . .he wanted to cry for
help . . .but was unable. The pain overtook Taki Homosoto and
the vision of the doctor blackened until there was no more.
Much later, Taki reawoke. He assumed it was a long time later,
he been awake earlier . . .or had that been a dream. The
doctor…no he was in school and the earthquake . . .yes, the
earthquake . . .why don’t I remember? I was knocked out. Of
course. As his eyes adjusted to the room, he saw and remembered
that it wasn’t a dream. He saw the other cots, so many of them,
stretching in every direction amidst the cries of pain and sighs
of death.
Taki tried to cry out to a figure walking nearby but only a low
pitched moan ushered forth. Then he noticed something
odd . . .and odd smell. One he didn’t recognize. It was
foul . . .the stench of burned . . .burned what? The odor made
him sick and he tried to breathe through his mouth but the awful
odor still penetrated his glands. Taki knew that he was very
hurt and very sick and so were a lot of others. It took him some
time, and a lot of energy just to clear his thoughts. Thinking
hurt – it concentrated the aching in his head, but the effort
took away some of his other pain, or at least it successfully
distracted him focussing on it.
There were cries from all around. Many were incomprehensible
babblings, obviously in agony. Screams of “Eraiyo!”, (“the pain
is unbearable!”) were constant. Others begged to be put out of
their misery. Taki actually felt fortunate; he couldn’t have
screamed if he had wanted to, but out of guilt he no longer felt
the need to.
Finally, the same doctor, was it the same doctor? appeared over
his bed again. “I hope you’ll stay with us for a few minutes?”
The doctor smiled. Taki responded as best he could. With a
grunt and the raising and lowering his eyelids. “Let me just say
that you are in very good condition . . .much better than the
others,” the doctor gestured across the room. “I don’t mean to
sound cruel, but, we do need your bed, for those seriously hurt.”
The doctor sounded truly distraught. What had happened?
A terrified look crossed Taki’s face that ceded into a facial
plead. His look said, “I can’t speak so answer my
questions . . .you must know what they are. Where am I? What
happened? Where is my class?”
“I understand your name is Taki Homosoto?” the doctor asked.
“Your school identification papers . . .”
Taki blinked an affirmative as he tried to cough out a response.
“There is no easy way to tell this. We must all be brave. Ameri-
ca has used a terrible weapon upon the people of Japan. A spe-
cial new bomb so terrible that Hiroshima is no longer even a
shadow of itself. A weapon where the sky turns to fire and build-
ings and our people melt . . .where the water sickens the living
and those who seem well drop in their steps from an invisible
enemy. Almost half of the people of Hiroshima are dead or dying.
As I said, you are a lucky one.”
Taki helped over the next days at the Communications Hospital in
what was left of downtown Hiroshima. When he wasn’t tending to
the dying, he moved the dead to the exits so the bodies could be
cremated, the one way to insure eternal salvation. The city got
much of its light from pyres for weeks after the blasts.
He helped distribute the kanpan and cold rice balls to the very
few doctors and to survivors who were able to eat. He walked the
streets of Hiroshima looking for food, supplies, anything that
could help. Walking through the rubble of what once was Hiroshi-
ma fueled his hate and his loathing for Americans. They had
wrought this suffering by using their pikadon, or flash-boom
weapon, on civilians, women and children. He saw death, terrible,
ugly death, everywhere; from Hijiyama Hill to the bridges a cross
the wide Motoyas River.
The Aioi bridge spontaneously became an impromptu symbol for
vengeance against the Americans. Taki crossed the remnants of
the old stone bridge, which was to be the hypocenter of the blast
if the Enola Gay hadn’t missed its target by 800 feet. A tall
blond man in an American military uniform was tied to a stone
post. He was an American POW, one of 23 in Hiroshima. A few
dozen people, women in bloodstained kimonos and mompei and near
naked children were hurling rocks and insults at the lifeless
body. How appropriate thought Taki. He found himself mindlessly
joining in. He threw rocks at the head, the body, the legs. He
threw rocks and yelled. He threw rocks and yelled at the remains
of the dead serviceman until his arms and lungs
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