Pathway to Japanese Literature

Powdered snow had been falling since morning. The traveler who lodged in that town found himself drawn by the delicate charm of the powdered snow and walked toward the river. Honkawa Bridge stood very close to the inn. The name Honkawa Bridge was something he recalled for the first time in years. Memories from his middle school days seemed to linger there still; the powdered snow sharpened his delicate vision further. Standing at the bridge's midpoint while gazing at the bank, he suddenly noticed a faded signboard reading "Honkawa Manju." Abruptly, he felt an illusion of being immersed in a strangely quiet landscape from the past. But then a violent shudder welled up through him, impossible to suppress. Within this momentary stillness wrapped in powdered snow flashed the visage of that most agonizing final day...... He recorded this in a letter and sent it to a friend residing in that town. Then he left that town and journeyed to distant parts.

...The man who had received the letter was gazing blankly out the window on the second floor. Right before his eyes stood the small earthen storehouse of the neighboring house, its white wall near the roof partially peeled away to expose coarse reddish-brown earth—a desolate view where only such trivial details seemed to retain vestiges of their former appearance. …He too had recently come to live in this town, but to the man who had long been away from his hometown, everything now seemed like utter strangers. What had become of the mountains and rivers that had nurtured his boyhood dreams? — He walked through his hometown’s landscapes, letting his feet lead where they would. The Chugoku Mountain Range crowned with lingering snow and the rivers flowing beneath retained only a faint impression against the backdrop of a clumsily militarized, restless town. In the streets, it was a bizarre world where amidst the hostility of receiving brusque treatment from every person he encountered, he could also sense an ineffable void.

Before he knew it, he found himself pondering the shudder described in his friend's letter. An unimaginable vision of hell—moreover, one that seemed to erupt in an instant. Would he then perish along with this town in time? Or had he returned precisely to bear witness to his hometown's final moments? It was a fate as precarious as a gamble. At times, he found himself entertaining that foolish, self-serving notion—the town remaining untouched and unharmed—that such wishful thinking could still cross his mind.

Fastening his splendid serge jumper at the waist while his clean-shaven chin glistened, Seiji busily planted himself in the doorway of Shōzō’s room. "Hey, do something about this!" Compared to that tone of voice, Seiji's eyes lacked intensity. He sat down beside the desk where Shōzō was writing a letter and flipped through the illustrations in Winckelmann’s *Imitation of Greek Art* that lay nearby. Shōzō set down his pen and silently watched his brother at work. His brother, who had once been passionately absorbed in art history during his youth—could he still be drawn to such things even now... But Seiji immediately snapped the book shut.

To Shōzō, this too seemed like a continuation of the earlier “Do something about this!” tone. Despite having returned to his eldest brother’s household over a month prior, he had neither secured employment nor altered his routine of sleeping in and staying up late.

Compared to him, this Second Brother spent each day in discipline and tension. Even after the factory had closed for the day, a light would sometimes remain lit in the office until late. When Shōzō, passing through Rojii, stopped by the office, he found Seiji alone at his desk, diligently bent over paperwork. His satisfaction with such administrative tasks—stamping pay envelopes for workers, preparing documents for the mobilization bureau—could be discerned in his distinctive penmanship. Neat, stamp-like characters filled various notices plastered across the office walls... As Shōzō vacantly gazed at the lettering, Seiji swiveled his chair toward the extinguished briquette stove. "Care for a smoke?" he said, pulling an aged Hōyoku tobacco pouch from his desk drawer before switching on the shelf radio. The radio reported urgent news from Iwo Jima. Conversation inevitably turned to speculations about the war's progression. Seiji uttered something skeptically isolated while Shōzō voiced clear despair... At night when air raid alarms sounded, Seiji would typically rush to the office. Not five minutes after an alarm began, the front bell would ring violently. When Shōzō—face still dazed from sleep—opened the inner door from Rojii's side, two young women stood waiting outside. They were female factory workers on watch duty.

“Good evening,” one of them called out to Shōzō. Shōzō felt his chest struck directly, as though compelled to straighten his collar. Then, around the time he groped through the office’s darkness and turned on the radio, Seiji came restlessly over wearing a thick air raid hood. “Is someone there?” Seiji called toward the light and sat down in the chair, but immediately stood up again to inspect the factory. And so, even on the morning after the air raid alarm sounded, Seiji left early by bicycle for work. It was also he who came to Shōzō’s room on the back second floor—where he lay sleeping alone in the morning—to warn him: “How long are you going to keep sleeping?”

Even now, Shōzō felt the usual warning in this brother’s bustling manner, but Seiji—having returned *Imitation of Greek Art* to its original position—suddenly asked:

"Where did Eldest Brother go?" "A call came this morning - it seems he went out toward Takasu." Then, with a faint smile in his eyes, Seiji stretched out sideways and muttered under his breath, "Again? What a nuisance..." His manner seemed poised to draw out further details about Jun'ichi's activities from Shōzō's own lips. Yet for Shōzō, the recent circumstances between their eldest brother and sister-in-law defied coherent understanding; moreover, Jun'ichi never spoke of the matter beyond absolute necessity.

From the very day Shōzō returned to the main household, he sensed the abnormality of the atmosphere pervading that house. It was not due to the black cloth draped over the electric lights or the blackout curtains hung everywhere, nor was it merely their unwelcoming demeanor toward the brother who had lost his wife and been forced to return during these constrained times—something even more unbearable lurked within that house. On Jun'ichi’s face, harsh shadows were sometimes etched, and on his sister-in-law Takako’s face, something that seemed to throb vaguely out of overwhelming emotion could be felt. The two middle school-aged nephews commuting to Mitsubishi through student mobilization also wore strangely silent, gloomy expressions.

...One day, sister-in-law Takako vanished from the house. Then Jun'ichi began making busy outings alone, entrusting household management to his widowed sister living nearby. This Yasuko would come to Shōzō’s second-floor room late into the night and talk incessantly about all manner of things. This was not the first disappearance—Shōzō learned Yasuko had already taken charge of the household twice before. The atmosphere she described seethed with speculations and distortions, which made it all cling more feverishly to Shōzō’s mind.

...In the inner room hung with blackout curtains, an extravagantly luxurious satin kotatsu quilt burned crimson under the lamp’s glare—beside it, Jun’ichi could occasionally be seen looking utterly drained. The scene conveyed to Shōzō an overwhelming sense of futility. However, come morning, Jun’ichi donned work clothes and busily began packing evacuation crates. His face now bore an imperious murderous intensity... Then, whenever an outside call came through, Eldest Brother would bustle off. In Takasu there seemed to be someone acting as mediator—but beyond that, Shōzō could grasp nothing more.

……His sister spoke fearfully of their sister-in-law’s transformation these past few years—comparing her to herself, who had endured every hardship forced by the war—as someone who had reveled in wartime splendor, speculating whether even this latest inexplicable disappearance might be a menopausal physiological phenomenon. ……When his sister rambled on and on, Seiji would sometimes come and listen in silence. “In short, she lacks any work ethic.” “If only she’d spare even a little thought for the workers,” Second Brother interjected abruptly. “Well, she’s quite the splendid leisure-class madam,” Yasuko nodded. “But don’t you think the lies of this war are now destroying everyone’s spirit?” Shōzō began. “Hmph—it’s nothing so convoluted,” Seiji laughed. “Sister-in-law’s just throwing a tantrum because her luxuries are drying up.”

Takako fled the house, and after a little over a week, returned home nonchalantly. But it seemed something still remained unresolved, for after four or five days, she vanished once more. Then Jun'ichi’s pursuit began anew. "This time it'll be drawn out!" Jun'ichi declared haughtily. "If you keep dithering, everyone will mock you." "Aren't you just forty-year-olds who can't even greet people properly?" he would sometimes jab at his younger brothers. ...There were moments when Shōzō detected in his two elder brothers traits identical to his own that made him recoil. Yasuko, who worked as an instructor at Mori Manufacturing Plant, criticized her brothers' graceless manner of engaging with society. That same gracelessness resided in Shōzō too. ...Yet during his long absence from them—how drastically his brothers had transformed! Had Shōzō himself remained unchanged all this while? ...No— Everyone—every last one of them—exposed daily to encroaching catastrophe was still transforming now and would keep transforming hereafter. He must witness matters to their breaking point.—This conviction surfaced unbidden within Shōzō during those days.

“It’s here,” Seiji said, holding out a slip of paper before Shōzō’s eyes. It was a roll call order. Shōzō lowered his eyes to the paper and read through every last printed detail.

“May?” he muttered. Shōzō was no longer as shocked as he had been last year when receiving his educational conscription for the national militia. However, Seiji noticed the look of anguish rippling across his face and lightly declared, “Ah, it’s nothing. Either way, now that it’s come to this, it’s home front duty—nothing major.” …Though May was two months ahead, Shōzō secretly found himself consumed by the thought: Would this war even last that long?

Without any particular reason, Shōzō often strolled idly through the town. Taking his sister’s son In’ichi along, he decided to visit Izumi-tei for the first time in ages. The garden he had often been taken to visit as a young child still lay hushed in the pale early spring sunlight, its trees and water unchanged. The perfect evacuation spot—such a thought flashed through his mind. ...Movie theaters were packed from midday, and the restaurants in the bustling districts always crowded. Shōzō chose familiar alleys to walk through, but nowhere could he find the cherished things imprinted in his childhood heart. A squad of soldiers led by a non-commissioned officer suddenly appeared from the crossroads, singing a tragic song. He passed by a squad of female labor service students with white headbands marching in military stride.

......Standing on the bridge and gazing upstream, there were mountains whose names Shōzō did not know, and in the direction of the Seto Inland Sea at the town's edge, island mountains peeked out from behind buildings. To these mountains encircling the town, Shōzō began faintly sensing something he wanted to call out to......One evening, his eyes were suddenly caught by two young women passing through a street corner. Their healthy physiques and full perms—could they be tomorrow's new archetype?—slightly stirred Shōzō's curiosity. He followed them and tried to catch fragments of their conversation.

“As long as there’s potatoes, that’s all we need.”

It was a drawn-out voice that sounded utterly drained. At Mori Manufacturing Plant, about sixty female student workers were scheduled to arrive at the sewing factory. Seiji threw himself into preparing for the student welcoming ceremony, and as the day approached, even Shōzō—who had been idling about until then—naturally began appearing around the office, pressed into assisting with miscellaneous tasks. Clad in new work clothes and dragging his wooden clogs with a clatter, Shōzō’s manner as he carried chairs from the storehouse bore an awkwardness that suggested resistance to unfamiliar labor. ……The chairs had been carried in, the curtains hung, Seiji’s written program items posted beside them—the venue now stood fully prepared. The ceremony was supposed to begin at nine that day. However, due to the air raid alarm issued from early morning, all plans had been completely thrown into disarray.

“...Bizen Okayama, Bingo Nada, Matsuyama airspace”—the radio reported moment by moment the approach of carrier-based aircraft. By the time Shōzō finished preparing himself, the anti-aircraft guns roared into action. Though these were the first anti-aircraft reports heard in this city, the leaden overcast sky grew faintly tense. But with no aircraft silhouettes visible and the air raid alarm downgraded to an alert warning, people remained restlessly agitated.

……When Shōzō entered the office, he came face to face with Ueda wearing a steel helmet.

“They’ve finally come. What in God’s name is this?”

Ueda, who commuted from the countryside, addressed him. The countenance reflecting his sturdy physique and unpretentious disposition still somehow instilled in Shōzō a sense of reassurance. At that moment, Seiji's figure clad in a work jacket came into view. His face attempted a dashing smile while his eyes sparkled keenly. ……It was when Ueda and Seiji had disappeared toward the front entrance, leaving Shōzō alone sitting on a chair. For a while he sat vacantly without thinking anything when suddenly—a whining noise buzzed past the roof, followed by a crackling sound like something tearing. The sensation of imminent impact overhead jolted him, and Shōzō's vision snapped toward the glass window. The second-floor eaves opposite and the pine treetop in the garden burned onto his retina with unnatural clarity for an instant. The sound ceased completely then; nothing more was heard. After some time, people came clattering back from the front entrance. "Hell's bells! Scared seven years off me!" Miura said with a distorted grin.

When the air raid all-clear was given, people began trooping through the streets. Amid the hubbub, a strangely buoyant air could even be felt. Someone brought a shell fragment, claiming they had picked it up right there.

The following day, when a small class of schoolgirls wearing white headbands arrived trooping in under the principal and head teacher’s guidance, they were promptly led to the ceremony hall. By the time all the workers had taken their seats, Shōzō was sitting with Miura in the very last row of chairs at the back. Shōzō had half-listened to the man from the Prefectural Mobilization Section’s ceremonial address and the principal’s exhortations, but when Jun’ichi, splendid in his national uniform, finally took the podium, he began listening intently to every word of the speech. Having apparently been through such ceremonies before, his voice and demeanor were brisk. Yet there was also a slight hesitation in his words—or rather, in the contradictions of his heart. As Shōzō stared intently, he locked eyes precisely with Jun’ichi’s gaze. It emitted a mysterious light, as if challenging something. When the students’ chorus ended, they began streaming into the factory from that day onward, their voices lively. The sight of them arriving early every morning and returning each evening in orderly lines under their teacher's guidance brought a vein of freshness to this factory, imparting some vitality to its atmosphere. That touching sight met Shōzō’s eyes.

Shōzō was counting buttons in a corner of the office. Though he only needed to organize the buttons scattered across the desk into groups of a hundred, his clumsy fingers kept fumbling through the task at a sluggish pace until Jun'ichi—who had been watching intently while handling visitors—finally barked out as if reaching his limit: "That's no way to count! This isn't some game!" Katayama, who had been diligently writing letters, immediately set down his pen and approached Shōzō. "Oh, that? Let me show you how it's done." Katayama kindly demonstrated the method. This Katayama—younger than him yet brimming with energy—possessed terrifying quick-wittedness that always left Shōzō overwhelmed.

Nine days after carrier-based aircraft first appeared over this town, another air raid alarm sounded. But the formation that had entered through the Bungo Channel detoured around Cape Sada and continued streaming toward Kyushu. This time, though nothing struck the town itself, both its people and streets had abruptly grown restless by then. As troops mobilized to demolish buildings throughout the town one after another, evacuation carts streamed ceaselessly day and night.

In the afternoon, in the office after everyone had gone out, Shōzō sat alone engrossed in reading Iwanami Shinsho’s *The Discovery of Zero*. The story of a French officer who, after being captured by the Russian Army during the Napoleonic Campaigns, immersed himself in mathematical research out of despondency struck a peculiar chord within him. ……Suddenly, Seiji came hurrying back there. His expression showed clear signs of considerable agitation.

“Has Eldest Brother not returned yet?” “Doesn’t look like it yet.” Shōzō responded vaguely. As ever, Jun’ichi remained frequently absent, and the ongoing conflict with Takako continued to elude third-party comprehension.

“We can’t keep procrastinating like this!” Seiji began in a voice edged with anger. “Go out and see for yourself. Takeyamachi Street—even the Hiratayamachi district—they’ve all been cleared out now. The Clothing Branch Depot’s evacuation is finally starting too.” “Hmph. So that’s how it’s settled then,” Shōzō muttered without conviction. “Which means Hiroshima’s been trailing three months behind Tokyo all this time.”

“Shouldn’t we be grateful that Hiroshima was delayed this much?” Seiji stared unblinkingly, his expression remaining rigid.

……The household of Seiji, burdened with a large number of children, had recently been plunged into chaos by one urgent demand after another. In every room, evacuation clothes lay strewn about, and with two children soon departing for group evacuation, the preparations alone proved overwhelming. Mitsuko’s inefficient ways had her dawdling through tasks while squandering hours on idle chatter. Whenever Seiji returned home, he would invariably snap at his wife in irritation, yet after dinner would habitually withdraw to the back room and pedal diligently at the sewing machine. Though two rucksacks already sat in his house—hardly urgent necessities—Seiji remained utterly absorbed in crafting more. “Damn it all, damn it all,” he muttered through clenched teeth as he guided the needle. “I’ll be damned if I lose to some half-rate craftsmen!” In truth, the rucksack he produced surpassed those made by unskilled professionals.

……In this way, Seiji had continued distracting himself through his own methods, but today when he reported to the Clothing Branch Depot and received orders for factory evacuation, he suddenly felt the ground sway beneath his feet. Then on his return route near Takeyamachi, the alleyway he'd known for over forty years now lay gaping like pulled teeth, soldiers wildly hacking with hatchets at what remained. For Seiji—who apart from two youthful years studying elsewhere had never left his hometown, who'd endured his assigned work until finally securing stable standing—this proved unbearable. ……What would become of everything? This lay beyond Shōzō's comprehension. He needed to meet Jun’ichi immediately about the factory evacuation. Countless matters demanded earnest discussion with his brother. Yet Jun’ichi remained consumed by Takako's affairs, now utterly useless as an ally.

Seiji removed his gaiters and remained absentmindedly still for a while. Before long, when Ueda and Miura returned, the office became completely consumed by talk of building demolitions. “They’re being quite rough about it, aren’t they? At my place, they’re sawing away at the pillars with their saws, tying ropes around them and pulling with a ‘heave-ho, heave-ho,’ then just yanking everything down one after another. The roof tiles and all—it’s utter chaos,” Ueda marveled at the soldiers’ swift work. “Nagata’s paper shop and all—it’s such a pitiful sight. That house looks splendidly built even from the outside, but the old proprietor just kept stroking the main pillar and wailed loudly,” Miura recounted as if he’d witnessed it firsthand. Then Seiji, now grinning, joined in the conversation. There, Jun’ichi also returned with a dull expression.

As April began, new leaves began to appear in the town, but soil from earthen walls whipped up by the wind left the air harshly gritty. The coming and going of carts and horses continued ceaselessly, and human life now lay completely exposed.

“They’re even transporting things like that,” Seiji laughed, looking out from the office window. An oxcart came into view, a taxidermied pheasant swaying atop it. “How pathetic. We go on about China’s misery, yet here we’ve become just like China ourselves,” Jun’ichi muttered, perhaps struck by the impermanence of all things. This eldest brother had cautiously avoided criticizing the war, but when Iwo Jima fell, he had let slip: “Even if we tore Tojo to pieces, it wouldn’t be enough.” However, when Seiji pressed about evacuating the factory, he showed little support, saying, “What good does it do for the Clothing Branch Depot to be the first to panic?”

Shōzō also began going out more often, wearing gaiters. Bank, Prefectural Office, City Hall, Transportation Bureau, Mobilization Bureau—wherever he went, it was for simple errands, and on his way back, he would stroll around the streets. Horikawa-cho’s street had been decisively sliced open, leaving only the storehouse behind, with the glaring traces of destruction stretching into the distance like an Impressionist painting. This too had its own charm, Shōzō strained to convince himself. Then, one day, countless pure white gulls were moving within that Impressionist painting. They were the female students engaged in volunteer labor. They stood atop glittering fragments, their white blouses basking in the bright sunlight as each unpacked their lunchboxes in their own way.

……Even when stopping by used bookstores, he found the turnover of books striking, and here too he could discern panic and disorder. “Do you have any books on astronomy?” The voice of a young man asking such questions suddenly lingered in his ear.

……On an electricity rationing day, he visited his wife’s grave and, on the way back, took a walk toward Nuten Park. In the past, this area had bustled with crowds enjoying cherry blossom viewing outings. As he reminisced, his gaze fell upon a quiet spot under the trees where an old woman and a young girl were spreading out their lunch in hushed tones. The peach blossoms were in full bloom, and the willows’ green leaves burned ablaze. Yet to Shōzō, the sensation of the seasons refused to register properly. Something had slipped out of place, throwing everything terribly out of rhythm—this was the impression he had conveyed in a letter to his friend. Letters also often came from a friend who had evacuated to Iwate Prefecture. “Please stay well. Please take utmost care.”

In even the briefest phrases of such words, Shōzō sensed the feelings of one who prayed single-mindedly for the day the war would end. But will I survive until that new day?……

A draft notice arrived at Katayama’s place. Keen-faced he was cracking jokes as usual while briskly tidying up his work.

“Have you ever been mustered before?” Shōzō asked him. “That was supposed to be my first muster this year too, but… then this comes out of nowhere. After all, this is the great war that comes maybe once in a thousand years,” Katayama laughed. Old Mitsui, who had not appeared for a long time due to illness, had been watching them with concern from a corner of the office, but now quietly approached Katayama’s side.

“When you become a soldier, turn into a fool. You mustn’t think about things,” he began saying, as if speaking to his own son. ……This Old Mitsui had been at the shop since Shōzō’s father’s time, and Shōzō remembered that once as a child, when he had fallen ill at school, this man had come to pick him up. At that time, Mitsui encouraged him while he turned pale, stroking his shoulder as he vomited by the riverside. Could that nearly expressionless, narrowed face possibly remember those distant, minute details? There were times when Shōzō felt like asking the old man what he thought of these present times. But the old man always exuded an unapproachable stubbornness in the corner of the office.

……Once, the accounting department came requesting rings for the blackout curtains. Ueda promptly retrieved a box of rings from the warehouse and arranged them on the office desk. Then an accounting department soldier asked, “How many are in each box?” “A thousand pieces,” Ueda answered casually. The old man who had been staring intently from the corner suddenly interjected.

“A thousand?” “That can’t be right.”

Ueda gazed quizzically at the old man, “I’m telling you, it’s always been a thousand per box.” “No, it’s definitely wrong.”

The old man stood up and brought a scale. After measuring the weight of a hundred rings, he then weighed the entire box of rings. When he divided the total by a hundred, it came to seven hundred pieces.

A farewell party was held for Katayama at Mori Seisakusho. Then people unknown to Shōzō began appearing in the office, organizing various items procured from somewhere. Shōzō gradually came to realize that the various groups Jun'ichi participated in were mutually exchanging supplies.

...By that time, the long-standing conflict between Takako and Jun'ichi had ultimately grown ambiguous, finding resolution in an unexpected direction.

In terms of evacuation measures, it was decided that Takako would be provided a house toward Itsukaichi-cho, and that the Mori family kitchen would be entrusted to Yasuko—who had just sent her son off in the student evacuation and was now alone—and once this was settled, Takako returned home ostentatiously and began preparing her relocation belongings. But even more than Takako, it was Jun'ichi who threw himself into packing. He carefully fastened ropes around various items and created covers and frames. In between such tasks, he returned to the office, used the check protector, and received visitors. In the evenings, he drank alone with his sister. The alcohol came in from somewhere, and Jun'ichi was in high spirits...

Then, one morning, a B-29 skimmed over the skies of this town. The apprentices in the sewing workshop of Mori Manufacturing Plant simultaneously peered out the windows, crawled toward the roof, and caught sight of the contrails lingering in the sky. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” “Oh, how fast!” the girls exclaimed in unison. Both the B-29s and their contrails were making their first appearance over this city—for Shōzō, who had grown accustomed to seeing them in Tokyo since the previous year, it was his first glimpse of contrails in a long time.

The next day, a carriage came and Takako’s belongings were transported toward Itsukaichi-cho. “It’s like redoing my bridal procession!” Takako laughed as she gave farewell greetings to the neighbors and departed. But four or five days later, Takako returned once more to the neighborhood’s farewell gathering.

Due to the electricity holiday, a mochi mortar had been prepared in the kitchen since morning, and Jun'ichi and Yasuko made preparations for pounding rice cakes. Before long, women from the neighborhood association came trooping into the kitchen. By now, even Shōzō had been made to hear about these neighborhood people from his sister’s mouth until he was thoroughly sick of it—who was colluding with whom, which factions were opposing each other, and how everyone was maneuvering through the regulations. The women who appeared in the kitchen all bore complex expressions not easily governed by simple rules, yet seemed endowed with a vitality of life that Shōzō and others couldn’t hope to match, along with an instinct to innocently act out falsehoods... Around that time, various companions would approach Jun’ichi with plans for drinking parties—“Let’s drink while we still can”—and the Mori household kitchen bustled with activity. At such times, the neighborhood housewives would also come to lend their assistance.

Shōzō felt in his dream a storm being battered and shredded as it fell. Next came windowpanes booming repeatedly. Soon he heard someone nearby shouting "Smoke! Smoke..." Staggering to the second-floor window, he saw thick black smoke billowing up from the distant western sky. But by the time he dressed properly and went downstairs, the planes had already passed. ...There stood Seiji with a worried expression. "This isn't the time for sleeping in!" he scolded Shōzō. That morning Shōzō hadn't known about the air raid warning - no sooner had the radio reported a plane heading toward Hamada (a Japan Sea port in Shimane Prefecture) than this happened. Bombs came raining sparsely along Kamiyachō-suji. It was April's final day.

When May began, nightly roll call rehearsals took place in the auditorium of the neighborhood national school. Shōzō had been unaware of this until four days before the actual roll call when he finally noticed. From that day onward, he too finished dinner early and began going there. The school had already been converted into barracks by then. In the dimly lit auditorium with its wooden floorboards, an older group mingled with a conspicuously younger set. The ruddy-faced young instructor maintained a rigidly upright posture, the calves of his polished boots flexing like rubber beneath them.

“Did you alone not notice that everyone has been coming here for rehearsals like this?”

At first the instructor calmly questioned Shōzō, and Shōzō mumbled an explanation. “Speak louder!” Suddenly, the instructor shouted in a startling voice. ……Eventually, Shōzō too noticed that here everyone was exchanging raucous bellowing. He shook his head and tried recklessly to force out as loud a voice as he could muster. Exhausted, he returned home, the cadence of shouted roars swirling within him.……The instructor had gathered a group of young men and was conducting roll call practice with each one individually. In response to the instructor’s questions, the youths answered energetically, and the practice proceeded smoothly. When a youth with a slight limp appeared, the instructor looked down at him from the platform.

“Is your occupation photographer?” “That is correct.” The youth responded promptly in a humble, merchant-like tone. “Enough. A ‘Hai’ will suffice. I was finally in good spirits until now, but a reply like that just saps it all away,” the instructor said with a bitter smile. At this admission, Shōzō jolted to realization. Intoxication, he thought.

This was sheer absurdity. The Japanese military was intoxicated with nothing but formalities. When he returned home, Shōzō prattled on incessantly before his younger sister.

It was a dim morning threatening to rain at any moment. Shōzō stood in line at the national school's athletic field. They had arrived since five o'clock, but with nothing but lectures and repeated formations, departure remained elusive. That morning's instructor - who had slapped a youth's cheekbone for improper attitude - still seemed to brim with restless energy. Just then, a grime-caked middle-aged man arrived and began fumbling through some appeal.

“What did you say?!” Only the instructor’s voice rang out across the hall. “You never showed up to a single rehearsal, and now you think you can just come this morning?” The instructor stared intently at him, “Strip naked!” he bellowed. Being told this, the man hesitantly began undoing his buttons. But the instructor only grew more ferocious.

“This is how you strip naked!” he declared, dragging him forcefully to the front of the athletic field, spinning him around to face away, and yanking off his shirt. In the dim light shrouded by a bluish-green haze, an ugly back riddled with scabs was exposed.

“Is this the body that required absolute rest?” The instructor paused briefly before moving to his next action. “Miscreant!” At the same moment as this shout, a fist cracked through the air. Just then, the siren in the schoolyard released a warning alarm’s growl. That thick, mournful reverberation seemed to add an even more gruesome quality to the scene. As soon as the siren ceased, the instructor appeared thoroughly satisfied with his produced effect, “I’ll have this man prosecuted by the Kempeitai starting now,” he declared to the group, finally giving the departure order.……As they approached Nishi Training Ground, rain began pattering down. The sound of harsh footsteps advanced along the moat. Beyond it lay the Western Second Unit, but what suddenly caught Shōzō’s eye were azaleas blooming like blood across the dim green embankment.

Yasuko’s belongings—apart from the few she had sent to her son’s children’s evacuation site and the one box she had entrusted to an acquaintance in the countryside—still remained mostly in the storehouse of Jun’ichi’s house. Her personal belongings and work tools were kept in the six-tatami mat room where she had set up her sewing machine, but Yasuko—who loved spreading out her ongoing projects until the room was full and working feverishly amidst the clutter—didn’t mind the disarray in the slightest. With the rainy weather bringing an early dusk, mice would scuttle noisily about and hide behind the ball crate. Jun’ichi, being a neat freak, would occasionally scold his sister, and though Yasuko would make a half-hearted attempt to tidy up whenever he did, the room would soon become even more disordered than before. Yasuko would often confide in Seiji that with work and the kitchen and cleaning and everything else, she couldn’t keep such a large house to their brother’s liking. ……Ever since renting a house in Itsukaichi-machi, Jun'ichi had been continuously devising evacuation items, sparing no effort in packing nearly every day; yet it was his habit to neatly tidy up the house after scattering the belongings. Jun’ichi’s emergency rucksack, packed with food provisions, was tied to a rope hanging from the veranda ceiling. In other words, it was to prevent mice from getting into it.……After he and Nishizaki carried the load—which he had made Nishizaki secure with ropes—to a corner of the workshop, Jun’ichi put on his reading glasses in the office and perused a few documents, then abruptly appeared in the bathhouse to vigorously scrub the washing area.

……Lately, Jun’ichi’s body and mind had been whirling ceaselessly like a top. Though he had evacuated Takako, the town association refused to permit air defense personnel to relocate and would not issue travel certificates. Therefore, Jun’ichi also had to transport food supplies to Takako’s place. He had obtained a commuter pass to Itsukaichi-machi, and rice continued to flow in without shortage. ……By the time he finished cleaning the bath, Jun’ichi already had a plan for the next day’s packing. There, after wiping his limbs and slipping into his geta, he peered into the storehouse—but as always, his eyes caught on Yasuko’s belongings haphazardly piled by the entrance: boxes left open after something had been taken out, clothes spilling from their lids… For a while, Jun’ichi stared coldly at them, but then—as if struck by a sudden thought—he nodded to himself: It would be better to have more water buckets prepared here.

Yasuko, now past thirty, could no longer return to the bright-spirited schoolgirl she had once been, and her clear-eyed soul had somehow been lost along the way. But in its place, something coquettish and wanton had taken root within her. After losing her sickly husband and relocating near Jun'ichi with her infant child—during which time she had even undertaken a year-long dressmaking apprenticeship—the world grew more complex; at life's lowest ebb, incessant prodding from her mother-in-law, neighborhood association, sister-in-law, and brothers gradually taught her life's duplicities. Lately, nothing fascinated her more than other people—speculating about their hidden motives had become nearly addictive. In her own way, she distracted herself by amusing interactions and exchanging small affections with others—less controlling them than keeping them pleasantly encircled. Having developed an irresistible fondness for an innocent newlywed couple from the neighborhood whom she'd met six months prior, Yasuko would invite them over on nights when Jun'ichi went to Itsukaichi and make dorayaki pancakes. Under blackout conditions, amid threats of an unknowable tomorrow, these moments became fleeting amusements—trivial diversions akin to children's games.

……Since she began managing the main house’s kitchen, even her middle school nephew had taken to clinging to her, calling “Sis! Sis!” The younger of the two had clung to his mother and gone to Itsukaichi-machi, while the older middle school student—perhaps drawn to the nightlife of the entertainment districts—had stubbornly remained here, already beginning to acquire a taste for tobacco. In the evening, upon returning from the Mitsubishi factory, he immediately peeked into the kitchen. There in the cupboard were steamed buns and doughnuts, always arranged in different spots to suit his whims. After stuffing himself with dinner, he would lumber out into the dark streets, then return to soak in a bath and wash off the sweat. The carefree melodies he bellowed in the tub now fully mimicked factory workers’ rough cadences. Though his face retained childish softness, his body had developed like that of conscript-aged men. Yasuko would always giggle when hearing her nephew sing……When she made bean-jam buns and served them after his evening drink, Jun’ichi would praise her lavishly. Jun'ichi—wearing a blue dress shirt and fancying himself rejuvenated—would sometimes joke cheerfully: “You’ve gotten plump! Well now—growing stouter by the day!” Indeed, Yasuko’s lower abdomen protruded slightly, her face having somehow regained the luster of her twenties. But about once a week, the sister-in-law would return from Itsukaichi-machi. Takako—wearing flashy work pants that scattered perfume in her wake—seemed to have come solely to discreetly monitor Yasuko’s activities. Whenever an alarm sounded during these visits, Takako would immediately grimace; but once the all-clear came, she’d hurriedly depart with a “Well then! Let’s go before another alarm makes a fuss.”

……By the time Yasuko began preparing dinner, Second Brother Seiji would usually arrive. He would sometimes happily show postcards from evacuated schoolchildren. But at times, Seiji started complaining of feeling unsteady or dizzy. His face lacked vitality, his eyes marked by agitation. When Yasuko offered a rice ball, he silently took a hearty bite. Then, eyeing the house's frantic evacuation efforts, he sneered, "Might as well take all the stone lanterns and potted plants along while you're at it."

Yasuko had long been concerned about the chests of drawers and dressing mirrors left haphazardly in the storehouse. “We should make a frame for this mirror stand,” Jun’ichi had even suggested, and if he had just ordered Nishizaki to do it, the matter would have been resolved immediately. But now, preoccupied with his evacuation preparations, Jun’ichi wore an expression as though he’d forgotten all about it. She felt hesitant to ask Nishizaki directly. Nishizaki, who would unconditionally obey Takako’s orders, seemed to invariably balk when it came to Yasuko’s matters.……That morning, when Yasuko carefully observed Jun’ichi—who had come from the office with a nail puller toward the storehouse—his face appeared calm and composed, so thinking this was the moment to ask, she promptly broached the subject of the mirror stand.

“Mirror stand?” Jun’ichi muttered tonelessly. “Yes—I at least want that evacuated quickly,” Yasuko implored, staring into her brother’s eyes. His gaze darted sideways. “That junk? What difference would it make?” With that, Jun’ichi spun around and strode away. For a moment, Yasuko felt herself plummeting through empty air. Then anger rose in successive waves until she could no longer keep still. Junk they called it—but only because of endless moves. It had been her mother’s gift when she married, chosen while her mother still lived. Jun’ichi who clung to every broom once it became his—how could he not grasp this ache? ...That night’s fearsome expression surfaced again—Jun’ichi’s face when he’d forced her hand.

It was around the time when Takako’s arrangements to evacuate to Itsukaichi-machi were nearly in place. Jun’ichi insisted on moving his sister into the house to manage everything in place of his wife, but Yasuko did not readily agree. Partly out of spiteful jabs at her selfish sister-in-law, but she also worried about the children evacuated to Kake-cho, finding herself torn over whether to become their caretaker and go there herself. Takako and Jun’ichi attempted to appease and coax Yasuko into agreement, but the night had already grown late.

“Won’t you consent no matter what?” Jun’ichi demanded, drawing himself up rigidly.

“Yes, Hiroshima is still dangerous after all, so I’d rather go to Kake-cho…” Yasuko repeated the same words. Suddenly, Jun’ichi grabbed the navel orange peel beside the long brazier and smacked it against the far wall. A violent atmosphere swept through. “Now, now—please give it another good think until tomorrow,” the sister-in-law interjected conciliatorily—but in the end, Yasuko had consented before the night was out. ……For a while, Yasuko wandered aimlessly through the house in a dizzying haze, but before she knew it, she had climbed the stairs and found herself in Shōzō’s room on the second floor. There, from early morning, sat Shōzō’s figure—secluded alone and mending socks. After pouring out everything about Jun'ichi in one breath, tears overflowed and streamed down for the first time. And she seemed to calm down somewhat. Shōzō remained silent, his demeanor heavy with melancholy.

After roll call ended, Shōzō would often succumb to a nihilistic void beyond his control. During that period, he had few obligations and seldom appeared in the office. When he did emerge, it was only to read newspapers. Germany had already surrendered unconditionally, yet this nation now clamored for a decisive homeland battle, with terms like "fortress construction" beginning to surface. Shōzō sought to detect traces of truth beneath the editorial rhetoric. Yet there were stretches of two or three days when newspapers became unavailable. The materials that should have remained on Jun'ichi's desk had mysteriously vanished into hiding.

While feeling perpetually cornered yet unable to curb his growing lethargy, Shōzō would often wander aimlessly through the spacious house as if at odds with himself......When noon approached, female students came to fetch tea from the kitchen. Beyond a single black-painted partition wall, lively voices of apprentices recently released from work echoed from the factory alleyway. As Shōzō settled on the dining room veranda and cast a despondent gaze at the small pond beneath his feet, calisthenics began at the factory—the class leader’s clear voice counting “One, two! One, two!” carried through the air. Only that girl’s voice, buoyant with youthful vigor, somehow managed to soothe Shōzō’s troubled mind. ......Around three o’clock, he would suddenly remember something and return to his second-floor room to mend socks. Across the garden, on the opposite office building’s second floor, female workers could be seen laboring diligently on their feet while the whir of motorized sewing machines reached even here. Fumbling with the needle’s eye, Shōzō found himself thinking: When will I wear these to flee?

……After that, his figure was often seen wandering disconsolately through the sunset-lit streets. As buildings across the city were being dismantled one after another, plazas materialized in unexpected places, and crude earth trenches squatted where they lay. Turning from the desolate, expansive road where streetcars rarely passed, he emerged onto an embankment following the river, where fig leaves grew oppressively thick beside a collapsed earthen wall. The dimly lit space resisted blending into night, saturated with a viscous humidity that made Shōzō feel as though he walked through unfamiliar terrain. ……But his feet passed through that embankment, emerged at the foot of Kyōbashi Bridge, and then walked further along the riverbank. As he approached the entrance to Seiji’s house, his niece playing by the roadside called out first, followed swiftly by his first-grade nephew leaping over. The nephew tugged insistently at his hand, then gripped Shōzō’s wrist with his hard little claws.

Around that time, Shōzō found himself wanting an evacuation satchel. Though he carried a furoshiki bundle during every air raid alert, his brothers possessed proper rucksacks while Yasuko had fashioned herself a shoulder-hung bag. Yasuko promised she'd sew one immediately if provided fabric. When Shōzō raised the matter with Jun'ichi, his eldest brother muttered "Fabric for a bag?" with an expression that gave no indication whether such material existed. After waiting fruitlessly for clarification, Shōzō pressed him again. Jun'ichi then laughed spitefully and said, "You don't need such things. If you insist on hauling belongings while fleeing, just grab any of the rucksacks hanging there." No amount of explaining that the bag was meant solely for vital documents and wearable essentials moved Jun'ichi to relent......Shōzō heaved a deep sigh. The workings of Jun'ichi's mind remained utterly opaque to him. "You ought to sulk at him properly," Yasuko advised while outlining manipulation tactics. "Someone like me would weep and make myself a nuisance." Even regarding the mirror stand incident, Jun'ichi had later permitted its evacuation with apparent nonchalance. But Shōzō couldn't sustain such gradual pressure tactics......He visited Seiji's house to discuss the bag. Producing suitable fabric, Seiji declared, "This should suffice to make one. It's worth about a bushel of rice—what'll you trade?" Once obtaining the cloth, Shōzō requested Yasuko craft the satchel. His sister retorted, "What's the use obsessing over escape?"—another venomous remark from her.

Since the bombing on April 30th, this town had yet to suffer another air raid. As a result, the evacuation efforts alternated between urgency and lulls, with people's minds vacillating incessantly between tension and relaxation. Though alarms sounded nearly every night, since these were confirmed as mine-laying operations, even Mori Manufacturing had abolished its surveillance shift system. Yet the signs of the decisive homeland battle were growing ever more palpable.

“Field Marshal Hata has come to Hiroshima,” Seiji said to Shōzō one day in the office. “The fortification headquarters is at Higashi Training Ground. “It seems Hiroshima will become the final stronghold!” Seiji, who spoke these words—while harboring some skepticism—compared to Shōzō, appeared to be putting on airs of resolve for the decisive battle. …“Field Marshal Hata, eh,” Ueda said in a drawn-out tone.

“I hear they’re eating two big steamed buns every day over at Futaba-no-Sato...”...In the evening, the office radio reported five hundred B29s attacking the Keihin area. Old Mitsui, who had been listening with a grimace, “Whoa, five hundred planes!...” he involuntarily uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Then, everyone began to titter.

……One day on the second floor of Higashi Police Station, factory owners from across the city were gathered for an official briefing. Shōzō, attending as a proxy for the first time, sat listlessly adrift in his own musings. But when he suddenly noticed the speaker had changed—now replaced by a policeman of imposing stature poised to begin—his attention sharpened. There was something quintessentially cop-like about the man’s build and bearing. “Now then,” announced the voice with brisk assurance, “I’ll briefly address the air defense drills.” ……Of all times—with cities nationwide enduring bullet storms—they’re conducting drills here? Shōzō listened skeptically.

“As you are all well aware, disaster victims from Tokyo, Nagoya, Osaka, Kobe, and other regions continue pouring into our Hiroshima City in endless succession.” “What do these evacuees tell our citizens? ‘My word, those air raids were dreadful! Absolutely dreadful!’” “‘When disaster strikes,’ they spout, ‘just run away as fast as your legs can carry you!’” “But let me be clear—these people represent air defense failures. Pathetic simpletons, the lot of them.” “We who maintain unwavering self-reliance must never heed such cowardly prattle.” “True, the war situation grows increasingly severe, with aerial attacks intensifying daily.” “Yet no danger—however great—need be feared when met with resolute preparedness!”

As he spoke, he turned swiftly toward the blackboard and now launched into a practical explanation using diagrams. ……Listening to his words—utterly devoid of unease—it truly seemed air raids were simple, clear-cut matters, and human life itself existed solely under straightforward physical forces. What a peculiar man, Shōzō thought. But if these were stalwart robots, then Japan must be teeming with them by now.

Jun’ichi never went empty-handed when heading toward Itsukaichi-cho; he would always stuff his rucksack with scattered evacuation items and bustle off alone after dinner. But one time, he invited Shōzō: “You need to know what to do in an emergency—come with me from now on.” Made to carry a small bundle, Shōzō went with Jun’ichi to the train station. The Koi-bound train was slow to arrive, and Shōzō gazed out toward the end of the spacious road. But before long, beyond the buildings, the distinct form of Kuresasayama crouching appeared.

It now stood vividly alive, steeped in the summer evening's moisture. The other mountains linked to it, which ordinarily revealed only faint slumbering silhouettes, were today filled with a terrifying vitality. Clouds drifted lazily through unfathomable forms. Then it seemed the very mountains might begin to quake and cry out in unison. It was a scene of uncanny strangeness.

Suddenly, the outline of some grand structure encompassing this city began forming in Shōzō’s vision. ……Even after the train crossed several crystalline rivers and exited the city limits, Shōzō’s gaze remained riveted to the landscape beyond the window. This railway line had once teemed with summer beachgoers, and now the wind rushing through the window carried fleeting whiffs of those bygone days. Yet the Chugoku Mountain Range’s disquieting aspect—which had been startling him since earlier—showed no signs of diminishing. Against the darkening sky, the peaks projected increasingly vivid green tones while islands in the Seto Inland Sea emerged in stark relief. Waves—calm blue waves—buffeted by an endless tempest seemed poised to spiral into frenzy.

In Shōzō’s eyes floated the familiar map of Japan. At the edge of the boundless Pacific, the Japanese archipelago first appeared as tiny specks. Formations of B-29s that had taken off from the Mariana bases threaded through the clouds and streamed away like stars. The Japanese archipelago was abruptly yanked closer. One of the formations that had split into two over Hachijōjima headed straight toward Mount Fuji, while the other advanced along the Kumano-nada toward the Kii Channel. But now, one plane drifted away softly from the formation, crossed Muroto Misaki, and steadily headed toward Tosa Bay... Over the blue plain came into view rugged mountains clustered like foam; flying over their peaks revealed the Seto Inland Sea, calm as a mirror. One plane glided leisurely over Hiroshima Bay while inspecting the islands scattered across its mirror-like surface. Under the overpowering midday light, both the Chugoku Mountain Range and the city clustered at the bay’s mouth were bathed in a pale purple haze. But before long, the outline of Ujina Port came clearly into view, and from there, the entire expanse of Hiroshima City lay fully visible below. The Ōta River, flowing along the mountain gorge, branched at the city’s entrance; as the number of divergences increased further, the city spread out over the delta. The city was immediately surrounded by low mountains at its back, and two square-shaped drill grounds shone large and white. But recently, throughout the city divided by that river, white vacant lots left by evacuations had formed everywhere. Was this what they called laying an ironclad defense against incendiary bomb attacks? ...A bridge suddenly appeared in the telescope’s field of view. A bean-sized crowd of people was still bustling about busily. They must be soldiers. Soldiers—they seemed to have been occupying every corner of this city lately. Of course, there were shadows swarming like ants across the drill grounds, and even around modest buildings, similar shadows dotted the surroundings. ...Had the siren sounded? Many handcarts were moving through the town.

In the green rice fields on the outskirts of town, a toy train was crawling slowly.

……Quiet town, farewell.

A single B-29 changed course with a swift turn and flew leisurely away.

Around the time the battle for the Ryukyu Islands concluded, a major air raid struck Okayama City in the neighboring prefecture, followed by Kure City burning from the late hours of June 30th until the early dawn of July 1st. That night, as the roar of formation after formation crossing over Hiroshima continued to assault the citizens' ears, Seiji too arrived at Mori Manufacturing, his eyes gleaming fiercely beneath his air raid hood. Neither the factory nor the office held a single soul, while at the house’s entrance, Yasuko, Shōzō, and their middle school-aged nephew crouched together. Could they really protect such a vast area with merely this much?—Seiji immediately found himself thinking such things. Then, from the front, the alarm bell clanged, and a voice shouting "Take cover!" could be heard. The four of them scrambled into the garden trench. The cloud-choked sky showed no sign of clearing, and the roar of bomber formations could be heard one after another. When the shapes of things began to emerge clearly, the air raid was finally lifted.

……Through the city that had regained its calm, Jun’ichi walked in a great hurry, his agitation undiminished. He hadn’t slept a wink in Itsukaichi-cho and had spent the entire night gazing at the crimson flames burning fiercely across the sea. I can't afford to be careless. The flames were already licking at his heels—muttering this to himself, he tried to rush home as quickly as possible. The train did not come easily that morning either, and all the passengers wore blank expressions. Jun’ichi appeared at the office around the time the morning sun had risen quite high, but here too he encountered only people with blank, sleepy expressions.

“This is no time to be careless. The factory will be evacuated immediately.” When Jun’ichi saw Seiji’s face, he declared without hesitation. Removing sewing machines, applying to the prefectural office for horse-cart allocation, reorganizing household goods—Jun’ichi now had another mountain of urgent tasks piled up. Yet Seiji, his supposed partner in consultation, only raised petty objections without showing any decisiveness. Jun’ichi burned with the urge to crack his whip sharply.

Two days later, rumors of an imminent major air raid on Hiroshima spread like wildfire. When Ueda conveyed the evening warning from the provisions depot to Jun’ichi, Jun’ichi hurried his sister to finish dinner early, then turned to Shōzō and Yasuko and said:

“I’m heading out now; I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“I plan to flee if the air raid alarm sounds…” When Shōzō pressed the point, Jun’ichi nodded. “If it seems hopeless, throw the sewing machine into the well.”

“If I seal the storehouse door…… maybe I should get it done now.”

Suddenly, Shōzō felt a surge of fervent emotion. Then he approached the storehouse. The red clay had been prepared beforehand, but sealing the storehouse door in such a way was something that had never once occurred in his father’s time. After setting up the ladder, Shōzō began pressing red clay into the gaps of the white-walled door with wet smacking sounds. By the time that was done, Jun'ichi was nowhere to be seen. Shōzō was concerned, so he stopped by Seiji’s house. “They say tonight will be dangerous…” As soon as Shōzō spoke, Mitsuko—while frantically stuffing a bag—began rambling on: “Yes, that’s precisely the secret part of it, but even our neighbor Mr. Kojima heard something like that at the government office this evening and came home saying…”

When all preparations were complete and he crawled into the mosquito net in the six-tatami room downstairs—around that time Shōzō had begun sleeping on the first floor—it happened. The radio announced the Tosa Offshore Maritime Warning Alert. Shōzō listened intently inside the mosquito net. Kochi Prefecture and Ehime Prefecture entered warning alerts, which then shifted to air raid alerts. Shōzō crawled out from under the mosquito net and rolled up his gaiters. He crossed his knapsack and canteen over his shoulders and fastened them with a band on top. At the entrance while searching for his shoes, just as he put on his gloves last, the siren blared the warning alarm. He darted outside and hurried toward Seiji’s house. In the darkness lay asphalt resisting hard soles. Shōzō became conscious of his own legs standing straight and walking smoothly. The gate to Seiji’s house stood wide open. No matter how he knocked on the front door, there was no response. They seemed to have already fled.

Shōzō hurriedly plowed through the embankment road toward Eibashi Bridge. When he neared the bridge, the siren began to howl its air raid warning.

In a frenzy, he crossed the bridge, circled the embankment behind Niuta Park, and before he knew it had reached the levee leading toward Ushita area. By this time, Shōzō finally noticed the swarming crowd of people all around him. They were old and young, men and women—every citizen clad in desperate attire. Handcarts loaded with pots and pans pushed through the throng alongside baby carriages bearing elderly mothers. A man wearing a steel helmet with brisk dignity had his bicycle pulled by a military dog; an old man clung to his cane while dragging a lame leg. ……A truck came. A horse passed through. The twilit narrow road now bustled like a festival day. ……Shōzō sat down on a log beside the water tank under the trees.

"Do you think this area is safe?" asked a passing old woman. "It should be safe—the river’s right in front of us, and there aren’t any houses nearby." With that, he unscrewed the cap of the canteen. The sky over Hiroshima now glowed a hazy white, looking as though flames might erupt at any moment. If the city were to burn down completely, what would become of him starting tomorrow? Even as he wondered this, Shōzō found himself intrigued by the fate of the evacuees before his eyes.

The scene of refugees from the beginning of Hermann and Dorothea floated up in his mind. Yet compared to that literary vision, how starkly empty this real-world spectacle appeared…… After some time had passed, the air raid alert was lifted, followed shortly by the all-clear siren. People began withdrawing along the embankment road in disordered droves. Shōzō too turned back and made his solitary way along that path. The road now seethed with even greater congestion than during his earlier passage. Stretchers came streaming through, their bearers shouting urgent warnings. They were nurses evacuating the sick.

Leaflets scattered from the sky had been warning of imminent air raids, and by that time, terrified citizens began evacuating in droves the moment the sun set. Even though no alarm had been issued yet, the river’s upper reaches, suburban squares, and mountain foothills were already filled with such crowds, while in the thickets, mosquito nets, bedding, and even cooking utensils had been brought out. The Miyajima Line trains, crowded from morning till night, grew even more frenzied come evening. But even these natural instincts were soon strictly regulated by the authorities. Here, the prohibition against air defense personnel evacuating had already been established long prior, but now they attempted to monitor even these personnel’s absences, compelling each household to post papers listing names and ages. At night, soldiers with bayonets and police stood resolute at bridge approaches and intersections. They threatened vulnerable citizens into defending the city to the last, but people driven into corners like rats still skillfully slipped through the cracks. At night, when Shōzō carefully observed the area along his escape route, there turned out to be many houses that appeared empty.

Shōzō too, from that evening of July 3 until the evening of August 5—his final escape—would immediately flee whenever the nighttime situation grew suspicious. ……When the Tosa Offshore Maritime Warning sounded, he would already be starting his preparations. It took no more than ten minutes for air raid alerts to be issued in Kochi and Ehime Prefectures, with Hiroshima and Yamaguchi Prefectures placed under warning alerts. The gaiters could be rolled up quickly even in darkness, but with small items like hand towels and shoehorns, Shōzō sometimes fumbled a moment longer. Yet he would always have his shoes on at the entrance by the time the warning siren sounded. Yasuko, for her part, would finish preparing herself and arrive at the entrance around the same time. The two alternated positions as they stepped out through the gate. ……As they turned a certain street corner and walked about ten paces, Shōzō thought the siren would blare any second. Sure enough, the ominous air raid sirens wailed in unison from all directions of darkness. Oh, what a vile discord of high and low howls. Could this be the anguished wail of some wounded beast? How would future historians describe this? Such impressions flashed through him—and yet... Even long ago, merely hearing distant festival lion flutes approach town had sent him fleeing pale-faced; between that pure terror of youth and this present fear, now even dread itself felt encased in some leaden frame. These thoughts occupied Shōzō’s mind for mere seconds before he found himself gasping up the stone steps to the embankment. When he rushed to Seiji’s house entrance, sometimes the whole family stood ready, other times unprepared altogether. Around when Shōzō arrived, Yasuko would come rushing there herself. ……“Tie this string here,” said the small niece, holding out her hood to Shōzō. After securing the knot tightly, he swung her onto his back and stepped through the gate a stride ahead of the rest. Once they crossed Eibashi Bridge, their footsteps slackened slightly as if by unspoken agreement. When they passed the railway crossing and reached Niuta Embankment, Shōzō set down the niece he’d been carrying into the thicket.

The river water glowed faintly white as the great cedar cast its black shadow across the road. Would this little niece remember such a scene? Suddenly there rose in Shōzō's sweat-drenched mind the novel A Certain Woman's Life—a story beginning with nightly flights from earliest childhood. ...Before long, Seiji's family arrived. The sister-in-law carried a baby on her back while the maid clutched some bundle. Yasuko strode at the front, briskly pulling her small nephew by the hand. (Having once been caught fleeing alone and harshly scolded by civil defense officers, she'd since taken to borrowing this nephew.) Seiji approached from behind walking alongside his middle school-aged nephew. Then they'd listen to radios in nearby houses before deciding whether to push further upstream. Trudging along the endless embankment, they passed through thinning clusters of homes until rice fields and mountain foothills emerged hazily ahead. Now frog croaks enveloped them completely. Through the hushed night shadows flowed an unceasing stream of fleeing figures. Sometimes dawn would find their return path shrouded in thick gas before they knew night had ended.

At times, Shōzō would also flee alone. He had been occasionally called up for reservist training over the past month, but while over twenty men had initially gathered for these sessions, their numbers had gradually dwindled until now only four or five remained. “A large-scale mobilization will be issued in August,” the Branch Chief said. As he stood in the dusky schoolyard made to listen to the reserve second lieutenant’s lecture while searchlights swayed in the distant skies over Ujina, Shōzō found his attention wandering.

When the training ended and he had just returned home, the siren would begin to wail. But by the time the air raid siren began to wail, Shōzō had already completed his preparations with military precision. As if continuing his frantic training, he would rush out into the dark streets. Then, listening to the clattering of his own footsteps, he put on the air of someone hurrying home. When he safely passed through the bridge checkpoint, he soon arrived at Niuta Embankment. Here, for the first time, Shōzō came to a halt and sat down in the thicket. Just downstream stood an iron bridge, and in the river where the water had receded, a white sandbar was hazily visible. It was a scene he had often seen and remembered from his childhood walks, but for Shōzō, the starry sky arching overhead suddenly evoked visions of a battlefield. The beautiful vistas of nature reflected in a certain character’s eyes in *War and Peace*, that serene state of mind—would such things truly come to me at my moment of death? Then, suddenly, from the cedar branches just above the thicket where Shōzō crouched, came a subtle cry. "Oh, a cuckoo," he thought, yet Shōzō felt an inexplicable strangeness. If this war were to shift to a decisive battle on the mainland, and if Hiroshima were to become the final stronghold—could I then resolutely throw away my life and fight? ……But for this city to become the final shield—what a delusion surpassing madness. If one were to make this into an epic, it would undoubtedly become the most petty and limitlessly grim of tales. ...Yet Shōzō still felt as though he could hear the beating wings of that unseen thing looming overhead, right beside him.

When the all-clear sounded and everyone had returned to Seiji’s house, Shōzō would sometimes linger at the entrance for a while, listening to the radio. At any moment, they might have to flee again, so the nephew and niece remained in their shoes. However, while the adults were preoccupied with the radio, the nephew who had been chattering away until just moments before would sprawl out on the stone step of the entrance and fall fast asleep with loud snores. The child, who seemed to have grown accustomed to this life of ceaseless upheaval, snored like a soldier. (Shōzō casually observed this sight but could never have imagined it would soon meet a soldier’s death.) The first-grade nephew could not even participate in the group evacuation and only occasionally attended national school. August 6th also happened to be a school day, and that morning, near Nishirenjō, this child met a tragic end.)

...When they realized waiting a while longer posed no danger, Yasuko went home first, followed by Shōzō leaving through Seiji’s gate. But when he returned to the main house, the two layers of clothing he wore were soaked through with sweat, and he wanted to tear off his shirt and socks that very instant. When he poured water over himself in the bath area and sat down on the kitchen chair, for the first time Shōzō seemed to regain something like human composure. ――Tonight’s chapter also ended. But tomorrow night— ―That next night as well would inevitably begin from the Tosa offshore waters. Then gaiters, knapsack, boots―all the preparations came flying from the darkness, and the escape route lay precisely before them……(Looking back on this later, Shōzō would think that even though he had been relatively healthy at the time, it was remarkable how nimbly he had managed to act.) Is it that in the course of a lifetime, one must inevitably encounter unforeseen phases?)

The factory evacuation of Mori Manufacturing Plant proceeded sluggishly. Even after disassembling the sewing machines, obtaining wagon allocations proved difficult. On mornings when wagons arrived, everyone hurried with transport duties while Jun’ichi grew particularly animated. Once, all the tatami mats from the zashiki room were carried away by such a wagon. The stripped zashiki lay spacious with bare floorboards, a lone sofa left isolated in the corner. With matters reaching this state, the house truly seemed nearing its end—yet Shōzō would linger on the engawa veranda, gazing at white flowers in the garden’s corner. They had begun blooming during the rainy season; as one flower decayed another would bloom, still maintaining their six-petaled hushed presence. When Shōzō asked Second Brother their name, he replied they were gardenias. Come to think of it, they were flowers known since childhood—their quiet forms now struck him with unbearable nostalgia.…

“There must’ve been countless air raid warnings by now—even now the coast still burns crimson. Every time the alarm sounds, I clutch my research materials and crawl into shelters like this. I’m studying advanced mathematics—math is beautiful! But Japanese artists are worthless because they don’t grasp this.” A letter of this sort arrived at Shōzō’s hands for the first time in ages from his Tokyo friend. No letters had come recently from the friend in Iwate Prefecture. Kamaishi had come under naval bombardment, and that area no longer seemed safe.

One morning, when Shōzō was in the office, Ōtani, who worked at a nearby company, came by. He was one of Takako’s relatives and had been stopping by here frequently since the time of Jun’ichi’s conflicts, so he was no longer an unfamiliar face to Shōzō either. His slender shins wrapped in black gaiters, his spindly torso and elongated face gave a precarious impression, yet he possessed the resolve to sustain it. That Ōtani strode up to Jun'ichi’s table and,

“How about Hiroshima?” “Last night too—just when we thought they were coming straight for us—they veered off toward Ube.” “The enemy knows full well—there are vital factories in Ube, you see.” “Compared to that, Hiroshima’s just crawling with soldiers—from an industrial perspective, it’s practically irrelevant.” “I’ve come to think lately—this place will surely be spared,” he proclaimed with vigorous cheer. (This Ōtani would go missing on the morning of August 6th while commuting to work.)

...Yet Ōtani wasn't the only one who'd begun clinging to the notion that Hiroshima might be spared. The nightly evacuations that once swarmed with activity were gradually losing participants. To compound this complacency, though small planes attacked several times, the vast formations crossing Hiroshima's skies by daylight not only refrained from bombing—the anti-aircraft guns at Nishirenjō even managed to shoot down a medium-sized aircraft. "Hiroshima can hold out, don't you think?" a civilian in the train car ventured to an officer, who responded with a silent nod. "Ah, what a spectacle," Yasuko told Shōzō. "You rarely see aerial combat like that." Shōzō sat absorbed in Gide's *If It Die* within the tatami-less reception room. The uncanny vision of youth and selfhood unfolding beneath Africa's blistering sun clung tenaciously to his thoughts.

Seiji did not believe the entire city would be spared, but he always prayed that his own house by the riverside would not burn down. He dreamed of a day when the two children evacuated to Miyoshi Town would return safely to this house and they could all play by the river again. But when that day would come—pursuing the thought to its end—remained utterly unclear. “If only we could evacuate even the small children somewhere…” Yasuko had grown increasingly anxious since the nightly evacuations began. “Please do something quickly,” his wife Mitsuko had also started mentioning evacuation around that time, but “You go settle it yourself,” Seiji retorted with evident displeasure. If I send my wife and children away—unlike Jun’ichi who can’t manage anything properly—how would I keep living in this house? I had no idea. We’d been discussing renting a house in the countryside just to store our belongings since before all this. But where in the countryside could such a house be found? Seiji had absolutely no clue. By this time, rather than making sarcastic remarks about his eldest brother’s actions, Seiji would fixate on them resentfully, lost in solitary contemplation.

However, Jun'ichi too had reached a point where he could no longer abandon Seiji's household. In the end, through Jun'ichi's mediation, they managed to rent a house in the countryside. But wagons for transporting their belongings could not be secured immediately. When a house in the countryside had been found, Seiji was accordingly overwhelmed with packing. Then came a notice from the teacher at Miyoshi's group evacuation site about parents' visitation days. If they were to visit Miyoshi, they wanted to bring all winter clothing, and with preparing evacuation luggage and supplies for the schoolchildren, the house was once again thrown into disarray. Moreover, Seiji had an odd compulsion—he couldn't rest unless he meticulously inscribed each schoolchild's name on their belongings with a brush pen.

After tidying this and scattering that, come evening, Seiji abruptly changed gears, took up his fishing rod, and went out to the riverbank right in front. Lately, he hadn’t been catching much, but found that casting his line settled his nerves best. Suddenly startled by the river’s rhythmic rush, Seiji’s eyes flew open. While gazing at the water, he felt he’d been drifting through some half-remembered dream since earlier—no, retracing cataclysmic visions from the Old Testament he’d read long ago. Then from the cliffside house above came Mitsuko’s figure calling out loud: “Father! Father!” As Seiji climbed the stone steps cradling his rod, his wife blurted without preamble: “Evacuation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Seiji retorted, not understanding what she was referring to.

“Just now, Ōkawa came by and said that if we don’t vacate within three days, this house will be demolished immediately.” “Hmm,” Seiji groaned. “So you agreed to it?” “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” “We have to do something or it’ll be terrible!” “Last time when we met Ōkawa, he properly explained while showing us the diagrams that your house wasn’t included in this plan’s area—and now he suddenly comes out of nowhere with this ‘regulation of every twenty meters’!”

“Did those Manchurian thugs trick us proper?” “Isn’t this maddening? We must do something or it’ll be disastrous!” Mitsuko began growing agitated. “You go sort it out yourself.” Though Seiji retorted dismissively, there was no time for hesitation. “Let’s go to the main house,” he said, and soon afterward the two visited Jun’ichi’s home. However, Jun’ichi had already departed for Itsukaichi Town that evening. When they tried calling him via long-distance telephone, the lines refused to connect all night. Mitsuko cornered Yasuko and started ranting endlessly about Ōkawa’s methods. Listening to this, the vision of their house being demolished in three days lodged in Seiji’s chest—he now felt completely trapped.

“Please, God, let Hiroshima suffer a massive air raid within three days.”

So it was that Seiji, who had been a Christian in his youth, suddenly opened his mouth and offered this prayer.

The following morning, Seiji’s wife visited Jun’ichi at his office to complain at length about the evacuation, insisting that since City Councilman Tasaki was apparently the ultimate authority on building evacuations, she wanted him to somehow make an appeal to Tasaki.

Jun’ichi listened with a series of dismissive hmphs, then called Itsukaichi and ordered Takako to return home immediately. Then, turning to Seiji, he said, “What a disgraceful situation. When they tell you your house is marked for evacuation demolition, do you just bow and say ‘Yes sir’? If it were destroyed in an air raid, you could claim insurance—but houses demolished for evacuation clearance don’t get a single yen in compensation!” he complained.

Before long, Takako arrived. After hearing how things had developed, Takako said breezily, “Well then, I’ll just go see Mr. Tasaki,” and went out. In less than an hour, Takako returned with a beaming face.

“Mr. Tasaki has promised to have the building evacuations in that area discontinued there.” In this way, the predicament of Seiji’s household was smoothly resolved. At that exact moment, the air raid alert was lifted.

“Well, another alert might go off and cause trouble, so let’s return now while we can,” Takako said as she hurried outside.

After a while, in the chicken coop beside the storehouse, two chicks began haphazardly announcing the hour. Their rhythm remained uncoordinated—a trait that would sometimes amuse Jun’ichi and the others—but now no one paid attention to the chicks’ cries. The hot sunlight filled the quiet sky above the crape myrtle. ……The atomic bomb would not visit this town for a little over forty hours more. (From Kindai Bungaku, January 1949 issue)