Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Nagai family (from right in the photo: Mr. Seiichi, Dr. Nagai, Ms. Kayano)

Seiichi and Kayano stand in the ruins of Urakami Cathedral.

Leaving these children— As I dozed off, Kayano—having returned from play unnoticed—pressed her cold cheek against mine. After a moment, “Ah… Papa’s smell…” she said. Leaving these children—must I depart this world so soon?! Having forgotten her mother’s scent, she now clung to whatever trace of her father’s remained—stealing close when she thought me asleep, that childish longing piercingly poignant. Does this child comprehend her fate? That though war’s flames took her mother and barely spared her father’s life, even that reprieve will soon be torn away?

They said that even a withered tree, until it fell, sheltered small birds in its hollow trunk and let them take refuge from the rain and wind. Even as I lay bedridden and utterly immobile on this sickbed that grew heavier by the day—so long as breath still flowed through me—to this young child, I must still have been relied upon as the shadow of a great tree where she could take shelter. But on the day my body finally vanished from this world—where in this room would this child sit upon returning from my grave? To whom would she address her pleas? What words would she utter?

—Will she drag out my futon from the closet, bury her face in the lingering scent of her father, clench her baby teeth that have yet to be replaced, and through her sobs, someday return to the home of her dreams where she plays with both father and mother? The setting sun blazed in, and I could almost see the desolate sight of this room on that day—now vast and empty. When I thought of the day I would be gone, I found myself unable to die completely. At least until this child could fasten the buttons on her work pants by herself... if only that much—

—This cruel fate of parent and child had not been unforeseen from early on.

When I graduated from university and resolved to devote myself to radiology—to research using radium, X-rays, and such—I already knew in detail how many senior scholars before me had their bodies ravaged by the radiation they handled daily in this field, ultimately losing their lives as sacrifices to science. And so I harbored a premonition: might I too fall prey to the same fate? However, that was not an inescapable fate. Regarding radiation disaster prevention, effective methods had gradually been devised thanks to the sacrifices of those esteemed predecessors, and we practitioners were taking thorough precautions. But during the First World War, there was a precedent where many radiologists—having had to treat far too many patients—ended up being exposed to radiation exceeding what the body could endure despite their precautions, ultimately being afflicted and dying; thus I too came to consider that due to some circumstance, I might not be spared such a fate. This was because at that time, the Manchurian Incident had just begun, and there were clear signs that Japan was likely to plunge into a major war. Therefore, when marrying this child’s mother, I had explained this matter in detail beforehand and established our household with her full consent.

In Hamburg stands a monument to over a hundred scholars from around the world who became victims of radiation and died as occupational radiation sickness patients, their names engraved as martyrs of science who fell on the path of truth-seeking. However, being an ordinary person who values life, I preferred living over dying anyway. Rather than dying young and joining the ranks of those scholars, I wanted to live even one day longer—to complete as many beloved research projects as possible, see my grandchildren’s faces, reassure myself that my successors were secure, and achieve a peaceful end as a good old man. Moreover, knowing that the suffering of radiation sickness caused by atomic radiation is no ordinary trifle—that it brings agony enough to rend living flesh—it is only human nature to wish to avoid contracting it if at all possible. Therefore, I took meticulous care in preventing radiation sickness. By nature timid and anxious—to the point that in my school days I was so afraid of falling I couldn’t even perform on the horizontal bar—that was who I was. That I feared radiation sickness went without saying.

Nowadays, X-ray equipment has improved: emission tubes are encased in metal, emitting only necessary beams of X-rays through small windows, making them far less dangerous. But in the past, we used bare tubes that radiated terrifying X-rays in all directions. When this radiation struck an object, it generated and scattered secondary radiation. When this scattered radiation struck an object once more, even more radiation was emitted from it. For this reason, inside the radiation room—besides the primary radiation emanating from the tube’s focal point—countless secondary scattered rays crisscrossed from all directions like crossfire.

The cell-destroying power of this radiation was remarkable—at a certain dosage it cured diseases like cancer,but exceeding that amount transformed healthy areas into diseased ones.To prevent radiation sickness arising in this way we always measured radiation dosage precisely and took care never to exceed the amount.Therefore as long as experts handled it patients were no longer inconvenienced by radiation. Radiation is blocked by heavy metals like lead so lead was often used for protective purposes.When irradiating a patient’s body we covered and shielded areas beyond necessary parts with lead plates or lead-containing rubber sheets.We lined walls floor and ceiling of radiation rooms with lead plates to prevent external leakage.We placed lead glass screens before switchboards to protect technicians.The physician attending at patient’s side protected themselves elaborately with lead-containing rubber aprons gloves boots and lead glass glasses.Yet wearing such shielding made movement impossible due to weight rendering complete protection unattainable—backs upper arms and thighs typically remained exposed.Primary emissions could be sufficiently blocked but secondary scatter from rear and sides proved unavoidable.The quantity remained significantly less than primary beams yet accumulated substantially over time.Even minimal daily exposure through five or ten years’ continuous work gradually destroyed bodily tissues giving rise here to occupational radiation sickness.This included skin cancer malignant anemia chronic leukemia pulmonary fibrosis infertility and others.

Now, does working in the radiation room for many years inevitably lead to radiation sickness? No—as long as one’s exposure remains below a certain threshold, even prolonged service poses no danger. That certain threshold is a daily continuous dose of 0.2 roentgen units. The roentgen unit is a unit for measuring the amount of X-rays.

In Western countries, out of humanitarian considerations, these regulations were strictly observed: radiation room staff were legally required to work no more than seven hours a day, five days a week, and take at least one month of recuperation leave per year away from their workplace; furthermore, they received special benefits such as hazard allowances and pensions. In Japan as well, these had been incorporated into the Labor Standards Act, yet one could not help but feel that full implementation remained lacking.

Now, in my case—after all—the war forced every manner of unreasonable demand upon me equally along with the entire nation. This unreasonable demand was not something that could be avoided; it was also a duty that I, as one of the nation’s people, had to fulfill with willingness. I persisted through each day’s unreasonable demands with every ounce of my being, fully aware of their impossibility.—The young assistants in our department were successively sent to the battlefield, never to return; as our staffing dwindled, I ended up shouldering responsibilities meant for multiple people. University lectures, temporary medical school lectures, research under the so-called Science Mobilization Order, collective screenings for tuberculosis prevention at factories, schools, and trade associations, X-ray diagnoses, treatments, radium therapies—each one of these alone would constitute a full role for a single physician, a single professor. Being ordered to accomplish it all alone made it tremendously difficult. Though my spirit was swift, my flesh was weak—I simply couldn’t achieve perfection.

At that time, the nurses in our department composed a counting song and would sing it for me. Among them was this one. —“Three years old. The more you look, the dearer he grows—the Chief’s sleepy face”…a piercing portrayal of me—haggard from sleeplessness and overwork. —“Six years old. Must give these half-baked lectures—how pitiable for the students”…it aptly criticized me—unable to deliver thorough, composed lessons. Then came “Ten years old. At ten years old—finally kicked the bucket, the asthma old man’s winter preparations”…I had finally given out, my body’s vitality exhausted, collapsing time and again. After their shift ended, they would all sing that counting song together while cleaning the equipment. “Five years old. Always in pitch-black darkrooms, you can hear that sweet child’s voice,” or “Eight years old. Tie that clumsy apron loosely—the young lady of indirect imaging,” and so on—our classroom life was being sung just as it was.

As I had been made to take on the roles of several people, the crowd of pressing patients surged ever more fiercely. That group of conscripted workers—individuals who had spent half their lives in commerce or office work and thus possessed frail physiques—were suddenly pulled into factories and forced into heavy labor. This led to successive cases of illness due to overwork and declining living standards. Moreover, many ordinary citizens began suffering particularly from chest ailments caused by overwork and economic hardship. Additionally, as radiation’s remarkable efficacy had become common knowledge among the public, the number of those seeking treatment naturally increased. Due to these various circumstances, the patients visiting my department were overwhelming in number; when I arrived for work each morning, the waiting room and reception area were already a crush so thick one could scarcely breathe from early dawn. When I saw that, a sense of weariness and a surge of resolve would well up simultaneously within me. After managing to treat the patient to their satisfaction, once finished—ah, come afternoon, hundreds would swarm in for mass indirect imaging! By the time this ended, the sun would have set; I would be served a cup of tea by the head nurse, refresh my energy, and quietly enter my own laboratory. How many times must my legs have given out on the way home late at night, plopping me down onto the road? At times, my wife, worried, would come to meet me, and leaning on her shoulder, I would finally reach the gate of our home. There would be warmed egg wine. ……I was happy.

Under those circumstances, the actual time I spent working in my radiation room must have reached ten hours every day. A daily radiation dose far exceeding 0.2 roentgen units was being shot into my body. If I continued like this for several years, I knew with the same certainty as predicting a solar eclipse that the terrifying radiation sickness would manifest. Even though I knew, I continued working as before. This was both because the state demanded my labor and because there were no other specialists to undertake this duty in my stead—but even when utterly exhausted and weakened, I possessed an instinct that could not refrain from treating patients the moment I saw their faces. No—it was simply because I loved radiation research so much I couldn’t bear it.

The radiation sickness that had been anticipated and diligently guarded against had finally manifested in my body as chronic myelogenous leukemia and malignant anemia. This occurred thirteen full years after I began my research and five full years after the unreasonable wartime duties. A definitive diagnosis was made, and so the prognosis determined I had about three years left to live. It was inevitable.

I informed my trusted wife of everything that very night. My wife, who had been listening in silence, pressed a hand to her heaving chest,

“Whether we live or die, it’s all for the glory of the Lord—right?” she told me. When we discussed the future of our two young children, “Since this is the work you dedicated your life to researching, the children will surely carry on your aspirations.”

she said.

With those words, I completely regained my composure. With this, I could work peacefully in the laboratory until I collapsed—without leaving any lingering concerns behind.

From the next day onward, I summoned fresh vigor and worked in the department. I immersed myself in my work as if I’d become another person entirely. Was this what it meant to devote oneself body and soul? The war intensified further—with each successive air raid, the university hospital swelled beyond capacity with patients. My department had transformed into a veritable field hospital. Come evening, my legs would go limp and muscles twitch; climbing stairs required nurses to push me upward. The only one laughing at this spectacle was myself. Students would come running to carry the reference books clutched in my hands. Tended by all, I worked cheerfully amid the bustle.

——And then came the atomic bomb’s sudden descent. I saw its flash from the radium room. In that instant, not only was my present blown away—my past lay obliterated and my future shattered. Before my eyes, my beloved university became a mass of flames engulfing my cherished students. The wife to whom I’d entrusted our children’s future after my death had to be gathered from our home’s ashes—light bones in a bucket. She had died in the kitchen. Myself—already bearing chronic radiation sickness—now suffered acute atomic bomb disease compounding it; coupled with right-side injuries, this left me immobilized far sooner than foreseen.

――By divine mercy, the two children I had sent to Granny’s mountain house three days earlier had survived without a scratch.

The many materials I had spent over a decade researching—countless X-ray experiment photos, notebooks, and charts that I had planned to compile into a paper once the war ended—had spewed from my laboratory window as livid flames for some time, but when I looked the next morning, they had already turned to ordinary ash.

That I had fallen into despair as though cast into hell was only natural. —But that despair did not last even half a day. It was because I was immediately able to embrace an entirely new hope. The new hope was... this entirely new disease that had appeared before our eyes—a disease that had never existed anywhere before, that scholars past and present had never witnessed, that we had been chosen as history’s foremost observers to document—radiation sickness! Let’s research this new disease! When I resolved this in my heart, the darkness that had been crushing my spirit was replaced by radiant hope and courage. My scientist’s soul surged. My blood-soaked, bandage-wrapped body regained its vitality. I literally stood up from where I had been sitting on a burnt stone.

The countless radiation sickness patients, the varied symptoms, the successive deaths—the anguish of racking my brains to somehow save them. I had never felt the worth of being a medical scientist more acutely than at that moment. Those two months when, with my injured body reliant on a cane, I crossed mountains and fields, forded rivers, and made my rounds visiting patients. That too ultimately had to be discontinued because I myself fell into critical condition due to radiation sickness.

What reached my sickbed during convalescence was the question of whether Atomic Field housing could be established? It was the anxiety-filled whispers of the people. From somewhere unknown came rumors that for seventy-five years—not only would people be unable to live there—but not even a blade of grass would grow. I continued thinking while lying down. That radioactive particles fallen from the bomb or radiation absorbed by ground atoms would linger so long seemed inconceivable. Such radiation should diminish rapidly over time. While theoretically plausible, this being an unprecedented event, I couldn’t state anything definitively without actual testing. I wanted to conduct measurements immediately. Though eager, every instrument had vanished—a disheartening reality. Even without equipment, I had to test what could be tested. I gathered glass fragments scattered at the hypocenter and examined them. Glass changes color when exposed to prolonged radiation. Several milk bottles I found had turned pale purple—more pronounced near ground zero. From this I inferred significant residual radiation at the hypocenter. I also observed small soil-dwelling creatures—earthworms and ants. Had heavy radiation contaminated the soil, such organisms would’ve perished entirely. Yet seven weeks post-blast, ant trails appeared at ground zero. Three months later came earthworms in abundance. Their survival suggested insufficient radiation remained to endanger human life.

In the Atomic Field, demobilized soldiers had begun slightly clearing the burnt ruins, building huts, and settling in. I visited those huts and examined their health conditions. For about two weeks after the explosion, it was indeed dangerous, but after that, there did not seem to be such severe effects. In this way, I did everything I could. However, what I was most grateful for was that scholars from other universities in the same field came prepared with instruments to conduct research. Thanks to Dr. Ishikawa and Professor Shinohara, accurate results were obtained. The two young children also endured the pain of frequent blood tests and provided us with precious data.—Thus, we were able to swiftly reach the conclusion that habitation in the Atomic Field posed no hindrance, and could call upon the citizens taking refuge in suburban villages to promptly return to the ruins and begin reconstruction.

In this way, the two immediate tasks were completed. My fever persisted, often exceeding 38 degrees Celsius, but I could at least walk with the aid of a cane. At that time, because I had been observing six months of mourning—refraining from cutting my hair, shaving my beard, or bathing—to grieve my students and wife who had perished in the flames of war, many acquaintances regarded me as an eccentric. My hut had been built for me on the ruins where I had gathered my wife’s bones. From there, the university ruins were visible nearby. I spent my days offering prayers each morning and evening toward that direction. Only occasionally would one see elderly people scouring for bones.

The university’s temporary campus was opened in Omura City. The two-hour train commute was grueling. During lectures, greasy sweat would break out, my breath would grow short, I couldn’t muster a vigorous voice, and I only ended up inconveniencing the students. During lectures, I had to sit down four or five times to catch my breath. It was a subdued lecture. The few surviving students—they showed raw scars somewhere on their bodies. The right half of my face as I spoke was also covered with scars. However, it was a truly heartfelt lecture. After many colleagues had perished at their lecterns and many students had met their end while taking notes, we alone continued further along the path of pursuing truth... When I thought of that, we could not help but feel a mission that must not be neglected between us.

When I returned to the medical office after finishing my lecture, the tension that had gripped my entire body drained away, and I would collapse onto the chair like a joruri puppet discarded backstage. While attending lectures and faculty meetings in this manner, I gradually lost physical strength and finally collapsed at Nagasaki Station at the end of July. In the evening, I finally reached my hut, but from then on became confined to bed. From then until today, the progression of my illness has steadily advanced. Now I had reached the point where I must ask others each time even to have someone fetch manuscript paper for me. As a result, I couldn't even examine patients, let alone muster the strength to peer through a microscope. However, fortunately, the very radiation sickness I wished to research resided within my own body. The daily progression, relationship between subjective symptoms and pathological changes, efficacy evaluation of treatments—all these I could calmly observe and contemplate at length, which proved most advantageous. Under the guidance of Professor Kageura from Internal Medicine, Dr.Asanaga oversaw my treatment, yet as a patient, I found it truly gratifying to engage in vigorous debates with my attending physician as a medical scientist. When Associate Professor Wakahara of Pathological Anatomy joined in, the discussions took on an even greater intensity. My blood specimens contained all types of normal and pathological blood cells, so they had become excellent teaching materials for students nowadays who lacked textbooks. Dr.Asanaga prepared many extra specimens during blood draws and gave them to our dear students. For me, bedridden and unable to attend lectures, this would have to serve as at least some form of apology to my students.

My skin bore the distinctive pallor characteristic of leukemia, unsettling to behold. My legs and arms wasted away to the point where bones hindered further thinning, leaving no concern for additional weight loss. When I had played basketball in my youth with a robust frame of 171 centimeters height and 71 kilograms weight, friends meeting me after long intervals would brim with tears at first sight.

My entire body had wasted away, while only my abdomen swelled to the point where the skin could stretch no further. It was nothing but a green frog with a bloated belly. A green frog suffering from abdominal distension. The circumference of my abdomen measured 91 cm at navel height—equivalent to that of a ten-month pregnancy. This was because my spleen had become monstrously enlarged. Though originally no larger than a palm, the spleen now occupied the entire left half of my abdomen with room to spare, extending past the navel into the right side. Were this spleen—stretched taut to bursting—to suffer even a slight external blow, it would instantly rupture, causing fatal internal hemorrhage. It was like carrying dynamite in my gut—I dared not lower my guard.

Children naturally yearn to cling to their parents. Returning from school, they likely want to cry “I’m home!” and throw themselves into my embrace. But were they to leap upon me, my spleen would undoubtedly rupture instantly. This was why Dr. Asanaga, their attending physician, had ordered them: “Do not approach your father!” The children observed this injunction faithfully—suppressing their desires to draw near, playfully pester, desperately clutch, or seek comfort—always speaking to me from a measured distance. I too wished to play with them as any ordinary father might—hoisting them up, flipping them over in mock pinning matches, tickling until they squealed with laughter. Yet children growing accustomed to such frolic might one day forget caution—perhaps bounding onto me with a thud during unguarded sleep, or tumbling across my sickbed in roughhousing. To forestall this, I deliberately chilled my heart—stacking books about my bed, arraying medicine bottles—constructing a barricade against affection’s reach.

The reason Kayano returned from playing, confirmed I was asleep, sneaked close, and sought Papa’s scent lay in these circumstances. I too... savored my child’s scent for the first time in so long. When I thought of leukemia, I imagined pure white blood flowing coldly through my veins, but now something warm began coursing through my vessels for the first time in so long. I wanted to tightly embrace this child. Like a parent dog playing with its puppy—biting anywhere without care, licking, slapping each other, shaking, colliding body against body with abandon—I wanted to lose track of time. If I did, this child would be breathless with joy, laughter piling up until they writhed in delight. If my spleen splits, then let it split. If this child could find joy in receiving a father’s love from me even for just a brief moment... But for me, that was not permitted. I must live even one month, one day, one hour longer and delay the time when this child becomes an orphan. I must have my death delayed even a minute, even a second longer, and shorten this child's time of loneliness.

Suppressing the love that sometimes gushed up inside my chest like volcanic smoke from Sakurajima, I had to keep my children at an especially cold distance. The more I forcefully suppressed it, the more violently it seethed and surged—this parental affection resembling steam from a bedside brazier’s boiling kettle. If only there had been another parent—a mother—this child might have relinquished clinging to their father and instead turned to her. But that mother was gone, with no keepsakes retaining her scent, not even a single photograph left unburned to remember her face by.

When I pretended to be asleep again, Kayano calmly pressed her cheek against mine. My cheek gradually grew warm.

As if stealthily savoring some small treasure she didn’t want others to know about, Kayano whispered, “Papa,” she said.

It was not calling out to me; rather, it was the faint escape of emotions that had been pent up within this child’s small chest.

Divine providence

The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. May the Lord’s name be praised forever!

Originally, I was created from nothing by God's love. The moment I was conceived in my mother’s womb marked my creation. From that time until today, everything I have obtained has been bestowed by God. Health, talent, status, wealth, family—none of these were originally mine to possess. Therefore, no matter when or where He takes these things away, I neither lose nor gain anything. There is no cause for grief or lamentation. It is only natural to entrust all to Divine Providence. And Divine Providence must ever be thanked and praised. For God created a single beloved human being—and that being was I. God desired to love me and thus deigned to create me; God creates nothing with malice. God perpetually loves me and ceaselessly wills my happiness. Just as what was given flows from Divine will through love, so too does what is taken away. Everything occurring around me manifests Divine Providence through love. Therefore, no matter what trials I face, I cannot but praise the Divine Name.

When the atomic bomb exploded, eight thousand of Urakami’s ten thousand Catholic believers perished. Here stood two girls’ schools: Junshin and Jōsei. Both were operated by women’s religious orders, with nuns comprising nearly all staff from the principal down. The students of Junshin had been mobilized to factories; singing hymns amidst burning flames, they perished one after another, turning to ashes. It was precisely like the burnt offerings of antiquity—unblemished lambs offered and consumed upon God’s altar to appease His divine will. Ah, the great burnt offering set ablaze upon Nagasaki Urakami’s sacred ground on World War II’s final day!

Singing within the flames of the burnt offering, The white lily maidens were perhaps consumed in flames.

Jōsei Girls’ School met the same end. Here, twenty-seven nun-teachers were called to heaven. That night, I sent Mr. Kozasa and the others from the classroom to tend to patients, but according to their account, Latin hymns sung in chorus by several people could be heard continuing and ceasing intermittently by the riverside two hundred meters east of the girls’ school at midnight. When morning broke, the nuns were found huddled together, cold...... Had they been the ones singing last night’s hymns? Or could it not have been a host of angels descended to welcome souls who were singing? ......I cannot help but think so—pure faces of death were lined up there.

We survivors who witnessed this came to believe the atomic bomb was by no means divine punishment, but rather a manifestation of divine providence with some profound design.

On that same day, I too became a destitute and broken man, left standing in the scorched ruins with two young children in my arms—but though I knew not what it was, I believed without doubt that this was a manifestation of the providence of love.

Three years have passed since then, bringing us to today, and my faith from that time has increasingly proven correct.

Through the atomic bomb, the hindrance that had been obstructing my rightful path was removed, and I have come to be able to taste true happiness.

"The 'Death' that will soon visit me too shall be the greatest gift of love from God—He who abounds in infinite love—bestowed upon me." Therefore, both the mental anguish and physical suffering I must endure before death—as necessities for God’s glory to be revealed—I resolve to accept with gladness. Death is the soul leaving the physical body. It is like a cicada leaving its molted shell on the ground and soaring into the bright sky. The larvae dwelling in the earth, unaware of the sunlit world above, likely grieve, lament, and fear upon seeing the empty shell—but the cicada that has flown skyward sings resoundingly.…

Inheritance

At the time my wife passed away, many friends—unable to bear watching me persist in my strained existence—urged me to take a new wife, and several concrete marriage proposals were brought before me. Though I was a patient then, I still maintained the capacity to deliver lectures and conduct medical examinations—thus still possessing the standing required for remarriage consideration. Moreover in practical terms, having been abruptly widowed with two young children while maintaining a busy public position amidst postwar Japan’s dire social conditions presented extraordinary difficulties. From the perspective of day-to-day existence, taking a second wife indeed appeared necessary.

Throughout Urakami, every makeshift hut housed widows and orphans. They received God’s blessing, each found good matches, and built new households. Upon remarrying, their expressions immediately brightened; men and women each finding their place, their lives became more disciplined, and their power for reconstruction markedly increased. Observing from the sidelines, I came to clearly understand that. There were times when I couldn’t help but think—if a good person could be found, perhaps I should have them come. In daily life, I was often utterly at a loss—not merely to the extent of being troubled or inconvenienced. Each time notices came around for rations, submitting reports, communal work, and such, I was anguished having to ask the neighborhood women to handle them on my behalf. Compared to the neatly dressed children of remarried neighbors, whenever I saw the grubby state of my own children’s single summer garment worn day after day, I would sometimes fall into deep thought—perhaps welcoming a new mother to care for them would be better after all. Even when sardine rations came, they would inevitably end up as soup with wild greens plucked from nearby, and I could only think how delighted they would be if I cooked them into vinegared dishes, dressed salads, tempura, and such to feed them. If I prepared the potatoes a bit—shaped them into little bundles with a cloth twist—they’d make such nice snacks—but again, this was just another thought I could never act on. When I saw Kayano playing alone—cradling or piggybacking a sake bottle she found in the ruins, wrapped with scraps of cloth, calling it "Sasano"—I thought: if only there were a woman’s touch in this hut, they would make her a proper doll…… If only her sister Sasano were alive, Kayano wouldn’t feel so lonely—and yet even I could only bite my lip as I recalled days gone by. When evening came, fires would flicker here and there in the huts, women’s cheerful voices mingling with children’s buoyant laughter as the clamor of conversation filled the air. There was an air as though the valley of tears were on the verge of becoming a hill of hope. Only my hut would extinguish its fire immediately after supper; young children pressed close against my sickly sides would chillingly close their eyes, wishing for night to break into day. Though they never spoke it aloud, these children must have constantly thought: If only Mother were here…

But when actual marriage proposals were brought to me, I would immediately feel revolted and found myself utterly unable to lend them an ear. It resembled how during a fever one might crave fruit—yet when it’s actually placed before them, their appetite suddenly vanishes, and they push it away in disgust. “Remarriage is permissible,” Paul taught. “If one can remain unmarried, that is better still—but if abstaining would lead to hardship, then marry.” Those joined as husband and wife in this world do not reunite as such in the next. The marital bond is severed by one’s death. Consider a woman who buried seven husbands in succession before dying herself—when resurrected, whose wife would she become? To this challenge from the Sadducees, Jesus responded: “The children of this age marry and are given in marriage, but those deemed worthy of the age to come neither marry nor are given in marriage.”

“You should remarry for the children’s upbringing”—this was the counsel of many friends. If she were a kind-hearted woman, even as a stepmother, she would bestow the same affection as a true mother. Even if my illness was of a hopeless nature, since I should still be all right for at least three more years, if I solidified a new household now and trained the stepmother and children to get along well, then even if I were no longer here, might they not continue living affectionately and harmoniously together for a long time to come? In society, there were also many examples where things had worked out successfully in that manner.

Having considered various aspects—both for the children’s sake and my own—remarrying appeared the wiser course. Taking a wife promised convenient results in all matters. Yet regarding the fact that this wife would simultaneously become the children’s mother—this point troubled my heart. Setting aside the children’s immediate convenience, when contemplating the distant future, I found myself utterly unable to welcome a new mother for them—the reason being—

I do not possess a single inheritance to leave these two children. I have no assets; the house and land where I now live are borrowed from an old woman. Furniture and clothing were all burned. I have exhausted what little savings remained. After my death, what the two orphans will have—are memories. Only memories. Father’s memories and Mother’s memories. I want to leave them beautiful memories. I want to leave them unsullied memories. I want to leave them noble memories. One father and one mother—these pure parental memories….

Parents.

If this child were to become an orphan, into whose care would they be taken in and raised? —

Given how young these children are, it is certain they cannot survive without relying on the care of others. Even now, many friends have offered to look after them, and my uncles have promised that they’ll take them in—so everything will be all right. However, current property remains unreliable—who knows what will become of it next year—and even kind people might suddenly pass away tomorrow; the truth is, there is virtually nothing one can depend on with peace of mind. This fact—that I, having lost both my wife and property in an instant—know all too well.

But still, somehow... they would end up being taken in and raised by someone, somewhere. They might possibly be placed in an orphanage. Orphanage... Ah, a chill ran through me. If this child were put into such a place...

The escape rate of children in orphanages nationwide was said to exceed half. Over half of the children would escape only to be caught, be placed back inside only to flee again. The term “vagrant child hunts” had been used on radio and in newspapers. To hunt was a term used for wild beasts. Will there come a day when my Seiichi and Kayano are treated like wild beasts? Ah! And would they be kept naked to prevent escape? Would they be put into a room fitted with iron bars? Ah, the coldness of this word "confinement"!

If on that day, not only my wife but I too had perished in the atomic fire, then by now Seiichi and Kayano would likely have been confined in that orphanage. And the two of them would have escaped time and again only to be hunted like wild beasts. Just the thought of it makes my whole body tremble.

Compared to this hut in the atomic wasteland, orphanages had better facilities, were fully staffed, and offered superior salaries. The bedrooms contained rows of beds, with study rooms, recreation rooms, an auditorium, a kitchen, a dining hall, a bathhouse, modern flush toilets, a solarium, and even an infirmary. Compared to our hut’s single six-tatami room that served all these purposes, it seemed practically a palace. The clothes were pure cotton and wool provided by LARA, tailored with modern styling so sharp it verged on impertinence. As for food—beyond rations—there were tinned meats and jams from LARA, with snacks like chocolate appearing at teatime. (LALA = Asia Relief League)

Despite all this, orphans flee—why? And why is it that the smart ones, the capable ones, are the ones who bolt?

According to the orphans, they sneered—"Those who stay in the orphanages are cowards, good-for-nothings, dimwits!"

In the orphanage, discipline was strict and overbearing—but if they bolted to the streets, could they do as they pleased? Was that why? Even among street orphans, there were codes they abided by—they themselves knew all too well they couldn’t act completely freely. Then again—was it because while confined in the institution they couldn’t save a single sen, but out on the streets, through shoe-shining or cigarette-rolling, the more they worked, the more money flowed in effortlessly? —That was part of it. Yet under current black market rates—even if they earned money, they were pressured by living costs, had their earnings skimmed by bosses, and bought food to share with friends who had no work—they themselves knew full well through experience that money wouldn’t accumulate in their pockets. If that were the case, did they have an innate wanderlust? —That was not the case. Until the moment the bomb fell, they had each been nurtured by their parents’ warm affection—children from good families once called “young master” and “young lady.” They were dutiful, obedient children.

The facilities are good, the salaries are good, the children aren’t bad—then does that mean the staff are at fault? —

There cannot be villains among those who willingly volunteer to care for orphans. Unless one is a person of considerable love, they cannot bring themselves to wholeheartedly raise children of unknown origin. Orphans brought to the orphanage from stations or markets reeked of garbage bins. Clothes stiffened with grime, dirt, sweat, and rain; lice squirmed and fleas jumped; on skin exposed through torn fabric, blood oozed from scratch marks clawed raw—and scabies covered their bodies. To suddenly show affection to such a filthy lump of flesh required considerable courage. No—courage alone wasn’t enough. It had to be a love that embraced them simply because they were dear. The staff did possess this great love. They cut their hair, bathed them, applied medicine, dressed them in new clothes, gave them warm drinks, served them delicious meals, placed them in clean rooms—then stayed by their side day and night, racking their brains over how to make them happy and raise them into capable adults.

When I consider it this way, there appear to be neither wicked people nor wicked places. Then why do good orphans keep running away?

As one of the causes, I would posit that the staff are too virtuous—that they lavish excessive affection upon them.

The staff thought. What was it that orphans desired most strongly? What could they have been hungering for most? What was it that they always held close to their hearts? What did we first need to give these orphans? What attitude should we adopt toward them? How should we structure this institution? What they always held in their hearts must be their parents' faces. What they hungered for most must be parental love. What they desired above all must surely be a father and mother. Thus it became clear: what we must give them is love directed toward parents. We ought to interact with them as fathers and mothers. In other words, we should run this institution as one large family. The director would become Father. The director's wife would become Mother. Staff members would assume roles as uncles, aunts, older brothers, and older sisters according to their ages. Through this arrangement, all these numerous orphans would become true siblings. They decided on this. They made them address everyone accordingly. They enforced it. As they kept this up, the children would grow accustomed to it and come to believe it. That way, everything would work out…

It was common for staff to think this way.

……I see. That orphans hunger for parental love is an undeniable fact. That is probably a stronger instinct than hunger. If only Papa were alive……if only Mama had survived……those children were always thinking. They needed nothing else. However poor they might be; even if gravely injured and immobilized—there wasn’t a day they didn’t think: If only Papa were here… If only Mama were with us… To want to fulfill what they yearned for—to first consider this—was only natural human sentiment. There was nothing forced up to that point. There was no pretense.

However, when they took one step beyond that—when the staff became fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters—pretense emerged. It was forced. This pretense constituted the truly significant problem. It remained perfectly clear that once-dead parents could not be brought back to this world. By the same token, it proved impossible to bestow love essentially identical to a father’s or mother’s love anew. It was absolutely impossible.—The fatherly love I poured into Kayano existed solely between her and me—unique and absolute. This was by no means universal or general love. The maternal love my wife had poured into Seiichi—a bond God ordained exclusively between this child’s mother and their mother-child pair—could never be replaced by anyone else. Parent-child affection remained entirely personal—neither a social collective nor love possessing universal validity. The love I poured into Seiichi differed from what I gave Kayano; the love Seiichi held toward me as his father diverged from what he directed toward his mother.

When I was a university student and lost my mother, I came to know for the first time the unique depth that existed between her and me. The mere fact of having been carried within that womb alone proves an unshakable, non-transferable bond—a single, unbroken connection. All the more so for me—having grown through her blood, been birthed through a labor that threatened her very life, fattened on the fluid that seeped from the swell of her physical breast, and been raised large through her meticulous care. The love exchanged between this self of mine and this mother could never be universally applicable—no substitute love could ever suffice.

When I returned from the Guangxi front, my father had already passed away. Standing before the new grave, I felt with visceral intensity that a love beyond recovery had once existed between my father and me. The villagers nearby remarked that Young Teacher resembled Old Teacher perfectly—that if one only heard his voice, one might think Old Teacher had returned from the dead. The mere recognition that my father’s constitution and temperament had been inherited in me so completely forced me to acknowledge that the bond between us two was one no human power could ever shift even an inch.

I had already sent two children—Ikuko and Sasano—to heaven. The innocence of those bygone days still has not faded from my eyes. That child sent off buried in white lilies…… When that child contracted that fatal illness—though I remained calm enough to examine and treat other children with the same disease as a physician—the sight of my own child’s flaring nostrils as they gasped left me unable to grasp stethoscope or syringe; nothing but single-minded emotion remained, panic helplessly churning within me.

As I watched Seiichi and Kayano’s behavior after their mother’s passing, I realized my children’s longing for her ran several layers deeper than my own remembrance of my wife. After all, blood ties surpass all in their strength. Husbands and wives lack blood bonds—thus their love cannot equal that between parent and child. I too must soon leave these children behind. When I think of that, it feels as though my heart is being wrung apart. Having lost my parents, lost a child, and now facing the prospect of leaving two young orphans adrift in this transient world, I have come to understand—from every angle—the essential nature of love between father and child, mother and child. It is the force that draws shared blood together and repels foreign blood. It is blood’s instinct, impervious to any external influence. It stands utterly fixed and fiercely exclusive.

I must deeply discern the essence of "father."

I must correctly discern the essence of "Mother." "Father" is a dignified, singular authority whose position cannot be relinquished to any other person. This authority was given to that man by God.

“Mother” is an absolute and singular love that no one else can substitute. This love was given to that woman by God. The orphanage staff must first acknowledge this parents’ divinely bestowed authority and love. How can those who lack this divinely bestowed authority and love—moreover without any delegation from their parents—presume to become fathers and mothers themselves? Is this not falsehood itself? Is it not nothing but an impossibility? If I may speak more bluntly, there seems to be a voice murmuring “It is disrespectful” from beneath the blades of grass.

In many orphanages today, the staff recklessly convinced themselves they could artificially manufacture this divinely bestowed parental love—presumptuously appointing themselves as fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters; coercing orphans to call them “Father” and “Mother”; scheming through every contrivance to usurp the “position of parents.”

They who have never endured childbirth pains—what right have they to be called ‘Mother’! Leaving sick children entirely in nurses’ hands while sleeping soundly in the director’s office at night—what right have they to be called ‘Father’! This violates the sacred “parents.” This defiles the absolute “father’s love” and “mother’s love.” And ultimately, they demonstrate a model of falsehood to the children.

A true father and a substitute father are different. No matter how frantically the director might struggle, no matter how much knowledge he possessed, no matter how deep his affection ran, he could never become the orphans' true father—nor would he ever. The love of a biological mother who endured childbirth differs from mere maternal affection. Rather than some orphanage's "so-called mother" offering me chocolate for a snack, what brought joy was the memory of my own mother long ago—who would say "There's nothing today, dear" while holding me close and pressing her cheek to mine.

Because the staff employed contrivances, the orphans imitated and employed contrivances in turn. The orphans quickly figured out that if they pretended to act spoiled, they could get people to dote on them. If they got doted on and managed to obtain even one more biscuit, it was a triumph. Because they were told to call them “Father,” they uttered “Father” with their lips alone. The wretchedness of adults who thought this was working well. Even if they called him “Father” with their mouths, did they truly cling to him as a father from the depths of their hearts! Because they were told to call them “Mother,” they merely did so as instructed. Within their small chests, even during those brief moments when they called her that, the visage of their deceased mother continued to smile, undimmed. Rather, they felt sickened at being forced to casually use the singular jewel-like title of “Mother” on complete strangers. “And if he’s my father, then he shouldn’t be his father—so for this orphanage’s hundred or so children to have a ‘shared father,’ isn’t this just absurd?” “Father,” “Daddy,” “Papa,” “Dad,” “Dada”—these appellations! “Mother,” “Mommy,” “Mama,” “Ma,” “Momma” These appellations!

Though the terms may vary across regions and households, these two words—"Father" and "Mother"—are the most precious treasures for orphans. This treasure is something they do not want taken by anyone else. Children possess an inherent bond with their parents. This bond must not be defiled by anyone else.

The staff who usurp that treasure. The staff who mercilessly trample that bond.

Wouldn't a pure-hearted child weep? If a child is truly filial, wouldn't they feel sickened?

And to protect this treasure and safeguard their bond, shouldn’t they resolve to flee the orphanage? Good children flee. The responsible ones flee. That’s only natural.

Moreover, the staff harbored no malice from the outset. They were acting solely out of a desire for the orphans' happiness. Even after striving this much—since orphans still fled—they concluded it must be because their approach to becoming 'fathers' and 'mothers' remained inadequate; thus they redoubled their efforts to perform their 'Father' and 'Mother' roles with even greater intensity.—

Should this be called a tragedy wrought by well-meaning people?

This was not a matter limited solely to orphanages. After I die, Seiichi and Kayano will likely be taken in by someone. This may be somewhat discourteous, but I will firmly state it here.

"I shall permit no one—no matter who—to stand before these children proclaiming themselves 'Father' or 'Mother'!"

Orphan

Back when I still attended lectures—about two years ago now—I often heard voices like these at train stations and markets:— “Hey, keep an eye on your belongings. Look! The orphans are coming—eyes darting and gleaming!”

Again—

“Oh, look at that child.” “Oh, that must be an orphan.” “Oh, poor dear.” “Now, Ichirou, take these fifty sen and give them to that child…” “Oh, and—” “Now then, make sure you don’t touch their hands or clothes—keep your distance when you give it to them.” “Because they’ll spread lice—”

Again—

“Tch—my lunch’s gone rotten after I went through the trouble of waking up early to make it.” “In summer things spoil quick-like, they do.—What a waste to throw it out.—Oh! Just the thing.” “There’s an orphan over yonder.” “Hey—you there! Kid!” “Hey!” “You—the rag-wearin’ one.” “Yeah—c’mere.” “Uncle’ll treat you to somethin’ good…”

Again—

“Hey, you—come here for a sec.” “Where were you born?” “…Hmm.” “Don’t you have parents?” “…Hmm.” “When did your old man die?” “…Hmm.” “Was it from the bomb?” “Was there anything left—his head, legs, anything?” “…Hmm.” “Was your mother killed along with him?” “What—later?” “Oh—so they were burned to death, huh?” “—I see.” “Were their bones found?” “…Hmm.” “So what did you do with those bones?” “Did you bury them?” “By yourself? —…Hmm.” “Well now, it’s something how you’re the only one who survived.—Oh.”

“Departure time.” “Come on, let’s get up.” “Nah, that was a fine way to kill time.”

Again—

“Hey! Got you now.” “You’re not getting away this time!” “Nothing but a burden-making brat.” “—What?” “Hurt?” “Hurt—so what?” “Course it hurts.” “Think I’ll swallow that sweet talk?” “Let go that hand—you’d bolt.” “Struggle and I’ll truss you up.—Why’d you flee the shelter?” “After all I drilled into you… why?” “Wanted to see your sister?” “……Your sister?” “Hmm.” “That kid?” “She’s properly housed at the girls’ shelter.” “Nothing for you to fret over.” “Sister this, sister that—not your only aim.” “Boys mustn’t go to girls’ shelters.” “Tch—brat like you getting ideas already…”

Again—

“Your kindness is all well and good, but going too far will cause real trouble later.” “Well now, when you’re on a pilgrimage trip, it’s all well and good to give homeless children leftover lunches or ten yen.” “But did you really need to go so far as handing over your business card and telling them to come visit anytime they’re in trouble?” “If they actually come to visit you, what will you do?” “To your shopfront bustling with customers… if that ragged child were to show up…” “Not even knowing where the child is from…”

Alas!

After I am gone, will Seiichi and Kayano have such words hurled at them?

——

A smile.

In the eastern edge of Nagasaki City stands a Catholic monastery. A Franciscan Order bearing the name “Knights of the Holy Mother,” founded by Poles. Poles—they are now a nation of orphans. However，these monks always wear smiles that transcend tears. This serene smile is precisely the one I wish to see upon the faces of orphans. If I decipher the enigma of this smile，I obtain the key to solving the orphan problem. ……I thought so.

A band of monks who walked the very path trodden by Saint Francis of Assisi—faithfully upholding vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience; devoting themselves to acts of sacrifice and love; leading lives of prayer and labor—a silent band. A pure band—separated from the world by a thin plank fence, knowing nothing of society, unknown to society, single-mindedly practicing God’s teachings. A band who had dedicated all to the Holy Mother Mary—who lived for Mary, lived with Mary, lived by Mary, and lived within Mary. People who gave thanks to God when rain fell, gave thanks to God when the sky cleared, gave thanks to God when the wind blew, and gave thanks to God when the water for washing their faces froze. Poets who praised God when in good health, praised God when a toothache throbbed, and praised God when injured. When they received a feast, they rejoiced; when they went hungry, they rejoiced; when their pumpkins were stolen, they rejoiced. When children playfully clung to them, they smiled; when youths threw stones at them, they smiled; when elders shouted at them, they smiled.

This monastery was among the first to begin caring for orphans. Moreover, they began this work without any preparation, budget, or equipment. The reason was that toward the end of the war, the military had confiscated this monastery’s building, and the monks had been confined to Mount Aso; thus, even though after Japan’s defeat they were returned their building and the monks came back down from the mountain, having endured terrible ordeals, the monastery itself had not been able to establish a proper operational framework. Amidst this chaos, a mountain ascetic arrived bringing two orphans. They were children of a fishmonger who had been living in an air-raid shelter in the Atomic Bomb Field. Next came a police officer bringing some. The monastery surged with joy as if welcoming honored guests. It had become common knowledge among both citizens and the police that this monastery was a gathering of apostles of love. The monks learned that there were many such children in the world, and before long they began going out to search for them themselves. And they brought them back as soon as they found them.

Given that this was a monastery upholding poverty as its guiding principle, there could be no surplus—whether in rooms or food—and there existed no budget whatsoever. Yet the monks took in orphans without any plan. The monks opened up rooms and relocated to corners of storage areas. They fasted and allocated leftover bread as food for the orphans. They entrusted their accounting to the Holy Mother Mary.

At that time, I secluded myself in the monastery to ascertain my own way of being in the postwar world. I had lost everything to the atomic bomb, but in Jesus Christ’s—

"Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will not pass away."

I had come here having found light in those words and seeking to hear their eternal truth. Tagawa and Fukahori, who shared my circumstances, had also secluded themselves there. The three of us would often gather in a single room and vigorously deliberate our plans. As a result, my spiritual life had gradually been refined.

The Polish monks, being somewhat unfamiliar with Japanese circumstances, often sought opinions from us three who had come there regarding orphanage management. We studied extensively and tried implementing our plans. And we committed many failures. But this was work that had to be done; though difficult indeed, we began sensing we might discover an ideal management method. We later learned that America already had the very plan we had developed. It was Father Flanagan’s “Boys Town.” Fukahori ultimately yielded to his growing attachment to the orphans and became orphanage director. I served as hygiene advisor while Mr.Tagawa worked as educational advisor; together we labored.

What we gained during that time became a precious experience. We learned that the orphan problem was not as simple as common sense would suggest.

Truth

What is to be done with the war orphans? ――This problem's emergency solution appeared temporarily settled. As public orphanages had been established in each prefecture and private ones had gradually equipped their facilities, the orphans wandering the streets were largely taken in. Those now wandering the streets are orphans who ran away from the institutions on their own―to borrow the officials' phrasing, it is not the government's responsibility―.

Speaking of government work—what was the original purpose behind creating these institutions? ――How many were built purely standing on the orphans’ side and considering only their true happiness as the purpose? From what I’d heard in passing, there seemed to be institutions built for public security under the rationale that orphans were seedlings of social evil—that if they weren’t quickly gathered into one place, they risked leaving behind future troubles. There were those who, presuming the orphans must have become delinquents, from the very beginning appointed personnel from reformatory staff backgrounds as institution workers—and there seemed to be facilities where iron bars had been fitted over the windows. Moreover, among those volunteering to become staff through personal connections, there were those recognized as defeated in modern society’s fierce struggle for survival—retired elderly teachers, the sickly, those lacking life skills—who appeared to be parasitizing orphans to escape the hardships of unemployment. Alternatively, it appeared there were indeed entrepreneurs who, seeing how “Boys Town” had gained popularity in those times, had begun such ventures to make a name for themselves.

Proof that such rumors were not entirely groundless began emerging one after another. I have no desire to list each and every one of them here. Let it suffice to know this one fact: a child who fled an island institution drowned while attempting to swim across the sea.

What could have driven them to flee even at the risk of their lives? Let us become that orphan who stood on the shore resolved in their childish heart—"I’d rather die trying to cross this sea than endure such treatment in the institution"—and think.

There are no evil children... I ask that you first acknowledge the truth of Father Flanagan’s words. Staff members with some experience might object—no, actually, these days orphans have become quite jaded, so if you’re not careful, adults will be deceived and suffer for it. However, this is because adults are at fault—they’re the ones who corrupted these innocent orphans. Because they deceived the orphans, the orphans learned to imitate them and deceive people in turn.

"I want to gaze upon the moon from exile though innocent!" Though this lament came from a contented poet of olden days, many modern idlers had professed sympathy with his sentiment. But had these armchair aesthetes truly endured such banishment themselves—would they have composed such carefree verses? The orphans were indeed gazing upon exile’s moon without guilt or crime. What responsibility did these children bear for our war? What debt did they owe for our defeat? What accountability for inflation’s scourge? They were blameless—utterly blameless! Yet upon them fell war’s cruelest sacrifices. Upon them gathered defeat’s bitter dregs. Upon them first loomed inflation’s devouring shadow— Because they were weak; because they lacked cunning; because they stood alone...

Many in Japan claim to abhor killing and spare even mice—but were there truly more who showed concern for children wandering death's threshold? Many who profess to dote on animals keep two cats—but did those people ever consider homeless human children before their pets? Children treated more casually than mice, loved less than cats? —All for lacking parents…

And if they wandered the streets with no home to return to, they were disliked as eyesores and given cold stares as nuisances; if they tried to work, they were chased off as black-market operators; in the end, they were hunted down alongside gangs of delinquents, captured, interrogated, and forcibly confined to institutions. ――Under these circumstances, no matter how obedient the boys or how innocent the girls, how could they possibly avoid becoming corrupted?

Now, people in society convinced themselves that the orphan problem had been solved as long as orphans were either placed in institutions or taken in by relatives—in any case, as long as they disappeared from the streets. They thought in the simplest terms: if you gave orphans a house to live in, clothed them in garments, and provided just enough food to stave off hunger, then that alone should suffice—they must have become happy now, they’d surely feel grateful, work hard, and grow into admirable people. Those who had visited the institutions once or twice had this impression further reinforced and left reassured.

When you visited the institutions, the orphans were truly cheerful. Bright windows greeted visitors—meticulously cleaned hallways, orderly rooms, and numerous donated items: books, toys, framed pictures, vases. They wore neat clothing, their faces rosy-cheeked as they gave efficient responses. Somewhere an adorable chorus accompanied by an organ could be heard. The rhythmic clang of hammers suggested crafting activities. In the kitchen, rows of LARA cans lined the shelves while the rich aroma of simmering meat soup filled the air. After baseball games ended, high-pitched boisterous voices echoed from children showering in bathhouses... The children sang. The children laughed. They looked completely happy.—

However，there was one thing that became apparent when observing orphans over an extended period．That was—orphans did not cry openly．Orphans did not cry．They rarely cried．When they cried，they did so in shadows—sniveling quietly．They cried listlessly．They stifled their voices and sobbed convulsively．They cried poignantly，painfully，regretfully—as if their chests were being wrung—mindful of their surroundings，appealing to someone far beyond reach．

Did they ever cry like that when they had homes and their mothers were by their side? ――No. In their days of happiness, they would cry with single-minded intensity where they could be seen by others, holding nothing back. They would weep unrestrainedly—mouths gaping wide with innocent abandon, voices raised to their limits, feet stamping the ground. Sometimes they’d quiet their sobs, listening intently for someone who might come to comfort them—their mother would have been best—and when no one seemed likely to appear, they’d redouble their efforts as if to amplify the effect, wailing until their voices gave out completely.

Children did not cry because they were frightened, in pain, sad, or angry. Even when such motives sparked their tears, once crying began they became unconscious of reasons—they cried simply to cry. Through the act itself, they likely gained a kind of satisfaction. At that age of rapid physical and mental growth—when metabolism ran vigorous—something vague and unsettled would accumulate in both body and mind. By crying unreservedly, it would disperse in an instant. Like oppressive humidity swept clean by an evening downpour’s commotion. Children cried not from weakness—it was one healthy physiological necessity. Moreover, they held the expectation that crying would bring gentle comfort afterward from their dear mother.—

Yet orphans had no mother to later gently wipe their tears, wash the dirt from their palms, whisper warm words in their ears, or press a piece of candy into their hand—because if they cried, they would be laughed at by older peers, yelled at by teachers, and lectured by “so-called fathers,” so they endured by clenching their back teeth against the urge to weep. When orphans were finally driven to cry, this was no longer the innocent, exuberant physiological crying of a child. It became a despairing cry like being dragged into a dark, bottomless swamp.

Those who had no one they could trust from the depths of their heart cried in this way—the weeping of souls walled in by falsehoods, the voice of someone trapped on a small boat sealed within icebergs! If they had possessed someone to whom they could bare their entire heart, why would they ever have chosen to weep in such a wretched manner? Was there even a single truthful person among the adults standing around them? “Papa”… amounted to nothing more than a label for the Director with his habit of peering over glasses. “Mama”… merely designated the lady with the honeyed voice. They made me call them “Papa” though they weren’t my father; they relentlessly drilled into me to say “Mama” when she wasn’t my mother. Wasn’t this, first and foremost, falsehood itself? Could someone who told one lie declare all else they uttered to be truth? Yet having done so, they persistently lectured me: “Don’t lie. Don’t deceive.”

Why can't they just remain as the Director? If they're the director's wife, isn't it perfectly acceptable for them to stay as the director's wife? Is showing affection impossible if they remain the Director? Is offering comfort unthinkable if they stay as the director's wife? ――Stop the performance!

Truth!

This is precisely what orphans seek. This is precisely what must first and foremost be given to orphans.

Houses, kimonos, white rice, chocolate—all are secondary.

They felt no attachment to comfortable homes, pure woolen suits, or rice curry—orphans fled institutions because they found no “truth” there. Orphans often used the term “Blue Sky Heaven.” Under the blue sky, two or three like-minded orphans conducting an innocent and exuberant communal life—this would truly have been like heaven. There was no falsehood there. There lay exposed “truth.” Only orphans could know the hearts of orphans. Only by living amidst the same loneliness, the same frustration, the same suffering, and the same sorrow could they come to share in the same happiness. A life of truth where they laughed together, cried together, feared together, and worked together must have held boundless allure for orphans living the superficially pleasant life of institutions. That was precisely why there had been even a child who dared flee to their death from the island institution. The child, exhausting their strength upon the waves, must have gazed up at the blue sky as they sank beneath the water.

Let orphans live in "truth." Even if it be painful, lonely, or sorrowful, let them live in truth without disguising their pain, their loneliness, or their sorrow.

Orphans are ultimately true orphans. To live as orphans is indeed the true path.

Holding the beautiful memories of their parents in their hearts, walking this true path was the happiness of orphans. The happiness of orphans was found in places different from the happiness of children with parents. To discover it and guide them to the path of obtaining it became the duty of those who cared for orphans.

To make orphans imitate children with parents and forcibly impose false happiness upon them was reckless, unkind, and ultimately cruel. No matter how many actors they gathered to stage performances, no matter how much they deceived or covered things up, the happiness of living at their parents' knees would never return to the hands of orphans. The blue bird had flown away. The blue bird could not be found even in our own home. Would it be in the gardens of heaven that Seiichi and Kayano—not Tyltyl and Mytyl—found the blue bird once more?

Orphans had resigned themselves to this blue bird in this world. Just when they had resigned themselves, meddlesome adults would paint a white bird's feathers blue, handing it over while saying “Here’s your blue bird”—and that was how conflict arose. Orphans would be satisfied if given that true white bird. If it was a white bird, one should give it as a white bird.

The director should give love as a director, the director’s wife should give love befitting a wife, the teacher should give love as a teacher, the cook should give love as a cook, the uncle should give love appropriate for an uncle, the aunt should give love unique to an aunt—in other words, let them give orphans true love from their true positions. If they would pour it forth unreservedly, unhesitatingly, without mending or adornment—that would suffice. If each person would love the orphans "as themselves," that would be best. No contrivance, artifice, or pretense is needed. Simply do for the orphans as they would have others do for them.

The First Commandment

I knew there were many institution staff members who loved orphans “as themselves.” Yet I also knew the institutions’ results never improved. Why did it never go well?

—— Everyone knew that Father Flanagan’s "Boys Town" was succeeding. Why was it succeeding? ——

Regarding the greatest commandment that people should keep, Jesus said: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. The second is likewise similar to this. “And thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” said Jesus. This First Commandment is precisely what I must constantly put into practice. Without keeping the First Commandment, one cannot properly carry out the Second Commandment. If one faithfully upholds the First Commandment, the Second Commandment will naturally compel one to act upon it.

However, many social workers believed they could love their neighbors without loving the Lord God. There were those who had not only failed to love the Lord God but had even forgotten Him—or who went so far as to actively deny His existence—yet undertook enterprises founded on human love. They were convinced that even without God’s grace, they could successfully carry out works of love through human power alone. They had expelled God from the fountain of boundless love, seated themselves in His place, and deluded themselves into believing they could pour forth love without reserve. Even those who did not go so far as to outright deny God—there were many who thought that caring for orphans was something they could manage through their own power without seeking divine assistance. Such people’s such endeavors were doomed to fail.

Why does it not work? —This cannot be explained scientifically. That is because it pertains to supernatural grace.

Yet this was indeed how it stood. Institutions without religion, institutions run by atheists, had ultimately failed. Father Flanagan’s Boys Town. There, this greatest and first commandment and the second commandment were faithfully observed. Loving the Lord God and ascribing all glory and praise to Him, they managed that town. Father Flanagan’s divine calling had been to love God in heaven and labor for His glory. To fulfill this divine calling, the care of orphans happened to be what he took up. Caring for orphans had been, for him, a form of prayer. It was not out of love for orphans that they loved God, but out of love for God that they loved orphans. In that town, it was not a man named Flanagan who was caring for the orphans. It was a heart that loved and praised God that cared for the orphans.—

Father Flanagan knew that worldly praise was not something he should receive, but rather had to be offered entirely to God. Knowing full well that the gratitude offered by the town’s boys could not rightfully be his to receive, he redirected it anew to God.

Through this town, the priest revealed both the profound depth and boundless expanse of God’s love. Having done this, he instructed that people too must turn to God and offer love equally profound and boundless. The boys sincerely came to understand that they should love God with all their heart, soul, and mind. In managing this town, the priest showed them how many kind neighbors regarded the boys as their own children and poured extraordinary love upon them. Having done this, he also taught the town’s young citizens to love those near them as themselves. The boy nodded earnestly.

Thus, this Boys Town became a town of love centered on God. Supernatural love and natural love, heavenly love and earthly love, came together in pleasant harmony to form a paradise. This town of love accorded with the divine will of God, the source of love, and God bestowed limitless blessings in reward. Love that poured down from above, love that rose up from below—the flow of love between God and the boys flowed directly. When orphans became directly connected to God through love, they ceased to be parentless children. —because He is our Father who art in heaven.

“I will not leave you as orphans.” This powerful promise of Jesus came to mind. The salvation of orphans lay in this realm. The white bird of happiness that orphans obtained was this “God’s love.” There was no authentic happiness for orphans other than this.

The limitless light of God’s love pours abundantly upon the orphans. Father Flanagan was simply standing by, keeping watch to ensure no ill winds would blow against them.

Birds of the Air

Let us listen to the words of Jesus Christ. “Are not five sparrows sold for two assaria? Yet not one of them is forgotten before God.” “Even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Therefore fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows.” Who could hear these words and not feel reassured? As long as one entrusts all fully to God, Seiichi and Kayano will assuredly be safe.

Sparrows worth not a single coin apiece, tiny sparrows of no use whatsoever—they descended into the garden like leaves spilling from a roof and peered right and left, unaware that I watched through the glass door. Assured that neither humans nor hawks were present, they let out great yawns before hopping toward the straw matting. Pecking at dried sweet potatoes—three quick jabs—then raising their heads to scan the sky. Taking two more bites before startling at a cloud’s passing shadow, they burst into flight, dropping the sweet potato clutched in their beaks. Aligning wings with their companions, they circled frantically over the field and returned to perch three abreast on the clothesline pole. Chirping back and forth while pressing close until the largest got pushed sideways—one fled with a shrill tweet—the remaining two yawned in unison. Stretching out one leg to preen their feathers, they eventually closed their eyes and crouched down, puffed up into drowsy little balls for a nap. Not a single movement of this sparrow’s legs or wings escapes His notice—God watches over it with a steadfast, loving gaze. He does not forget. For God Himself created that single sparrow out of love. In other words, He is the true Great Parent.

If even sparrows are cared for thus, how much more so Seiichi and Kayano—human children who surpass sparrows—how could He forget them? Could His loving gaze turn away from them, even for an instant?

Even the number of hairs on this child's head God knows. And no wonder—for God Himself had created each and every one of those hairs with love... Not even Seiichi himself knew how many thousands or hundreds of hairs grew upon his own head. Because it was not Seiichi who had created those hairs... I, as a father, did not know that number either. Because I was not the creator... The only person who remembered the number of stitches in a sweater was the woman who had knitted it with love. The child wearing it did not know, and the father who received it remained unaware. —Who could feel the deepest attachment to this sweater? Was it the one who requested it? Was it the one wearing it? Or was it the one who made it? —It was the one who made it.

Who loved Seiichi the most? Could it have been Seiichi himself? Could it have been I, the father? Or could it have been God,the Creator? Seiichi himself did not know the number of hairs on his own head. As for me—I had not even examined how many cavities he had，let alone counted those hairs. I，who professed with my mouth and believed in my heart that I loved Seiichi，in reality possessed nothing but this incomplete love. Even I—who loved this child most on earth—could only manage this much— In contrast—the delicacy，depth，and greatness of God’s love，which bound unforgettable affection to each individual strand! Truly，after I am gone，the only one to whom I can entrust them with peace of mind remains God—our Father who art in heaven. And God has held this child from the very beginning—without needing fresh entreaties or transfers of guardianship from us.

Looking back, am I not in fact an unreliable human being—I who believed myself absolutely entrusted by this child? Was I not already a weak human being who could not live even a second without relying on the heavenly Father? In my days of health, to have thought I was raising this child through my own strength—that was sheer absurdity from the outset. It was not by my power that the children had grown.

It was God who used me to raise the children. I was merely a single tool wielded at the fingertip of His hand according to divine will. For instance, when a doctor gives an injection to relieve abdominal pain, does the essential work belong to the doctor? Or to the syringe? Again, when a drowning person is saved by a fisherman throwing a rope, was salvation truly accomplished by the fisherman? Or by the rope? Would any patient thank the syringe while ignoring the doctor? When hauled aboard ship, would any castaway venerate the rope as life's benefactor while turning their back on the fisherman? ...If the syringe broke, the doctor would devise oral medicine or other treatments to relieve the abdominal pain. If the rope fell short, the fisherman would throw a lifebuoy or wooden crate—anything buoyant. If nothing remained to throw, he would surely dive into the sea and rescue them without fail. Even without syringes, one could rest assured so long as the doctor remained present. Even without ropes, castaways would be saved so long as the fisherman stayed near.

I was a syringe. Even if I break and die, since the God who used me remains as He is, He will surely heal this child’s suffering through other means. I was merely a rope. Even if I finally sink to the water’s depths, since the God who cast me here remains as He is, He will surely lift this child from the raging waves—there’s nothing to worry about, right?

—“Therefore fear not” This was an absolute guarantee. Having heard this—could there remain anyone fretting anxiously, trembling fearfully, entertaining such thoughts?

“Do not fear—Father is protecting you. Do not worry—Father is by your side.” God whispered thus. “Seiichi is a precious child Father created, you know. Kayano too is a child born of Father’s love, you know. It’s all right, it’s all right. Come now, be cheerful!”

And yet...

The Heavenly Father was something supernatural—something religious, invisible, whose voice could not be heard. He might provide spiritual comfort, but could He truly produce and distribute life’s practical necessities—today’s food, today’s clothing? To this question, Jesus had declared plainly: “Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of far greater worth than they? Which of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider how the lilies of the field grow—they neither labor nor spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed like one of these. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which exists today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Sufficient unto the day is its own trouble.”

God's Power and Human Power The robes of King Solomon—said to have gathered unto himself all worldly glory—must indeed have exhausted every artifice of beauty and epitomized refined elegance, yet still they could not surpass the lilies blooming wild in the field. King Solomon's magnificent garments were wrought through human power, while the lilies' beauty was God's own handiwork. How meager is human strength!

Those who fret while relying on such meager power—truly, they are ones of little faith. What good is there in relying on the power of humans who cannot even create a single lily flower? That humans cannot live without eating, cannot exist without drinking, cannot go about naked—the Heavenly Father knows all these things well. And He will surely provide.

Humans need only first seek the coming of God’s kingdom. They need only exert their strength so that God’s divine will may be done on earth as it is in heaven. If they act in a manner approved by God, that alone suffices. If they do so, then all things to eat and drink and wear will surely be provided.

If one looks at Saint Francis of Assisi, they will know that these words of Jesus are true. Francis shared all his private possessions with his impoverished neighbors, became utterly destitute, devoted himself solely to praising God, prayed for the coming of God’s kingdom, and wandered about singing in rapture of divine love. And in the end, he never went hungry, never thirsted, never caught a cold, and lived out a peaceful life. There was no need to cite saints of Italy from ages past—even in our country today, no matter which monastery one visited, one would encounter living examples before one’s very eyes.

The tragedy of modernity was something that arrogant humanity itself had orchestrated—denying God’s existence, refusing to rely on His power, and deluding itself into believing that human strength alone could perfectly accomplish all things. This self-staged tragedy had initially been scripted to conclude with a happy ending, but since none of its human actors turned out to be angels, performances straying from the script proliferated. The plot careened into gruesomely violent directions unforeseen, reaching a point where unity and harmony could no longer be maintained under the materialist director’s verbal guidance alone. Now there remained no recourse but to advance the storyline through violence, coercion, and conspiracy in reckless abandon—so much so that if one were not careful, the curtain might fall upon a truly dreadful catastrophe: the collective suicide of all humanity cast in this production.

To avoid this catastrophe and bring about a happy ending, we must absolutely dismiss the materialist director—if matters were left entrusted to that red-coated director, all humanity would likely suffer terrible ordeals. Should the director's mind prove deficient or disordered, even absent malice, the stage would descend into chaos. I refuse to believe those red-coated individuals harbor malicious intent in conducting such massive human experimentation. They had become directors embracing the lofty ideal of bringing utopia to mankind. They were intensely earnest. They were utterly pure-hearted. Yet lamentably, they clung to a peculiar prejudice—denying God's existence. They fail to acknowledge the God who created both cosmos and themselves. Though a Father exists, their refusal to recognize Him while boasting of fatherless status compels diagnosis of intellectual deficiency. We must remove these red-coated figures and install directors possessing balanced judgment. A person of sound judgment believes equally in created reality and Creator. Those acknowledging only material reality fail; those dismissing matter as mental shadow to embrace solely spirit equally fail. Neither may claim balanced judgment.

Merely reciting "Lord, Lord" with one’s lips while doing nothing oneself meant receiving neither food nor drink nor clothing. Only through entreating the Lord while laboring for God’s kingdom to come and His will to be done on earth would these things first be granted. Praying to Heaven was necessary; exhausting human efforts was equally necessary. One must incline toward neither extreme. To exhaust one’s efforts and await Heaven’s decree—that was not the path. One must pray to God while exhausting every human endeavor.

This must surely be the path my two children must take.

Clinging to God

What must one do to love God and be loved by Him? —Cling to Him. Cling as an infant clings to its mother!

I want to teach my two children this. To cling—is this not precisely the attitude that requires loving God completely, believing in Him utterly, and relying on Him wholly? Only by clinging tightly to God can one become dependent. "If you press your face so close and push like that, won’t it tickle?" Chuckling, "Oh my, getting snot all over Papa’s kimono—" Long ago, Kayano often used to do such things. Within my heart, a surge of tender affection for this child welled up fiercely...

As for the neighbor’s son—even when he happened to come to my house, perhaps presuming me to be a university professor—he would sit at a distance, rigidly formal, reciting rehearsed phrases and deliberately stringing together difficult words, so that I too would gradually grow cold, forced to respond with things like, "Ah, is that so? I’ll consider it in due course."

Since God is our Heavenly Father too, He must feel something similar. When believers rigidly recite formal prayers with ceremonial solemnity—only to completely shift focus to worldly affairs once rituals conclude, sweeping all thoughts of God from their minds while grandly declaring, “Faith stays with faith, business with business—we must keep spiritual and secular matters separate!”, what feelings do you suppose God holds toward them? Such people persistently imagine God as some figure arrogantly enthroned deep within a fixed temple, granting favors only to those who come worshiping and pleading there—peering through lattice screens with piercing eyes, waiting to inflict divine punishment upon discovering human misdeeds. Therefore, they put on exaggerated displays of reverence only when standing before God—but once they distance themselves from the temple or close its doors, certain His gaze cannot reach them, they act with utter recklessness.

Our Father God differs from such deities. He does not cloister Himself in temple sanctuaries. He permeates all existence. Here too He abides. Ever He remains. Nowhere escapes His presence. Even when I perish, He shall dwell at Kayano's side. Seiichi rests cradled in God's embrace. Everlastingly held. Though they become white-haired elders, still shall they be enfolded. God wears no pretense of grandeur. With no rivals to challenge Him, He needs no airs—nor would He assume them by nature.

God does not exist to inflict divine punishment upon humanity. To make humanity happy, He never takes His eyes off them. God fidgets restlessly, eager to give humanity everything. Even without people going out of their way to ask, He lavishly bestows what they need. If one clings and pleads beyond that, He will give without limit. Like an infant—if you persistently ask again and again until receiving—He will surely give.

Jesus Christ was fond of children. He would always lift them onto His lap and cherish them. To adults in their prime of discernment, He taught: "Those who do not receive the Kingdom of God as all children do shall never enter it." To enter heaven—to become residents of God's Kingdom—all must become like infants. To be loved by God requires no discernment. No great wisdom is needed. No scholarship is required. Neither experience nor donations are necessary—only a child's innocent exuberance suffices. The two children remain young. They are now citizens of God's Kingdom exactly as they are. They believe in God with complete innocent exuberance and love Him. Even as they grow older, maintaining this guileless faith unchanged would suffice.

“Which father among you would give his child a stone when asked for bread? Or a snake when asked for fish?” “Therefore, if ye who are evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Father in heaven bestow good things upon those who ask Him!”

Therefore, as long as they cling to God, all will be well.

Lost Sheep If these children continue to always obey God’s will throughout their lives and first seek His Kingdom and righteousness, God would surely give them all they need and ultimately guide them to eternal happiness—so there was no need to worry. Yet there was no guarantee they might not violate God’s commandments in some impulsive moment—times when they would turn their backs on Him. What would become of them then? Would God too forsake them?

No. Even if one were to commit any sin, God would still not forsake them. He patiently waits until they return—repenting of their sins, reforming their hearts, resolving never to commit them again, and seeking courage to fight against sin. He waits until the very moment their earthly life ends. However, if one dies without ever repenting, all is lost. If that were to happen, it would be hell—utterly forsaken. If one falls into hell, they cannot be saved. Hell is a despairing reality where souls dwell eternally isolated from God.

“Which of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, would not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and seek the lost one until finding it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders rejoicing; and when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. “I say unto you, that thus there shall be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repenteth, than over ninety and nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”

The shepherds in Israel’s fields who had been listening to Jesus’ words must have nodded to one another in understanding. For all the shepherds had personally experienced the same incident themselves. Among many flocks of sheep, there were those that acted willfully—defying the guidance of the Lord Shepherd’s horn, lured by flowers, enticed by streams, until carelessly wandering into perilous thickets of thorns. The good shepherd set aside the flock of sheep and, undaunted by perilous paths, pursued after this lost one to save it. The joy of the shepherd when he had safely rescued it resonated in our hearts as well. In commanding his friends to "Rejoice with me," Jesus’s words left nothing wanting in conveying that scene. When a single sinner repents, it is said there is great joy in heaven.

“For it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should perish.”

That even a single person should fall into hell was not according to God’s will. Even if someone, through a momentary lapse, failed to keep God’s commandments and willfully trod the path of evil, God would surely draw them back, lift them up, and restore them to the flock of righteous ones in His Kingdom.

Prescription

“A houseguest should quietly excuse themselves by the third serving...”

“Ha ha…” “Hahaha…”

The classroom swirled with young voices in uproarious delight—

But among them were three or four students with bowed heads. —Orphans taken in by others. “Everyone.” “What did you receive from your mother as a snack yesterday?” “Here!” “Here, Teacher!” “Yes!”

A forest of young hands raised high—

But parts of that forest were missing. Girls with bowed heads, boys.

“Why didn’t you raise your hand? Ah… That’s right—you don’t have a mother…”

Composition time—

The topic written large on the blackboard—“My Home”.

Students were diligently scurrying their pencils, occasionally lifting their faces to gaze out the window—the brightness of their expressions. Some must have been writing about that morning’s breakfast table in their happy homes. —Two or three children who were merely gnawing on their pencil erasers, eyes cast downward, yet to write a single character on their papers.

The day of the physical examination— “Goodness, didn’t I tell you emphatically enough yesterday! I had told you to wear clean underwear… Then what’s this about these filthy pants? Have you forgotten about hygiene? Even without your mother, there must be someone caring for you, no? —Hmm? Why don’t you ask? Why are you staying silent? Don’t be contrary now.—If it’s hard for you to ask yourself, we’ll have the school send a letter—”

Field trip—

“……Egg rolls are good too…but…I really wanted pickled plums for the field trip….” “Mom would’ve known…”

On the road——

“Oh, keeping well then?” “Heading back from school?” “Ah…” “There there.” “You lucked out being adopted into a proper home.” “These days they’re cracking down hard on war orphans—send ’em straight to camps soon as they’re found.” “Ever see your old pals?” “Ah…” “Not at all?” “Nope.” “Best steer clear of ’em.” “Wouldn’t want to burden your new family now.” “Just focus on your studies!” “Grow up proper-like and repay their kindness you must.” “Yep.”

Evening—

“If you do that, I’ll go home and tell my mom!” A little finger with its living nail torn off throbs sharply when touched by what would normally cause no discomfort. Though there was pain, the finger had no reason to resent what touched it. The nail had come off—because what once protected the fingertip was gone, it hurt when touched. The external object bore no guilt, nor did the finger bear any fault. It was merely the outcome of that single calamity—the loss of a living nail—that made even the slightest contact send a sharp throb of pain. The finger resented nothing, hated nothing—it simply endured the pain as pain. It must not envy or begrudge the other fingers that still had nails. Yet it galled me that I alone had to endure such pain due to my misfortune. Were I to curse them—to wish all nine other fingers would have their living nails torn off too—that would truly make me commit an unforgivable sin.

Those who have never known suffering are innocent. Those who have never faced hardship are inconsiderate. Those without wounds in their hearts are insensitive. Because I am insensitive, I fail to notice that sensitive people stand nearby. Thus they innocently touch the wounds in others' hearts. They inconsiderately aggravate the pain in others' breasts. Yet they bear no guilt—acting with artless simplicity, unaware they touch wounds or cause pain. They bear no guilt, yet their victims suffer cruelly—live-in dependent, burden, stepchild, tagalong child, contrarian, crybaby, charity case, debt of gratitude, upstanding citizen... words uttered casually as if they were nothing remarkable. But for the orphan who hears them—

If orphans chose to walk the true orphan's path, they would inevitably—whether they liked it or not—have harsh words pierce their ears and indifferent treatment sear their eyes. They could not cover their ears; they could not walk with their eyes closed. While listening to painful words and gazing upon indifferent treatment, they had no choice but to steadfastly advance along a path free of pretense.

As Seiichi and Kayano walked this path, might they not come to harbor feelings of resentment, hatred, envy, jealousy, and curses? This was the concern I secretly harbored in my heart. If that happened, the path would veer sideways and lead to hell—.

I just hope these children will drink down the bitter cup they've received exactly as it comes! I pray they won't crave the sweet cup in others' hands! May they never envy those who sip sweet draughts, but instead rejoice in their happiness with unguarded innocence! If only they could advance further—if they could drain this bitter chalice with the very same gladness as those who smile while emptying sweet ones—what glory that would be! Should they attain that realm, then I too would find contentment.

Drinking down the bitter cup of fate one has received was something anyone could achieve through resignation. However, draining that bitter cup with great joy could not be attained through resignation alone. This state of mind could only be reached by those who believed in divine providence. Both sweet cups and bitter cups were supreme gifts bestowed through God’s loving providence. The bitter cup given to me now existed precisely because it was necessary for my true happiness—this was why God had specially granted it. The sweet cup given to him now existed because that sweetness was required for his happiness—this was why God had specially granted it. God—wanting to keep every human being He created in true happiness—prescribed cocktails suited to each time and place. He compounded these medicines.—As a doctor, I knew well the struggles of prescription. For patients with stomach pain, we administered bitter Gentiana root powder. To heal a stomach ailment, bitter medicine had to be given. Even when facing a patient’s troubled stomach, no doctor would consider abandoning bitter medicine out of pity to instead let them gorge on sweet red bean soup. For patients coughing with phlegm from colds, we provided sweet Genega syrup and cough-suppressant lozenges. This was because such patients currently needed sweetness. What would happen if we forced them to drink bitter herbal brews while reciting maxims like “good medicine tastes bitter”? For patients, both bitter and sweet medicines were equally prescribed according to what best suited their condition at that moment to cure their illness. Would patients rejoice over sweet medicine and thank their doctors? Would they resent physicians over bitter doses? Since God was all-knowing and all-powerful, He likely never agonized over His prescriptions—yet even when effortlessly ordaining them, there could be absolutely no error in His formulations, for they sprang from perfect love.

For the person named Seiichi, spending his entire life as an orphan would make for the best possible life. —That was how God perceived it. Because He was all-knowing.

For the person named Kayano, spending her entire life as an orphan would be more glorious than a life spent as a child with parents. —Since God had foreseen this, through His great love He ordained that she become an orphan.

“Seiichi! That bitter cup you drink—it is God’s prescription of love.”

“Kayano.” “That cup is bitter.” “Though bitter, it’s medicine the Lord has given you.” “When you drink it, eternal happiness will surely come.” “Let us thank God for having received this bitter cup.”

Kite flying How we want to soar to heaven! As if an organ were resounding. The kite was dancing. How we want to soar to heaven!

Note Noboritaka…………noboritai (Want to ascend) Gotaru……………you da Hata………………tako (Kite) Odottoru mon…………odotte iru kara (Because it’s dancing)

Perfect Happiness

The path of a true orphan was lonely. The true path of an orphan was difficult. To walk this path was harsh, sorrowful, and difficult. This path was dark, narrow, steep, strewn with stones, scarce in flowers; it led to dead ends when pursued, and passing through brought new constraints. Those standing by the roadside were cold as withered trees—unreliable, brusque, often stretching out branches to obstruct. ...A young pair walked hand in hand—the older brother fourteen, the younger sister eight.

It was not through faith that this loneliness disappeared. Nor did the suffering cease. Nor was the hardship or sorrow removed. The loneliness continued forever. The pain remained endlessly painful. Hardship and sorrow stayed hardship and sorrow. Religion was not opium. The purpose of faith was not to eliminate physical agony or human grief. Faith did not deal in earthly rewards. Yet because God is love, there were times He eased sufferers' pains. Countless miracles existed where prayer healed illnesses beyond medicine's reach. This was how God occasionally acted—to make humanity acknowledge His existence and know His love. A minor adjustment to creation's order. To believe in God solely for erasing worldly troubles was immature faith. One must not approach spiritual life like begging a doctor, "Inject morphine for my stomachache." True faith journeyed toward far loftier realms.

Human beings are born seeking perfect happiness. Not knowing where that happiness lies, they arbitrarily set their sights and set out to search. Some people, thinking their happiness was related to wealth, saved money. Some people, believing their happiness connected to power, sought social advancement. Others judged that it could be found through academic knowledge and remained in university laboratories. There were various other approaches. In my youth, I too had relied on physical strength, and as my position rose, used that status to vigorously pursue happiness. Since those were flourishing times, I made sure to appear in every department that seemed promising. And so, in the end, I never found perfect happiness. In the midst of this wandering, I experienced the atomic bombing and came to realize religion was the sole means through which one could attain perfect happiness. Perfect happiness was being in accord with God—I am now happy. And I pray my two children may also come to possess this spiritual state.

Religion is humanity's path toward God. Therefore, one’s duty toward God must first and foremost be fulfilled. Let God’s glory be made manifest! This is my foremost aspiration, and it is the aspiration that my two children must never forget. The act of carrying out this aspiration—this itself is the state of perfect happiness. When lonely, I accept that loneliness as a manifestation of God’s providence and feel it with gratitude; when in pain, I recognize that very ache as a necessary expression of divine will and embrace it thankfully. Then, dwelling within that solitude and suffering, I ponder how to glorify God, offer prayers, and do all within my power. This is entirely different from that abnormal psychology where one derives pleasure from inflicting pain and injury upon their own body. For those leading a true life of faith do the same even in times of joy. In other words, when joyful, since that joy is a manifestation of God’s providence, one feels it with gratitude as it is, and while dwelling in that joy, considers how to glorify God, prays, and does all within one’s power. In other words, the attitude of “working for God’s glory” remains unaffected by what the world calls pleasure, success, adversity, failure, pain, health, or illness. The attitude remains unaffected by any influence. Since working for God’s glory is the path to perfect happiness, illness, pain, failure, or adversity have no bearing on my happiness. When ill, I offer up my illness for God's glory. If there is pain, I offer up that pain for God's glory. In adversity, I labor within that adversity for God’s glory. At such times, even while experiencing physical or mental pain, I feel a supernatural state of perfect happiness.

The physical path this child must tread as an orphan is fraught with hardships. The path of the soul that this child walks in harmony with God is filled with happiness. No matter how that young flesh may be oppressed, despised, humiliated, or tormented, the soul—being directly bound to God’s love—remains at peace and in happiness.

Jesus said this in the Sermon on the Mount.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

――Weep! My children.

Those who mourn

Is it not because they have lost their comforter that those bereaved of mothers feel this unhappiness? ――What then was the essential nature of childhood happiness recalled by so many adults? Was it trivial play? If mere trivial play, adults pursue such diversions with equal fervor. Was it snack-time sweets? Adults frequent cafés and restaurants to savor finer delicacies. Was it freedom from weighty responsibilities? Yet many adults wander aimlessly with cheerless countenances. Was it harmonious family life? Adults maintain tranquil households of their own. And still, motherless adults harbor a peculiar void within their hearts— grappling with a desolation distinct from paternal loss.

The happiness of childhood always seemed connected to one’s mother. Moreover, it appeared tied to being comforted after crying.

The one who would gently embrace one's shoulders, bring her lips close to one's ear, and comfort with a heart that truly became a child's—this was only a mother. The mere thought that there was a mother at home who would comfort them—that she was by one's side—dispelled all worries. There was no fear. There was neither loneliness nor suffering. During illness, this became especially clear. When opening eyes at midnight, dizzy with fever—the shaded lamp swaying like some monstrous thing, one's body feeling as though sliding into earth's depths with the bed, head pounding as if splitting—even then, the sight of Mother sitting wide awake (though indistinct, only her white old-fashioned collar visible) brought such reassurance that eyes could close again. Then she would quietly replace the ice bag on one's forehead: "How are you?" "Not feeling unwell?" "Dawn will come soon," she'd whisper. "When day breaks, you'll surely recover." Just hearing this made the fever seem to subside.

The time when Mother was here was a time of happiness. It was a time of happiness because if they cried, she would comfort them.

Even as adults, there were things every day that made them want to cry. They wanted to wail at the top of their lungs. They wanted to stamp their feet and cry. They wanted to cry until their voice gave out, letting tears, snot, and drool flow unchecked. Such urges would suddenly surge up. When irritated, when mocked, when possessions were taken, when the stomach ached... However, adults did not cry. Even if they cried, there was no one to console and soothe them into stopping—so it proved pointless. They knew it would only result in wasted effort and utter exhaustion. Far from being consoled, they ended up being laughed at by many. No one cried in order to be laughed at.

When one cries, their chest clears like the moon emerging in a sky purified by evening rain. If one weeps when they should weep, nothing will accumulate in their heart. Children retain their innocent radiance because they often cry and cleanse their hearts.

Those without mothers do not weep in cathartic release. Because they do not weep, cobwebs linger in their hearts. These accumulate day after day. Within their breasts, an inconsolable anguish congeals and hardens—this becomes misfortune’s seed.

If there were someone who, even in adulthood, could weep unrestrainedly and with abandon just as one would before one’s true mother… If there were someone who would comfort them with all their heart, just as one’s true mother would… Ah, how happy one could become!

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

This Comforter is God.

Those directly connected to God through love could always cling to Him and weep to their heart's content. The happiness of being comforted by God when they wept thus!

Even if one lost an earthly mother, being with God—a parent of truer love than any mother—enabled them to weep as freely as they had in childhood. Could it not be that those who possessed true faith maintained carefree, childlike bright faces in any circumstance precisely because they periodically wept profoundly, received comfort from God, and thereby tasted boundless happiness?

The little ones

Passing before Nagasaki’s Ōura Cathedral and heading south up the stone-paved path, one arrived at the hillside where the blue expanse of the harbor suddenly came into view, drawing an involuntary deep breath. The road was sparsely dappled with camphor tree shadows, their evergreen branches ever swaying in the harbor breeze. Few people passed by. Both above and below the road stood European residences from the early Meiji period, surrounded by plantings of tropical and subtropical vegetation. Having aged over the decades, their paint peeled and metalwork rusted, they exuded a serenely settled air, with red tropical orchids placed in their windows. Through roofs bearing attic windows and square brick chimneys neatly formed, the nearby old-fashioned port could be seen. This was where Dutch ships had once entered in great numbers with sails unfurled. This was where the vividly painted prows of Chinese ships had been reflected in the waves. This was where the Russian fleet had solidly lined up and dropped anchor. It was here too that the giant battleships Tosa, Nagato, and Musashi had been launched. Not a single one of those warships remained visible; by the time of defeat, warships riddled with gaping holes had been towed in one after another—but now occupation forces’ vessels of every sort lay anchored here in multitudes, their pristine national flags fluttering. The ferocity with which ships casting their shadows upon these harbor waters had transformed—the movements of a world beyond prediction—had been beautifully recorded here in this port.

＊　　　　　　　＊

Proceeding seven hundred meters along the stone-paved road brought one to a beautiful French-style brick three-story monastery. It was a monastery of the Society of the Infant Jesus. Having come to Japan, it had been over seventy years since they began their work of prayer, labor, and education here. Now only Japanese nuns remained here.

Let us listen to the song spilling from the third-floor windows. "Mother Mary dear, fold your hands and pra-a-ay for us every day..."

The girl singing—was she three years old, or at most four? Her tongue didn’t yet seem to move freely. Several young children seemed to be playing in time with the song. The nuns’ gentle voices mingled with joyful giggles of laughter. Soon, when a loud wail erupted from the next room’s window came the sound of a nun’s hurried footsteps—"Oh dear, you wet yourself!"

In the adjacent room, a catechism lesson seemed to have begun—a dialogue between older children and a nun.

“What kind of being is God?” “Yes, God is the infinitely perfect Spirit who created all things in heaven and earth and governs them.”

"Then, what is that Spirit?" In a different girl's voice,

“Yes, the Spirit cannot be perceived by the five senses but is endowed with wisdom and will.”

“Does God provide special care for people?” “Yes, God provides special care for all matters pertaining to human life—health, food, clothing, shelter—as well as those concerning both soul and body. This is what we call divine providence.” “That’s right—all events in this world are not brought about by inescapable fate but are guided by divine providence.” “But if God provides special care for people, why doesn’t He remove misfortunes?” asked a child.

“Because misfortunes serve as trials, atonement for sins, admonishments, and become the foundation for happiness in the world to come.” “Why do misfortunes become happiness in the world to come?” The orphan’s question was earnest. “Blessed are you when people curse you, persecute you, and falsely utter all manner of evil against you for my sake. Rejoice and leap for joy, for your reward in heaven shall be exceedingly great.” —These are the concluding words of Jesus’ famous Sermon on the Mount. “Blessed are you; rejoice and leap for joy! How great must be the heavenly reward!”

I could almost see the children listening with shining eyes.

Here, the third floor housed Maria Garden caring for orphans, the second floor contained Shin'ai Academy with its girls' junior and senior high schools, and the first floor served as the kindergarten.

Taking the mountain path from there and proceeding about five hundred meters brought one to the monastery’s annex. That place was called Mountain House, where they cared for orphans who were physically weak or ill. A nun in a black habit was milking cows. Others cut fodder from the mountains. One could also see figures in black habits using hoes in the vegetable fields. Smiling cheerfully, an elderly nun washed diapers. They all maintained their silence, laboring earnestly with bright expressions. The earnestness of their labor astonished even the farm women of Urakami. For these nuns, milking cows, cutting fodder, tilling fields, washing diapers—these very acts were prayer. There were also those who maintained lifelong silence while tending to cows. There were those who did nothing but laundry day after day. Wearing neat black habits and hanging large silver crosses around their necks... They sweated profusely.

They were individuals who had parted from family, abandoned all possessions, renounced worldly splendor and pleasures, and taken lifelong vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. Having abandoned the secular names they had once been known by in the world, they now bore only spiritual names like Theresa, Catherine, and Coleta. Even though they worked so intensely here, they received not a single sen in compensation. No one thanked them. They considered it natural that they were not thanked.

Jesus said: "If a servant has done what he was commanded to do, does the master thank him? I think not." "In the same way, when you have done all that you were commanded, we are unworthy servants." "Say, 'We have only done what we ought to have done,'" he instructed. They did not seek gratitude because they considered themselves unworthy servants. Day after day, they washed diapers with cheerful smiles.

What the nuns were doing remained unknown to the world. The only thing known was that there were no orphans who ran away from Maria Garden. And why did no children ever flee from Maria Garden? This phenomenon was regarded as a mystery.

They never revealed this secret to anyone. They never preached to society that all orphan care should be done in this way. This was precisely because they faithfully adhered to Jesus' words. "Do not be called teachers, for your teacher is one—that is, Christ. The greatest among you shall become your servant. Those who exalt themselves will be brought low, and those who humble themselves shall be exalted."

All things were directed by Christ. The entire guidance of the orphanage was done by God. The nuns simply worked as servants. They labored silently with absolute obedience. “Truly I say to you, what you have done to one of these least of my brothers, you have done to me.” This was the word of God. Every deed done for the least of these was done directly for God. When one of the least asked for a cup of water, hurrying to draw it and give them to drink was in truth offering a cup of water to God. —When orphans became the object of good deeds, they became God. It was not merely done for orphans—they were doing the same for God. In the nuns’ eyes, these young orphans were God—the infant Jesus Christ himself. Those who served orphans were none other than those who served God.

Who was the servant who served the infant Jesus? —The Virgin Saint Mary. It was Saint Mary—the Mother of God who remained a virgin her entire life.

At the Annunciation—that is, when an angel appeared to the Virgin Mary, announcing that through the Holy Spirit she would conceive and bear the Son of God—Mary responded with profound humility and absolute faith,

“I am the handmaid of the Lord—let it be done unto me according to thy word.”

She replied. Such words do not come from just anyone’s lips. Soon after visiting her cousin Elizabeth, when praise was extended to her, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices exceedingly in God my Savior, for He has looked upon the lowliness of His handmaiden…” she sang this hymn of praise. Under the full moon, in a cave outside Bethlehem where travelers’ livestock were kept, she gave birth to God’s son Jesus Christ, wrapped Him in cloth, and laid Him in a manger. Thus she became the perfect model of holy poverty.

When they visited the temple in Jerusalem to present Him, the elderly Simeon prophesied about Jesus’s entire life and told them that a sword would pierce Mary’s soul. Jesus was made aware of the sorrowful fate that he would predecease others at thirty-three years old. And she alone kept that in her heart.

Having been informed by an angel that King Herod sought Jesus's life, they fled to Egypt under cover of night. This flight while cradling an infant must have been agonizing beyond measure.

When King Herod died, they returned and came to live in Nazareth. The diligent, poor carpenter Joseph protected the holy Mother and Child as their foster father. How dearly did Mary love and raise Jesus in this house in Nazareth? —The Bible succinctly records that “the child grew and became strong in spirit, filled with wisdom, and God’s grace was upon him.” Yet one can surmise that Mary’s tender love nurtured him without a single illness, raising him into an exemplary boy without flaw or blemish.

Could it be that the Little Jesus Society nuns were attempting to emulate the Virgin Mary, who had served the infant Jesus?

When we speak of the Virgin Mary, she is the greatest among humankind. She is not God. She is a human being. Though a human being, she was chosen as the sole one from countless people across time and space to become the Mother of God—born free from original sin, committing not a single venial sin throughout her life, and finally having not only her soul but even her body assumed into Heaven after death—making her the greatest among saints. The manner in which this noble mother tenderly devoted her heart and poured deep love into raising Jesus is a sight of utmost reverence to behold. —The nuns must be following in the holy footsteps of the Virgin Mary, regarding the orphans as the infant Jesus and serving them accordingly. —True happiness is clearly evident on this orphan’s face.

Serving Orphans

A heart that serves God—that very heart must be the heart of those who interact with orphans. “Truly I say to you, what you have done for one of these least of my brothers, you have done for me… And what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.” This is the word of God. Orphanages are not charitable institutions. They are palaces of prayer that serve God.

Waking a bedwetting orphan in the dead of night, carrying them on one's back down icy corridors to the toilet—this was equal to serving before God's presence and offering prayer. Giving lectures before orphans was equivalent to sitting before God's presence and reciting prayers. The joy of searching through the town and finally finding an orphan had to equal the Virgin Mary's elation when, amid the crowds on her return from Jerusalem, she lost the infant Jesus and after three days of seeking found Him in the temple.

A volunteer staff applicant came to the orphanage’s reception desk, “I wish to devote my entire life to the salvation of poor orphans.”

the volunteer applicant declared. Such words were utterly presumptuous.

On what evidence could one claim that staff members occupied positions superior to orphans and possessed any special ability to save them? If these applicants had truly possessed such confidence in their capabilities, surely they should have been able to manage splendidly through their own efforts at home without seeking employment at another's orphanage. It was precisely such individuals—those incapable of achieving self-reliance in modern society—who paraded about flaunting their utopian ideals like badges of honor. How dared those who could not even save themselves presume to save others?

If they were urged to become ministers, they became ones and fulfilled their responsibilities admirably. If they needed immense wealth, they could enter the business world and amass vast fortunes. If they immersed themselves in academia, they became doctors; if they worked in civil engineering, they built massive dams. If they possessed such capabilities, then perhaps it would have been acceptable for them to declare they would save these orphans. From among these orphans would emerge ministers, wealthy individuals would arise, doctors would be nurtured, and great artists would undoubtedly appear. For unemployed individuals who could not even support themselves to presume to save these precious futures was sheer audacity.

Even a great person had no right to stand before orphans with arrogant pride. True, orphans clad in rags and smeared with grime might appear deserving of pity, scorn, or being looked down upon due to their wretched state—yet unlike adult vagrants, this pitiable condition arose through no fault of their own. Until that single bomb obliterated their homes and parents, they had belonged to respectable households. There were likely professors' grandchildren among them. There were likely inventors' children among them. There were likely artists' younger brothers among them. Though made homeless orphans in one fateful night, their inherent worth remained undiminished. They were not stray dogs.

Bringing in a stray dog and raising it was an entirely different matter.

Therefore, caring for orphans inherently differed in nature. The orphanage staff had no right to impose arbitrary education at their whim. Among them appeared those who considered it a great success if orphans could simply become self-sufficient adults unburdened by hunger. Others seemed content enough if they could mold them into humans causing minimal societal inconvenience. For their own stature reached barely that level—

There were two ways to cultivate a tree. One was cultivating bonsai. A bonsai with compact branches that bloomed beautiful flowers, displayed in entryways to earn modest praise from others—indeed, this approach was all too common in orphanages. They created petty-minded individuals who were well-behaved, sufficiently clever, and perfectly suited to be household servants—and those who created them took pride in this.

Planting cedars in the mountains was entirely different from this. They did not come close daily to fussily trim small branches with their shears. They simply cut away the surrounding harmful underbrush to let the wind pass through, then entrusted the rest to sunlight, rain, and soil nutrients, watching carefully from afar. After decades passed and those who planted them died without leaving their names, they became towering great trees that all people equally admired, serving society widely.

A cedar destined to serve the realm, if placed in a bonsai master’s hands, becomes nothing but a dainty spectacle. What must be feared are bonsai educators.

A heart that serves God, a heart that nurtures the infant Jesus—truly solemn hearts these are. With such hearts, may they stay beside the orphans. Doves-League The one who truly knows an orphan’s heart is an orphan. Those who weep with orphans and rejoice with orphans are orphans themselves. Therefore, is it not orphan companions who encourage, assist, and nurture them to grow upright and strong?

—

Orphans are lonely. They are forlorn; agonized; sad; weak. That is because they are all alone. It is because they are scattered apart. If orphans who share the same heart were to connect their hearts, clasp hands, and form a single fellowship, might not another great power emerge? Through the power of this fellowship, might not each one grow upright and strong?

Consider the hemp. If planted alone as a single stalk, it would be blown over by a slight wind, and though its tip continued growing upward while fallen, the entire plant would ultimately become crooked. When hemp plants stood together in a field, even a fierce wind could not topple them; though they swayed, they supported one another and remained upright. Even if one tried to twist slightly, it could not bend because those around it grew straight. In the end, they all became upright and beautiful hemp. If it lingered, it would be covered by the surrounding hemp and unable to receive sunlight—so it stretched upward rapidly to avoid falling behind.

It may be a cliché, but a single hemp plant breaks easily—yet when bound together as a bundle, they cannot be snapped.

Since war orphans were unique beings, they required unique education. Using identical teaching materials as those for children with parents would never prove effective. Of course, there was no need for entirely separate institutions. Specialized instruction focusing on their particular needs would suffice. They might have teachers share biographies of great figures from all eras who rose from orphanhood through integrity and strength; stories of orphans living rightly and beautifully; or factual accounts of war orphans' current circumstances worldwide—reading these communally, watching film adaptations, or even dramatizing them themselves. They needed proper instruction about relationships between God, parents, self and society; research into the most righteous path for orphaned living; entry into faith-based lives for true happiness; and participation in shared religious observances. They ought to confide their hidden sorrows to one another—comforting each other while seeking solutions—lending hands and wisdom where needed while striving to encourage cheerful perseverance. They could discuss future aspirations together—lending mutual strength toward achieving goals through combined efforts. Those sharing tear-stained histories who joined hands from childhood would bring immeasurable societal benefits when entering adulthood. For no worldly enterprise succeeds through solitary effort—constant communication and cooperation with many allies remains essential. They might visit orphans led astray by society's sins—those confined in reformatories or prisons—offering comfort while devising post-rehabilitation support strategies. Consulting experts on causes of orphan delinquency could yield cautionary lessons. Introducing suitable amusements would dispel gloominess—keeping them bright and cheerful to prevent bitterness or resentment. Finding appropriate jobs for tuition funds—engaging in cooperative work—participating in practical welfare associations—all would prove advisable.

They created such fellowships within schools. Several school leagues formed a federation. Fellows throughout Japan communicated with one another through a single organization. Once established, they would become a force of considerable strength. After all, the number of war orphans was vast— In Urakami’s atomic wasteland they were particularly numerous, but when viewed nationwide—not just children who had lost both parents but including those who had lost one—might they not have accounted for twenty percent of all children? Within the scope of my research, this was indeed the case. Twenty percent of the total—this was not a number we could simply ignore without addressing as a problem.

Orphans housed in institutions were separate from this fellowship. For they had already received unique education—. The fellowship’s focus here was on war orphans hidden within individual households—children attending regular schools. The fact that a multitude of children—amounting to one-fifth of the entire population—had been left neglected in schools without being addressed as an issue could not be lightly overlooked.

Just today，Seiichi came home from school and asked with a downcast face，“Was there a sugar ration?” so I replied，“They say our neighborhood’s will be tomorrow，”and then he said，“The teacher told us during last period，‘Now，everyone must hurry home.’ ‘Since there was a sugar ration today for the first time in ages，I’m sure your mothers are right now making delicious treats and waiting for you.’ ‘Could it be sweet red bean soup?’ ‘Could it be chestnut paste?’ ‘...Take a good sniff，’he said.”

This was a teacher who—oblivious or unwilling to consider how many motherless children filled postwar schools—naively fired live rounds through his attempts to cheer students up. Once such fellowships formed and began moving forward，teachers’ understanding deepened，and they refrained from needless harm. Furthermore，they initiated research to properly guide war orphans.

There was another major problem. It involved making government officials and working members of society fully recognize the existence of orphans hidden within ordinary households. Then establishing institutions and creating opportunities to voice opinions regarding the distribution of supplies sent for war orphans. Take the current LARA supplies—they were given only to institutionalized orphans, while household orphans remained forgotten. This likely stemmed from preconceptions that household orphans were better off, but comparing the lives of those taken into atomic field barracks near my home with those in institutions' fully-equipped facilities would make one keenly realize LARA supplies should instead be allocated more generously to household orphans. No tatami mats—they slept crowded together on bare wooden floors. The single summer garment they wore had to last through winter too—so in summer they went nearly naked. Food consisted solely of meager rations. For toys—nothing but wood scraps discarded by carpenters during house construction. Spiritually speaking, the loneliness and emotional neglect differed little between any orphans regardless of circumstances. These children had until now been kept isolated—no avenue to voice grievances, no means to unite their voices—a situation akin to being gagged in solitary confinement. Moreover, as recent wage increase disputes showed, officials possessed a disposition of not giving unless asked—hence this neglect had persisted. Through this fellowship's power, household orphans would finally gain means to demand fair distribution of supplies intended for all orphans.

Regarding the current distribution of LARA supplies and Red Cross gifts, statements from the orphans’ side appeared to be completely silenced. They distributed them exactly as decided by higher-up committees, without regard for the actual economic circumstances of the children’s lives, scattering provisions like rice cakes tossed from a rooftop. Were this fellowship of orphans to establish a robust autonomous organization, actively cooperate, and boldly voice necessary opinions, might they not achieve a far more reality-based, proper distribution?

Though war orphans constituted only about twenty percent of the population, their impact on national reconstruction was expected to cast a profound chiaroscuro effect. If so many children were to become twisted individuals—cursing their homeland, resenting their neighbors, living self-destructive lives—the nation’s future would be plunged into utter darkness. Conversely, if this multitude of children were to correctly understand their position, embrace the final wishes of their deceased parents, strive for national reconstruction to fulfill this will, show gratitude to their neighbors, and persevere with strength and integrity—how brightly would the future of the world shine?

War orphans now stood at this crossroads. This very crossroads would, broadly speaking, become humanity’s fulcrum between blessing and calamity. For war orphans were not Japan’s alone—they existed in multitudes across every continent save South America. Thus I became convinced orphan fellowships must by nature forge global bonds. Though peoples might differ and nations diverge, a child’s ache for absent parents knows no frontier. Victors’ orphans and vanquished’s shared identical grief—the theft of familial embrace. However varied their hardships’ weight, all fatherless tread but one true path. Therefore could this fellowship transcend borders and hues to rise as one body worldwide. Were earth’s war-scarred children ever to unite—to lift tomorrow’s world from ashes—what glorious works might flower from their joined hands?

―I hold one great expectation for this fellowship of orphans. It is because this very fellowship appears poised to become the greatest driving force in preventing war.

All previous youth groups, whether in the East or West of any nation, had carried the stench of military nurseries. However, this orphan fellowship would become an organization yearning for "peace." It would grow into a spiritual movement fundamentally rejecting all violence.

“Let us maintain peace!

"Let us prevent war!" This had to be the primary slogan raised by this fellowship. For there existed no one who had experienced war's horrors, suffering, and futility as urgently as war orphans. For there could be no war orphan who would ever wish to start another war. For they not only detested war themselves but knew that should another conflict occur, the many children now living happily with parents would endure the same hardships they had suffered; fearing this, they wished to somehow prevent it.

Could there be anyone who would not listen to the pure cries of war orphans—those who bear no responsibility for the war yet were given nothing but suffering? Could there be anyone who remains unmoved?

The War Orphans Alliance will undoubtedly become one of the central bodies of the peace movement.

＊　　　　　　　＊

When Seiichi graduated from Omura Normal School Affiliated Elementary School, he received a dove from the school. After handing over the diploma and report card to me, they smiled and took out that dove from the basket to show me. He seemed happier about receiving the dove than about getting all top grades, and kept smiling to himself as he stroked the now-tame bird’s head.

Coo-coo. Coo-coo.

When I heard it cooing right outside my hospital room in the stillness of night, I was struck by the profound realization—ah, peace had truly come at last. In this atomic wasteland, every single tree had been blown down, leaving the land utterly barren—which was why until today, no doves had ever come flying here. It remained a completely desolate battlefield.

Peace—a dove. Doves uphold propriety. They renounce violence. Yet carrier pigeons harbor astonishing courage. A solitary bird crossing thousands of kilometers of sky—a firmament besieged by gales, cloudbursts, raptors, and thunderbolts. Through every peril they press onward, never yielding until attaining their destination.

Dove—true courage. Dove—endurance. ……While pondering such things，I found myself wanting to choose the dove as this orphan alliance’s symbol. “Hato Nakama (The Doves-League)” ――How about this name?

Words uttered to my child "Should you start with the sardines? Should you begin with the daikon? Start with the best things first!"

Because I could die at any time...

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When you travel, stay at first-class inns! You'll come to know the finest aspects of that town. It's also good to stay at budget inns. You'll come to know the worst aspects of that town.

"When choosing friends, pick the finest person! And include the worst one too! You will learn."

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I want to plant cherry trees and grow pumpkins. I wonder—can a cherry tree ever become a pumpkin? ＊　　　　　　　＊

It’s unsettling when unplanted seeds sprout. If the seeds I sowed don’t sprout, I can’t rest easy—it feels like I killed them, doesn’t it? ＊　　　　　　　＊

Lying abed like this means living with a sideways view of the world, but even the proper society I occasionally sit up to gaze upon has its beauty, you know.

＊　　　　　　　＊

Brandishing red scissors and swaggering about like crabs—yet they’re utterly convinced of their righteousness, you know. But get this—some actually take that red color and sideways scuttle as newfound truths, deliberately aping them... heh heh.

＊　　　　　　　＊ Being overestimated feels like being hoisted up in jubilant acclaim. I can’t rest for fearing when they’ll let me fall. ＊　　　　　　　＊

Don't seek fame! A name is nothing more than something to be sucked on like a candy drop in the living room for a minute.

＊　　　　　　　＊

When a candle grows short, will it go out any moment? There were those who became so preoccupied with such matters that they could not attend to their work. No matter how much you worry, it won’t extend your lifespan— ＊　　　　　　　＊

Visitors who came when I was reading a book would invariably say, "You must be bored." Do Japanese people only read books when they're bored?

＊　　　　　　　＊

The thing I want most is—time. That time—so precious it aches—is stolen from me by well-meaning visitors.

＊　　　　　　　＊ When I find a newspaper with my photo in the toilet, I think it's the punishment for having sold my name. ＊　　　　　　　＊ Ah—did it catch one properly? A fat mouse. It had such an intelligent face... yet in the end, deceived by a feast—to lose its very life— ＊　　　　　　　＊

Should you take up things you can’t excel at? Once you start something, master it completely! ＊　　　　　　　＊

Don’t go making a fuss every time the electric light goes out! “When they dropped that atomic bomb, you stayed so calm you practically collapsed!” ＊　　　　　　　＊

What must be conserved is not money. Time and effort. ＊　　　　　　　＊

Science is falling in love with truth. ＊　　　　　　　＊

Plum blossoms, narcissus, winter orchids—flowers that bloom enduring the cold carry a refined fragrance, don’t they? Flowers that bloom in easy seasons seem to do nothing but catch the eye.

＊　　　　　　　＊

A resolution isn't something made just once in a lifetime. There are those who make new resolutions every New Year's Day, but that's just ritual, you know. ＊　　　　　　　＊

Pioneers died after enduring countless hardships. The role of reaping sweet rewards waited in reserve afterward. ＊　　　　　　　＊ Physical pain was such a trivial thing. Endure it and you could manage; when death came, it stopped.

The pain of the soul cannot be healed by one’s own strength alone. Moreover, it does not vanish even in death.

＊　　　　　　　＊ The spiritual anguish of saints who commit no sin must run profoundly deep, huh!

＊　　　　　　　＊

During confession, I always end up recalling the same kinds of sins—but perhaps there are flaws in aspects I haven't noticed?

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"I can’t bring myself to settle accounts with just a word of thanks—so…I’ll leave this kindness as a debt yet unpaid."

＊　　　　　　　＊

It takes no small amount of discipline to learn how to accept others' charity with an open heart. ＊　　　　　　　＊ Lying here like this, I can't engage in bad pastimes—but neither do I accomplish any good.

＊　　　　　　　＊

Reconstruction doesn't mean building cathedrals or houses. We must rebuild our faith—

First Journey

A letter arrived from the Sisters of Junshin Convent addressed to Seiichi and Kayano, inviting them to come before school began so that they could make them clothes as an entrance gift. At the girls’ school run by this convent, the mother of these children had long served as a teacher, so among the Sisters there were some who had been her students. From a young age, these children were often taken by their mother to visit the convent to play and were doted on by the Sisters.

At the time of the Atomic Calamity.

This convent and girls' school were both destroyed and burned down. Mother Superior Magdalena too was pinned beneath a massive pillar and appeared in imminent danger from the advancing flames, but after being rescued by a passerby, she gathered the many injured nuns and moved them to a Catholic settlement called Kiba in the mountains. We too went to that settlement and opened a relief station, so we were continuously engaged in treating the nuns. In the valley they built huts, and a monastery embodying poverty just like Saint Clare of Assisi and her followers had taken shape. The scene of the injured nuns praying while nursing one another was beautiful.

As winter approached, through God's grace, this poor convent received the transfer of a military facility in Omura City—two hours by train from Nagasaki—and resolved to rebuild its girls' school. The nuns, still convalescing with unsteady legs, moved to Omura bearing bright hope. When we built a hut in the atomic wasteland and lived there shivering in summer clothes exposed to the wind, the Sisters unexpectedly visited and gave the children clothes made from blankets. Kayano adored the red flower embroidery on the collar. Seiichi delighted in fastening and unfastening his jumper’s buttons. They were Santas of the wilderness...

Now Junshin Convent had grown into a large institution called Junshin Gakuen, encompassing not only a kindergarten, junior high school, and high school but also establishing a university-level theology department. Yet those kind Sisters—who kept remembering us even as the world tried to forget—went out of their way to invite us like this: knowing that though my children had entered junior high and elementary school respectively, without their mother there’d be no one to sew them new clothes.

I thought of letting the two of them travel alone. That train was Sasebo-bound and was terribly crowded. They said even adults risked their lives boarding it. Newspapers often carried articles about injuries and deaths. Moreover，there was a long tunnel along the way. The tunnel lay at a watershed divide，meaning its midpoint formed a mountain pass with steep slopes descending sharply in both directions. The train strained up the steep slope with labored effort. It would finally exhaust its strength and come to a standstill inside the tunnel—a frequent occurrence. The tunnel must have been over a kilometer long. Trapped inside with shattered window glass，the train car filled with thick black smoke. Breath was stifled. Packed tightly together，there was no room to move. They could only think they would die—die any moment.

I couldn't feel at ease sending two young children alone like this. If something were to happen... After all the effort I'd put into raising them by myself up to this point—I couldn't help thinking. Yet when they read the Sisters' letter, they were overjoyed. Just when they'd been complaining about wearing ragged clothes to their entrance ceremony, here came word that new ones would be made for them. If they went, those dear Sisters who remembered them would surely dote on them. They'd probably play the piano for them too. They'd even make delicious Western sweets... Their excitement made it seem like they were heading to some fairy-tale land.

Since they're looking forward to it this much, I'll let them go. After all, from now on they would always need to walk hand in hand as siblings enduring the world's harshness to survive. The sister would rely on her brother; the brother would help his sister; she would depend on none but him; he would first extend his hand to her; believing that while a single hemp stalk may break, two bound together become unbreakable—these two must form one bundle and muster courage. At this very threshold of their new beginning called school enrollment, there could be no better opportunity for these young ones to fortify trust and affection solely between themselves.

“We’re off!” The two went out holding hands. “Kayano, don’t go scampering around.” I called out from my sickbed. However, they had already started running off without replying. I took out my rosary and prayed to the Holy Mother while moving the beads between my fingers for the safety of their first journey. Was it because I was their parent that I grew this anxious over such a short trip? Was my faith insufficient?

It suddenly came back to me—the rumors that the 7:00 AM upbound train was crowded with procurement passengers and sometimes left people behind. In that case, I should have had them take the 8:00 AM one. If they jostled at that narrow boarding entrance, Kayano would be crushed in an instant. Even if she wasn’t crushed, she might drop her wooden clogs between the platform and the train car, or her small body might tumble into the gap. If they couldn’t fully board and ended up hanging on as the train departed… at the high iron bridge of Ōhashi—? Ah…

But Seiichi wasn't foolish. If they saw they couldn't board, they would probably take the next train. If they lacked such judgment, even if today went well, they would surely fail someday. Wasn't I sending them on this journey precisely because their training had fostered such judgment? Might their money get stolen? Might their lunch get stolen? Since Kayano was sharp-eyed, even while her brother was buying the tickets, she'd probably keep a vigilant watch. But what if some street performers came there—? Would street performers really come this early in the morning?

The train whistle sounded. He checked the clock. 7:15 - right on schedule. So there had been no accident after all. If there'd been enough passengers to leave people behind, the departure should have been delayed by a minute or three. It was fine.—But even if a child or two got hurt, the train wouldn't delay its departure. If there had been injuries, someone would have come from the station by train within fifteen minutes—only once that time passed without any emergency alert could he finally feel at ease.

The upbound train passed beyond the hill, its sound utterly unconcerned. Are the two on that train? Had they managed to secure seats? Or were they being crushed in the doorway? Separated by some stranger, wasn't Kayano crying "Brother! Brother!"? Still, their mere presence aboard brought some relief. If Kayano had been pushed onto the tracks—legs severed, drenched in blood— Did Seiichi remember how to stanch bleeding? Pressure applied firmly at the thigh's base— ——Take them to the stationmaster’s office. A hospital? Ah—no hospitals nearby. Would they load them onto another train bound for the university hospital? So distant—if only they could make it in time—

Fifteen minutes meant seven thirty. At seven thirty—would Seiichi come running in shouting emergency? Seven more minutes. I would keep praying my rosary. Though losing legs meant mere disability—a torso injury— No—unthinkable. Just toes perhaps. Five minutes left. The train’s rumble had faded. They must have reached Michinoo Station now. Might they instead be admiring cherry blossoms through train windows? Chatting “So pretty!” While Papa agonizes—they sightsee? That station’s azaleas bloomed fiercely once. Kerria flowers too—yellow carpets beneath sakura boughs. Long ago—my wife carried Seiichi there hanami-bound. That riverbank where we gathered miscanthus returning home... Warm sunlight—infant Seiichi crawling through new grass...

Footsteps! Someone rushed vigorously through the gate. They had arrived. He shuddered. Seiichi? ——

“Thump!”

With a dry rustle, the newspaper flew through the sliding paper door into the room along with the smell of ink.

Ah, thank goodness. He checked the clock. Thirty-two minutes. It was safe now. There had been no injuries at the moment of departure. So after all, the two of them boarded carefree, gazing at cherry blossoms from the window.

He picked up the newspaper. Eye-catching large print—"Express Train Collision!" Where? It's Osaka. It even included photos of the scene. What a disagreeable article. They really didn’t need to go publishing such photos specifically today. Among the deceased were many children. They must have been riding excitedly... Was the cause brake failure? The train carrying Seiichi and the others should have passed through the tunnel by now and was making its way down that slope. That slope was dangerous. If the brakes failed there, what on earth were they supposed to do? Wouldn't it go plunging straight into Omura Bay? I beg you, National Railways. The neighbor worked at a locomotive repair factory, but from what I heard, the way the cars had been deteriorating lately was just terrible. "The materials have become old," he said, "and there are many places where repairs aren’t possible." "They’re somehow making do with patchwork repairs on them, but knowing the actual state of things, I can’t bring myself to ride the trains," said the neighbor. If I had remembered this sooner, I wouldn’t have let them go. Which was more important—clothes or a child’s life?

At a time like this, if only there were visitors to talk with and distract me—though with such suspiciously timed regularity that one might question whether it stemmed from goodwill or malice, they only ever came when I was in the midst of writing a manuscript, making me forget the well-formed sentences I had composed in my mind—yet today of all days, not a single soul appeared.

“You of little faith. Why did you doubt?” These were the words Jesus used to rebuke Peter. There had been an instance when Jesus fed a crowd of about ten thousand people in Bethsaida with enough bread and fish to satisfy their hunger and still leave leftovers. This multitude had gathered to be healed by Jesus and hear His teachings, but as evening fell they found themselves without food or shelter, completely helpless. Moved with compassion, Jesus took the five loaves and two fish available there, looked up to heaven and blessed them, then broke and distributed the food. As He kept breaking the bread and fish, they multiplied until everyone had eaten their fill, leaving twelve baskets of fragments remaining. Having witnessed this miracle firsthand, the crowd became increasingly convinced Jesus was the Messiah and resolved to follow Him wherever He went. Yet their hearts harbored impure expectations—the hope of obtaining bread without labor, and the belief that salvation meant eradicating earthly suffering while granting material prosperity. Therefore Jesus withdrew from the crowd, went up a mountain to pray, and had only His disciples board a boat to row out into open waters. When midnight came, a contrary wind arose and the small boat began drifting out to sea. Around three in the morning, Jesus descended the mountain and walked across the lake toward the boat. The disciples in the vessel saw a figure approaching on the water and panicked in terror, crying out that a ghost had come. Immediately Jesus called out,

“It’s all right! It’s me!” Hearing that familiar voice, they all settled. The guileless Peter suddenly had an idea, “Lord, “Is it truly You, Lord? “If it really is You, as proof grant me too the power to walk on water. “I will come out to meet You there.” Peter said.

“Very well. Come!” Jesus said. Peter nimbly jumped down onto the water. He walked across the waves without any difficulty. The waves surged ceaselessly, yet where they met the soles of his feet, the surface became as hard as glass—far from sinking, he didn’t even get wet. Peter was overjoyed. He came close to Jesus’s side.

Suddenly, when he looked up, an enormous wave was looming over Peter with such force it seemed ready to swallow him whole. This is bad! Peter thought.

The moment he thought that, the water beneath his feet gave way, and Peter’s body began sinking heavily into the depths.

“Lord, Lord, help me!”

Peter cried out and reached out his hand.

Jesus immediately took his hand and pulled him up onto the water,

“You of little faith. Why did you doubt?” he rebuked.

Peter pouted. He realized with stark clarity how fragile faith could be—how it could crumble away at nothing more than a momentary flicker of doubt. His clothes were soaked through, and his bones rattled. Why do I keep making such blunders? The more he thought about it, the sadder he became. He vowed in his heart never to doubt again. The waves were as hard as glass under the soles of his feet. Another saying of Jesus that he had heard before came to mind. It was said that if one, with faith even as small as a mustard seed, were to command a mountain to move, the mountain would indeed move. Faith is a matter of utter reliance and total surrender, like the heart of an infant nestled in its mother’s embrace.

When the two of them climbed back into the boat, the sea that had been raging and battering the vessel suddenly became perfectly calm.

The disciples prostrated themselves before Jesus, “Thou art truly the Son of God!” they said. Peter—would he sink? The moment he doubted—truly, he sank. When he believed he wouldn’t sink, he didn’t. Wouldn’t it still be the same even now? I should have completely entrusted my two children to God. There was nothing to doubt. And yet, here I was, worrying about all these things needlessly. It was because my faith was weak—God would surely watch over the two children. And yet—would the train derail? I thought. The moment I harbored such thoughts—now, it might truly derail. No, no, I mustn’t doubt. It was alright. It would be safe if I entrusted everything. I continued praying, counting the rosary beads.

……

The next evening.

“I’m home!” came a loud voice.

“I’m home!” came a small voice.

When I heard the sprightly footsteps racing through the garden, the heavy weight that had been pressing down on me scattered away in an instant. I crumpled to my knees limply. The two children who had come and sat before me looked as if they had circled the globe. Both of them were wearing brand-new clothes tailored with the Sisters’ devoted care and beaming brightly. “Stand up. Now spread your arms out to the sides,” I said, whereupon the two exchanged glances, laughed, and stood side by side. The sleeves were long, and the backs of their hands were hidden.

Entrance Ceremony

April 1st. Kayano woke up at three o'clock, was disappointed to find it still dark outside, and crawled back into bed. I had also been unable to sleep. Even so, I must have dozed off—unaware of four o’clock—and was awakened by the five o’clock factory whistle. I listened intently, but it didn’t seem to be raining. I wondered if it was nice weather like yesterday’s. At five-thirty, the morning Angelus bell rang from the Cathedral. Kayano, who usually wouldn’t respond unless called multiple times, was already awake this morning with her eyes open,

“Bro! Bro! We’ll be late!”

“Bro! Bro! We’ll be late!” she called out as she shook him awake. Seiichi woke up and helped Kayano put on her clothes. The sweater had been knitted by Big Sister Tatsue and Big Sister Fujie. The monpe work pants were given by Ms.Toizumi. The socks had been knitted by an aunt from Mother’s alliance. The handkerchief came from an unnamed big sister in Tokyo, the school backpack from Big Sister Tomiko, the notebook from Teacher Matsuyama, the shoes from an aunt in Izumo... Through these gifts from people who cherished Kayano, a splendid entrance ceremony became possible. Even if their mother was gone, even if their father lay ill, through these people of goodwill, God thus nurtured His young child. As she had Seiichi fasten the sweater’s hook while attempting to shoulder her school backpack, her little big brother ended up snapping in frustration: “If you keep wriggling like that, I can’t get it on you!” Gazing up at such a joyous scene from my pillow, I found myself smiling.

—How they've grown. They were already going to school. That day she had still been five. She used to boast to neighborhood children, "My mommy's dead too," but— This child who once knew nothing was now learning to read. The work pants she wore that day now only reached her knees. Moreover they were completely worn through. Those had been the sole hand-sewn keepsake from her mother. They could no longer be worn. With this, the last tangible remnant of maternal love that had clung to her small body—that had actually protected her—was gone. The clothes she now wore with Brother's help—all were made by others' hands. Would they now live enveloped solely in others' affection? Nurtured by various people's kindnesses—children might grow without parents—but in the end it remained love from those not bound by blood...

With my fatherly love alone, I wanted to envelop and nurture these children. I didn’t want to entrust them to anyone else’s care. I couldn’t bear letting any woman’s hands but my wife’s touch her orphaned children. Yet here I lay bedridden, unable to sew even a single button for them—the bitter frustration! The wretchedness! Their mother had taught sewing at a girls’ school, so every garment our family wore—from underwear to overcoats—was handmade by her. My wool overcoat, meticulously knitted, would be exhibited at every show, leaving me sneezing throughout those periods. These children had grown up wearing clothes where every knitted stitch and pocket seam overflowed with maternal love. Had she lived—though poverty might have kept us from such finery—she’d never have let them wear this patchwork of styles: sweaters reflecting that Big Sister’s taste, work pants cut to Auntie’s preferences... With unified simplicity matching her aesthetic, she would have adorned their entrance day with joy...

But there's no use dwelling on it.

Now all I could do was have them wear every kindness bestowed by these generous souls and let those giving hearts find joy in it.

The two children went to the Cathedral to attend Mass while bickering amiably. Afterwards, all fell quiet, and in the narrow room lingered the faint scent of children. I too lay on my back offering morning prayers. The glass window of the incense stand grew brighter. The white Madonna statue stood crisply outlined against the backlight.

In the Cathedral’s hall with its wooden floor, the little siblings sat lined up—what were they praying for before the Holy Eucharist? Seiichi’s boyishly high voice seemed to reach my ears, here and there supplemented by Kayano’s halting voice reciting memorized prayers. Since they had kept waking up last night from excitement, they might have occasionally let out small yawns while praying. The child-loving God would surely permit even that.

It would take sixteen years until Kayano graduated from university. That path would by no means be an easy one. Whether she became a scientist, painter, musician, nun, or homemaker—I wouldn't demand or insist on any path—but whatever she became, I wanted her always to remain close to God.

The sparrows under the eaves seemed to have alighted in the garden as well. The cheerful chirping of sparrows encircled the small hut.

Before long, Kayano came clattering down the stone-paved path in her geta. Seiichi returned late while singing. The morning sun streamed in.

Aunt’s carefully prepared meal steamed on the table. Uncle also stopped chopping firewood and took his seat.

“Ta-da! Sea bream!”

Upon seeing the plate where a large grilled sea bream had its tail stiffly flipped up, Kayano’s eyes sparkled.

“Why are you making such a feast this morning?”

Kayano had something she wanted to hear said, and so she deliberately asked. Aunt didn’t miss a beat there either. “It’s Kayano’s entrance celebration!” Giggling proudly, Kayano puffed out her chest.

But she was so overjoyed that she could only manage a single bowl of rice. The sea bream had mostly been devoured by Big Brother. She had barely started eating her rice and was halfway through putting on her backpack when Big Brother scolded her. The socks with red stripes also seemed to be constantly on her mind. Every time she reached out to touch them, they sagged limply.

Passing through the gate one after another with cheerful voices were all first graders.

“Everyone’s a good child, adorning with flowers, everyone’s a good child…”

They had already memorized it and passed through shouting at the top of their lungs. “Good friends together, everyone’s a good child.” May it truly be so.

Aunt said while drinking tea, “I will accompany you, okay?”

I remained silent, considering. What I had contemplated since last night was having Seiichi accompany her. Though only fourteen, he was a middle school student and her sole blood relative. Since I lay bedridden as her father, it fell naturally to her brother to go. Should I die, Kayano would have only this brother to depend on. They might someday live oceans apart—nay, even on opposite ends of the earth—yet these two bound by blood must always sustain each other. Today marked Kayano's first step into academia. On this momentous day, how fitting that she should pass through the gate hand in hand with her brother.

“We will have Seiichi accompany her,” I said. Seiichi seemed startled, his eyes widening as he looked at me. I continued speaking: “Seiichi is a middle school student. You must do everything on your own now. From this day forward, you’ll be caring for Kayano in your father’s stead. Come now—you two go together holding hands.”

Aunt blinked rapidly. The two put on their brand-new shoes. The canvas shoes seemed slightly too large, but their oversized nature appeared to delight Kayano. I had someone open the shoji screens completely so I could see the gate clearly. "I'm off, Papa!" “Go on now.”

The two little ones headed toward the gate. First graders passed through outside the gate one after another. It was lively. It was like a sparrow parade.

And then, Kayano abruptly came to a halt. Seiichi pulled her hand. She didn't move. She remained motionless, staring fixedly at the group of entering students passing outside the gate. Nor did she burst into tears. Nor did she thrash about. Like a frightened calf, she stood rooted to the spot, legs braced. Her older brother was at a complete loss, persistently coaxing her. It had no effect. Like a stiff wooden doll, she didn't budge an inch. Finally, her brother began to tear up.

——Why? Just moments ago she had been so elated about starting school... Her clothes were newly made, her shoes brand-new, her randoseru backpack premium-quality, even the handkerchief with her name neatly written in hiragana was attached—what could possibly be lacking?

As the start of school approached, the passing crowds grew much larger. Given they were children of the atomic wasteland's poverty, those with properly arranged attire were few. But...

Everyone was being led by their mothers' hands! They were chatting happily with their mothers as they went along! ——That was it. Kayano had been made to suddenly recall a fact she had forgotten.

I involuntarily pulled the blanket over myself... Ah, from the very start of her journey, must this child already be exposed to such a cold wind...

After a while, the school bell rang out from the upper school. Kayano had been waiting for this moment to hear the bell with her heart full of anticipation for six whole months, yet...

I slowly peeked my face out from under the blanket. Everything was blurred, and through the haze, the area around the gate appeared indistinct as if viewed through rain-streaked glass. Kayano was still standing there frozen. Seiichi could only stand there stretching up to peer toward the school, as if to say there was nothing he could do. I could no longer contain the emotions welling up within my chest,

“Hurry up and get going! You’ll be late!” I shouted.

Kayano flinched. And without so much as glancing at her brother’s outstretched hand, she dashed off, making her backpack bounce on her back.

Though I regretted having raised my voice so harshly on what should have been a joyous occasion, at that moment, there was no other way for me to bear it than to shout like that.

After some time passed, a group quietly made their way to school past the now-deserted gate. It was a boy being led by a female student. On the female student's face were keloid scars from atomic burns recognizable at a glance. The boy appeared to have some impairment in one leg.

If there were a father at home... The first graders had all returned, yet Kayano alone still hadn't come back. What could have happened? Since it was only her third week since starting school, there should have been no reason for her to stay behind for special matters. Had she been injured—with the school being right there—surely someone would have come to notify us.

About twenty minutes had passed when, at the gate, “I’m home!”

The usual lively voice rang out. Yet today of all days, she didn't come clattering in. Wondering what was wrong, I raised my head from the pillow and peered through the glass.

Kayano entered the garden. Holding something in both hands and staring intently at it, she walked forward with slow, shuffling steps. Her footing was extremely cautious. Coming back from school in that state must have taken her twenty minutes. Normally it wouldn’t take three minutes—it was right there—but...

Finally reaching my sickroom, when I saw her place what she had been carrying in both hands on the veranda, it was her school lunch bowl. Kayano climbed onto the veranda, lifted the bowl again in both hands, and entered the sickroom still wearing her school backpack. Her eyes remained fixed on the bowl. Her expression, her entire body—everything was completely tense. She approached me with shuffling steps over the mere two or three paces, taking great care not to let the bowl sway. I stretched out my hand. The moment she safely handed the bowl to that hand, a large breath escaped from Kayano’s nose. She must have been holding her breath all this time. She raised her face, looked at me, and smiled with a beaming smile.

“Well, when I was leaving the gate, a second-grader pushed me and I spilled it,” she said regretfully. When I looked inside the bowl, there remained barely two mouthfuls of pineapple juice that hadn’t spilled out. “Today’s school lunch—well, when I tried a bite, it was so delicious… Come on now, Papa, eat up! It’s yummy!”

Babysitting

Through the glass came a fleeting glimpse of someone babysitting. The one carrying a baby wearing a red pointed hat on his back was, unexpectedly, Seiichi. He walked briskly around the garden while bouncing the child on his back, practicing English aloud all the while. "I... am... Tom... Brown." "I... am... an... American... boy..."

The baby on his back appeared to belong to a nearby farmer’s wife. Because the farm work kept her busy, she had probably asked Seiichi to look after the child for a while.

Something surged in my chest. In ordinary times, a university professor's son would never be asked to help with babysitting...

Yet Seiichi himself, without a care in the world, was quite cheerfully soothing the baby while raising his voice loudly. The newly learned English seemed to be a source of immense delight.

“She is Mary Brown.” “She is my sister…” As I watched that scene, my heart gradually began to reflect. —The very fact that I immediately thought 'if times were normal' shows I still hadn’t completely shed my consciousness of being privileged. What difference could there possibly be between a farmer’s child and a professor’s child as human beings? If we speak of societal value, isn’t a farmer busy preparing soil for wheat more valuable than a former professor confined to his sickbed? What’s unreasonable about a farmer asking my child to babysit?

Our family had indeed fallen to rock bottom. I was only causing trouble for society. I had not done a single thing to be of use to society. Therefore, this child was not in a position to be called "young master." It was only natural that he got hired for babysitting. Cutting grass for goat feed, helping pick beans, selling flowers, cleaning up roof tiles—all while he had to earn his own school fees and study. It seemed cruel. I also found it heartrendingly admirable. Yet this was the path that had been placed before this child.

Being bound by notions of family prestige and past social standing, fretting over such things—it was I who remained immature. That child wasn’t concerned with such matters; perhaps he was babysitting so cheerfully like that simply because the baby was cute. Even so, when I thought how this small child—utterly innocent—had to grow through such hardships, my heart still grew troubled.

Stained glass

Both Kayano and Seiichi like drawing. I too had loved drawing since childhood. However, having grown up in a village deep in the Izumo mountains along the Hikawa River, there were no proper models to follow nor any paints. I possessed an old inkstone and brush. With no ink available, I would painstakingly grind charcoal to draw. My lines remained faint, with fine charcoal dust floating up after the strokes dried. For colors, I'd visit the stream to collect colored stones, grinding them into pigments. These stone pigments resembled hardened clay - reds, vermilions, yellows, pale greens and ochers all bearing whitish hues yet displaying unexpectedly refined tones. I diligently gathered these pebbles from the riverbed. Both my paternal and maternal lineages had produced generations skilled in painting and sculpture. Yet my father confiscated my brushes, declaring artists to be drunken layabouts doomed to poverty - a path I must never tread. This happened just before elementary school. I abandoned art completely then, becoming a doctor to follow my father's path. But even now I retain this lingering attachment. At times I wonder if specializing in art mightn't have been better than medicine. The fervor that drove me down snowy riverbanks hunting colored stones for New Year's picture kites never manifested in my medical career. Though I'd spent years merely appreciating art, these idle sickbed hours recently found me sketching surroundings with brush in hand. Completely self-taught yet somehow recapturing that childhood artistic spirit brings an unnameable joy.

Recently, after reading painters' biographies, I came to understand that an artist's life could be as solemn and demanding as a scientist's, realizing that my father's description of painters as drunken layabouts... had only referred to incompetent ones. Thus I resolved never to take away Kayano's paintbrushes as had been done to me. It being Sunday and rainy, she couldn't go out to play nor receive visitors—Kayano sat at her desk diligently working her crayons. From my bed I could only see the desk's reverse side, unable to discern her drawing's content, yet it resembled a kamishibai show where illustrated characters held conversations and settings were verbally established, allowing me to grasp the general progression. But since every character and background required individual rendering, the process dragged. As she labored, the young artist's focus would shift—cherry blossom viewing transforming into seaside play, plotlines forgotten so that honey-fetching trips meant for Honhara's uncle became citrus-gathering at Teraida. A botched stroke turned an older sister into a grandmother, tangling narrative threads into confusion. When enthusiasm overran restraint, crayon greens would dance wildly across the page, leaving no space for blossoms while sandals lost their pairs mid-scene.

“I put on a ribbon… wear a sailor uniform… ‘Where should I go?’… Put on shoes… Hmm—yes yes—to Goto… To Satsuyo-neechan’s place… Go by boat.” “Big brother will go too.” “Yes—putting on your middle school cap… yes—fastening the buttons… Huh?” “Big brother’s gotten smaller than me now… The sea’s all rough, and over there’s Sado… Where even is Sado, I wonder?” “Papa.” “Beyond Goto, isn’t it?” “Beyond Goto, as far as you go—on and on, far, far beyond—it’s still the sea.” “Blue, blue sea.” “Yes, this color.” “Sparrows, sing, sing—the day is already ending.” “Call out, call out—the stars are out… and the moon’s out too!” “Such a big moon rose from the sea!” “It rose from the sea far, far beyond.” “Big brother and I saw it together.” “Round, round was the dear moon.” “The sound of the waves went boom... booooom... as they resounded.” “Goto was lonely at night, you know—”

The two children had gone to Goto the year before last. It was an island where old dreams seemed preserved intact. Each morning, the children would lead their cows up to pasture. The calf would hop ahead jauntily before startling at its own footsteps and bolting back to its mother. Upon reaching pasture heights, they untied the cows’ nose ropes. Situated at the island’s central highland, this grazing ground drew children herding cattle from all directions. The cows kept to their own kind while children huddled together, recounting yesterday’s trivial happenings as grand events. Even among cattle there appeared preferences—certain ones always grouped together. The children mirrored this pattern. Some clusters sat beneath camellia trees; others straddled boulders singing; wanderers searched for skylark nests. All produced roasted sweet potatoes from pockets, plucking nearby miscanthus leaves to lick salt before eating. Constant sea winds left these leaves briny. When sun climbed high, children abandoned pastured cows for beach adventures below. Endless games awaited there. Inserting basket clam shells into hermit crabs proved especially amusing—the creatures shrank back panic-stricken, shells jutting like cigars from mouths. At sunset’s approach they returned uphill to bid farewell. The sun dipped into distant seas toward Shanghai’s bearing. Waters blazed crimson. One little one fretted whether offshore boats might catch fire. When dusk fell, each child called their own cow.

The cows recognized their voices and returned. Since the cows knew these paths far better than anyone, all they had to do was hold fast to the ropes—the cows would take the lead and bring them straight back to the cowshed.—

Kayano remembered that and completed another drawing.

On the third sheet, when she took the crayon in hand, she swiped it across without hesitation. This time, it seemed to be a house. A red roof took shape, walls rose, windows opened in the walls, a light fixture hung down, a chimney stood atop the roof, and smoke from cooking rice billowed up thickly.

“...Kayano is in the parlor.” “…Kayano… Huh?”

Suddenly grabbing the black crayon, she vigorously colored over the entire surface,

“Blackout, blackout…”

It seemed Kayano’s visage had strayed far from her original intent.

＊　　　　　　　＊

Then Uncle brought a medieval church art collection and showed it to them. Though a reproduction in primary colors, it was well printed—the stained glass images shone with such vividness one might have been viewing actual panes. The splendor of the Middle Ages had recently begun being reappraised. Unadorned faith found direct expression in those church decorations. I was gazing at an image of Saint Mary. It appeared to depict a window from some rural French cathedral. The artist’s name remained unknown. Perhaps some nameless glass artisan had dedicated his life to decorating that small town’s cathedral. This clearly wasn’t the work of an orthodox school’s disciple. Unbalanced composition, audacious color combinations, clumsy iron framing—it reeked of amateurish execution. The thickness of Mary’s hands—utterly those of a laboring girl’s hands. Those powerful legs—they could surely crush a demonic serpent’s head underfoot—yet still a working girl’s legs. And those eyes! They practically bulged from her face! But what overall impression did this Saint Mary impart? ——My head bowed in reverence. What divine majesty! What immaculate purity! This was indeed the form of God’s Holy Mother. Staring fixedly at it, I truly began feeling as though standing before the Holy Mother herself.

Eternal happiness and a longing for the most exalted things welled up spontaneously within my chest.

Why?!

On a whim, I too took up a pencil and attempted to make a copy. I had intended to draw a faithful likeness, but when I compared the two, mine was merely a woman. It could never be the Holy Mother, a perpetual virgin. I attempted another drawing. Still couldn’t do it. I could only draw a woman reeking of vulgarity. No matter what, I couldn’t draw these eyes. They were clumsily large, wide-open eyes with no particular technique applied, yet they were eyes that gazed upon eternity. They were eyes that gazed upon God. The Holy Mother was one who abided with God. Though still young, Kayano too seemed to have taken a liking to this painting.

“Who’s this?” “Mother Mary.” “Where is she?”

“In the cathedral window?” “Where’s that?” “France’s.—You see, there was one in the old Urakami cathedral too, right? “Remember?” “In that large cathedral.” “…Right? In that very high window above the main altar—where swallows would fly in and perch during Mass?” “During mid-Mass, when morning sunlight would suddenly pour in—since that east-facing window would blaze bright—Mother Mary being assumed into heaven would appear, you see?” “With both hands folded like this over her chest, looking upward, trailing a long blue robe, riding a pink cloud, surrounded by angels—see?—ascending through the blue sky—that’s how she was being taken up to heaven, don’t you think?—”

“Oh, right… we all went there together, didn’t we…” For a while, she fell silent, lost in memories. After a while, “Why did they draw Mother Mary on the window?” “To bring joy to God.” “Did God truly find joy?” “He truly did find joy.” “Right... That’s good, isn’t it.” Kayano stared fixedly at the stained glass once more, then began singing Ave Maria in halting Latin. This too must have been a hymn naturally drawn forth by the power of faith that a nameless artisan poured into this painting several hundred years ago. And Kayano too must have been singing solely out of a desire to please God. True faith was such a simple thing. I too followed Kayano’s voice and sang silently.

She must have fallen into a pleasant sleep just like that; when I opened my eyes, no one remained by my pillow, the rain seemed to have cleared, and evening sunlight streamed brightly through the shoji screens.

There was a drawing on the lower glass of the shoji screen. Was it a girl? Or perhaps an angel, given the wings sprouting from its shoulders. Wearing a floral crown on its head, it smiled innocently. The jacket was red with two buttons, and the skirt had pink pleats. Looking at where there was only a stone wall and stone steps beneath her feet, it did resemble a burnt ruin, yet already an enormously large tulip was blooming there. In the sky, people swimming sideways could also be seen. In the corner was written what looked like a year number—1234—likely her practicing the numbers she had just begun learning at school. The crayon’s semi-transparent quality instead created an intriguing effect.

This painter had completed the stained glass, but when the rain stopped and friends came to invite him, he apparently left without signing it.

――Bird in the ca—ge, bird in the cage The bird in the cage When, oh when will you come out?

On a moonlit night—

In the neighboring garden, they were playing noisily. It was better to die.

The deaths of those two children have lately been tormenting my conscience ever more acutely. At the time, I even thought I had done something good for them, but now, when I consider my own children, I can’t help but feel troubled. Even though their symptoms were severe enough that death was inevitable, what weighs on me most is that I lacked any sincere desire to save them.

Four or five days after being struck by the atomic bomb, people who had until then been thought unharmed and safe developed acute radiation sickness and began dying one after another, vomiting blood. Among the patients under my care were two children.

One was a girl, four years old. Her father had died in the war, and she had been raised solely by her mother, but when the atomic bomb fell, that mother had shielded the child with her own body, lying over her, only to have her head split by a collapsing pillar and die. The child had been rescued without sustaining a single scratch. "Mama! Mama!" she cried all night long, searching for her mother on the dirt floor of the ward, but from the sixth day onward, she suddenly weakened, began passing bloody stool, and developed a fever. I examined her and immediately determined the prognosis: she was beyond saving. And I concluded that death would actually bring greater happiness to this girl. An orphan with neither father nor mother, and merely four years old. As a burden to society, she would have to lead a cold, indifferent life. It would be far happier for her to be called to Heaven without ever knowing the world's hardships, to meet her deceased parents in paradise. The mother, desperate to save this child, had shielded her under her body just as the pillar was about to collapse, offering herself as a substitute—but could the life she'd barely prolonged through such sacrifice truly have been a happy one? It would be better for her to quickly follow her mother to heaven.—Since that's what I believed, I only gave perfunctory treatment and didn't devote myself wholeheartedly. The girl died four days later.

The other was a five-year-old boy. He was an illegitimate child. After his father was drafted into military service, they discovered the woman’s existence for the first time following his birth. After disputes arose, they paid her severance money and took the child into his father’s family home to raise him. Though blood-related and blameless—leading the family to dote on him—the child would inevitably become a source of future discord. When his demobilized father returned home to take a new wife, this boy would clearly become an obstacle. Sheltered in a shallow air-raid shelter during the atomic bombing, he emerged unscathed—until the fifth day when fever struck. Soon adzuki bean-colored hemorrhagic spots appeared beneath his skin, manifesting acute radiation sickness’s dreadful symptoms. I examined him and pronounced his case hopeless. In my heart I reasoned: his death would spare him life’s hardships; let his father remarry unhindered; relieve the family’s burden—a perfect resolution for all. Thus I administered only symptomatic treatment without special care. After five days of suffering, the boy died. He departed this world never having seen either parent’s face.

When the two children were wrapped in straw matting—their small feet peeking out two by two from the edges—and carried away in a palanquin basket to be buried in the mountains, I felt involuntarily sad, yet at the same time, also felt a sense of relief. Now both of them could go to Heaven without much suffering and were fortunate, I thought.

However, lately, that feeling I had back then has come to weigh on me incessantly. At that time, because those children had no parents present, I—an outsider—indulged in such imaginings and even celebrated their deaths. As for the girl, neither her father nor her mother existed in this world. As for the boy, though both his father and mother were alive in this world, they were not by his side because theirs was not a legitimate marriage. In any case, back then, did that child’s father and mother truly wish for their child to die? Would they have celebrated it? Would they have thought, "It would be better for you to die"? —

Let us change perspectives: suppose that on that day both my wife and I had died, leaving Seiichi and Kayano behind—and they too were now suffering on the verge of death from acute atomic disease. Others would gather around them and say: “Ah, even if these children were to live, they’d inevitably face twice the hardships as others in this world. Better they develop atomic disease like this and follow their parents in death—that would be their true happiness.” “Yes indeed,” another would chime in, “even with long life they’d never amount to much. In the end, better they die together with their parents this way.” A pragmatic voice might add: “Well, there’s scarce medicine anyway—if they’re beyond saving, injections would be wasted. You should stop, Doctor.” “Hmm…perhaps we should,” the doctor would acquiesce. “Given these symptoms, the prognosis is absolutely poor regardless…”

If my soul were to overhear such a conversation, what on earth would I do? Would I return to my body, become a ghost, rush to that place, and punish every last one of these people?

No—it wouldn’t be limited to that moment alone. In the days to come, when Seiichi and Kayano contract a serious illness, might the people around them not suddenly entertain such thoughts? And would they not neglect nursing and treatment?

When I think of that, pity rises within me, anger flares up preemptively, and irritation begins to simmer. And now, those two children—the ones I treated with detachment and left to die—return to my mind with renewed vividness.

Eldest Son

Around the busy end of the school term, Vice-Principal Kataoka of Junshin Gakuen came by and asked, “Where has Seiichi decided to go for middle school?” “We’re actually still undecided,” I replied. He declared decisively, “Then you must choose Kaisei Middle School.” “Why?” I asked. When I posed this question, he spent a full twenty minutes explaining in detail why Kaisei was the best choice—covering everything from facilities and faculty to school culture and entrance exams—after having thoroughly investigated and compared all schools in the city. He had truly done his research. Since I hadn’t been able to look into anything myself, I immediately agreed. Moreover, I’d been so distracted that I hadn’t even known the application deadline—when I checked, only five days remained. Mr. Kataoka, realizing I might still be unaware of the cutoff date, had taken time out of his hectic year-end schedule to make the special trip by train from Ōmura just to inform me.

Now that he had passed the exams and been admitted, but being bedridden with everything going wrong, according to what I saw in the newspaper, a full set would apparently cost two thousand yen. How could I come up with such a large sum as two thousand yen? My head on the pillow just kept aching. Seiichi said he didn’t need anything else—just please could he have a new regulation-style hat. A hat—a hat—apparently even a hat would cost several hundred yen.

Notebooks, textbooks, dictionaries, and then shoes. Shoes were terrifying.

The vice-principal of Seibo no Kishi Middle School, Mr. Tagawa, came. Every time he came, Mr. Tagawa would call out "Seiichi! Hey, Seiichi!" and search for him before I did. Today too, upon hearing that voice, Seiichi came darting out from the back. Sweat glistened on his forehead. He must have been chopping firewood.

“Seiichi, let me see your head,” said Professor Tagawa. Seiichi grinned and thrust out his head. The professor took out a student cap from the wrapping cloth. “Well now, I wonder if it’ll fit… When did you grow such a big head?” When he tried putting it on, it perched precariously atop his crown, leaving a seven-centimeter gap down to his ears. “Ha ha ha ha! What a miscalculation!” “My, how you’ve grown.” “Here now, let me borrow that string—I’ll take measurements…” “Hmm, quite large indeed. Shall I compare it with my own head?” “……Oh my, this is astonishing.” “It’s exactly the same size as mine!” “Ha ha ha ha!”

Mr. Tagawa let out a loud laugh. But I did not miss the glint that sparkled in his eyes. His eldest son Nobuharu had been Seiichi’s age. Their houses stood side by side, and when their first sons were born, the two young fathers would emerge to their gates while their wives prepared dinner—cradling their promising next generation in unsteady arms—and speak of a brilliant future with hearts swelling. The two boys had contracted measles together, suffered stomachaches in tandem, caught colds at once, coughed persistently through nights, and grown up sniffling with matching runny noses. They attended Mass together. At Christmas, each father became Santa Claus for the other’s child. They walked hand in hand to school daily. Both fathers had pinned great hopes on these firstborn sons.

The atomic bomb took away Mr. Tagawa's wife and three children in an instant. When Mr. Tagawa made his way here from his workplace in the suburbs, he found Nobuharu and his third son Naoshi sitting dazedly in the elementary school’s air-raid shelter. Mr. Tagawa came to my first-aid station with his two children. The third son had sustained a head injury, so I treated that, but since Nobuharu was unharmed and healthy, we felt relieved and, joining hands, expressed gratitude that at least our eldest sons had survived. This must be what it means for mortal beings to have no way of knowing. Nobuharu had already received a radiation dose exceeding the lethal level throughout his body in that instant. The atomic bomb disease had a latent period of several days before manifesting. During the latent period, even though the terrifying destruction of cells within the body had already begun, no symptoms whatsoever manifested externally. Because the two children were healthy, Mr. Tagawa traveled twelve kilometers to visit relatives. It was there that atomic bomb disease suddenly manifested throughout Nobuharu’s entire body. It was said to have been a suffering his parents could not witness. But the firm faith this child possessed transformed all physical suffering into a beautiful bouquet, adorning his final moments. Mr. Tagawa witnessed his child’s sacred passing and instantly attained true faith.—

That was when Nobuharu was in fourth grade.

After that, Mr. Tagawa frequently wanted to meet Seiichi. And yet at other times, he had confided in me that meeting him made him so sorrowful afterward that he would think it would have been better not to meet at all. It somehow seemed as though the expectations he had placed on Nobuharu had been transferred to Seiichi. There are those who laugh and say they count the years of their dead children, but these are the cold words of people who have never lost a child of their own. If that child were alive, he’d be entering middle school—thinking this, one ends up going into a hat shop and picking up a new hat…

Mr.Kataoka’s eldest son had also been around the same age. And Mr.Kataoka’s eldest son too had died on that day. Though Mr.Kataoka no longer had a child who would attend middle school, he had investigated every school his son might have entered if alive. And it seemed he had transferred those same expectations to Seiichi.

At times, I find myself thinking that the expectations and affection Mr. Kataoka and Mr. Tagawa hold for Seiichi might even surpass my own.

Is it that only after losing a child does parental love deepen, and does filial devotion truly grow stronger upon parting from one’s parents?

Humility.

Seiichi’s baptismal name is Jacob Kizaemon. Saint Jacob Kizaemon was one of Japan’s Twenty-Six Martyrs—a venerated figure who was martyred on February 5, Keichō 2, at Nagasaki’s Nishizaka. Though called the Twenty-Six Martyrs, few in Japan know them, but since Catholic churches worldwide hold commemorations every February 5th, they are actually more famous abroad. They may possibly be the most widely known Japanese figures throughout history. Through the courageous acts of those Twenty-Six Martyrs, Europeans came to recognize the Japanese people as a courageous nation.

Now, regarding Saint Jacob Kizaemon here—that he was born in Bizen, entered the Jesuit Order, and served as a gatekeeper at the cathedral; that he was sixty-four years old at the time of his death and the oldest among the twenty-six—nothing else is known about him. He must have been completely unknown in society during his lifetime. Why is it that this old man has been raised to the highest human glory of sainthood and is commemorated in festivals by people of goodwill across the world!

It was on December 8 of the first year of Keichō (1596) that Hideyoshi issued the order for the mass execution of Christians throughout Japan. December 8th is a day Japan cannot forget indeed. Both were days when Japan severed ties with the civilized nations of the world and withdrew into a small shell. Now then, the Christians all resolved themselves to martyrdom. Among the Christians of that time, there were many prominent cultural figures. Ishida Mitsunari, Konishi Yukinaga, Takayama Ukon, and others. These people were Christians, so though later historians have spoken ill of them, in their time they were quite respected and admirable individuals. In the Keihan region as well, many merchants were Christians. These people not only held socially prominent positions but were also devout believers, devoting their efforts to church endeavors, willingly contributing their personal wealth to relief efforts for the poor, and becoming central figures in missionary work. When they heard rumors of execution, they immediately began making preparations to be killed. They were in a great commotion—dividing inheritances, dismissing retainers, tidying their affairs, composing death poems, and adorning themselves in ceremonial white robes to be ready whenever the imperial envoys might arrive. There were also those who held farewell banquets.

The Japanese people revere making death bloom gloriously. Truly, those people had daily yearned to be praised for meeting an end worthy of their samurai name—an unsullied demise, a spectacular final act, an honorable death. To be praised by others, to leave their names in history... this too was a cherished aspiration in the hearts of the Christians of that time.

However, due to various circumstances, the mass execution was not carried out, and it was decided that only twenty-six people would be killed. These twenty-six consisted of six Westerners—including Father Pedro Bautista, who had been prominent in charitable works at the time—and twenty Japanese, but all twenty Japanese were individuals completely unknown to society. Not a single one had their birthplace, full name, and age all recorded. Their personal histories too remained largely unknown. Among them were even those whose baptismal names alone were known while their secular names remained undocumented.

These people had long held correct belief in God’s teachings, always striving within their means to walk the path of perfection however modestly. Those around them acknowledged them as blameless believers, yet they performed no grand charitable deeds to astonish society, donated no hundreds of ryō to the church, nor took on conspicuous roles during church events—in human eyes, they were not seen as particularly significant. When they heard rumors of the mass Christian executions, they had resolved themselves to martyrdom; yet being weak, they had doubted whether they could endure such terrible tortures to the end, even praying for God’s special aid. They were far from envisioning any glory of sainthood, nor did they possess confidence in achieving a spectacular death that would draw others’ notice. They were simply frail people who could only pray toward God: “Help us.”

However, those elevated to sainthood were clearly visible in God’s sight. They were people who had stored up hidden treasures in heaven. They were people who had constantly performed good deeds unnoticed by others.

The words of Jesus, “Be careful not to perform your righteous acts before others to be seen by them. Otherwise you will receive no reward from your Father in heaven. Therefore, when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have already received their reward. When you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. This is so that your acts of charity may remain hidden. “Then your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you.”

Yet this teaching applied precisely to their situation. Mitsunari and Yukinaga had blown their own trumpets, hadn’t they. That was why they were lavishly praised by society even while still alive. Since they’d already received their reward for that, they would receive nothing from God.

Why was it wrong for the renowned Christians to make such a commotion over receiving the glory of martyrdom? That was ultimately a manifestation of vanity. Any person would have wished to make their death beautiful—that was natural human sentiment. But when one specifically desired to leave behind a good reputation that endured in people’s mouths, that became vanity. Vanity muddied the human heart. A muddied heart could not meet God. Jesus said, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall behold God.” It might have appeared as a mere trifling error, but... It deviated from the path of perfection.

Another thing I found strange was why God had chosen such insignificant individuals over great scholars and prominent figures. This too was something Jesus had clearly stated indeed.

“O Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth, I praise You, for You have hidden these things from the learned and wise and revealed them to little ones. Yes, Father, for this was well-pleasing in Your sight.”

The essence of God’s teachings was perhaps better understood by those without learning. If one possessed human wisdom, perhaps their vision became clouded by it, making it difficult to grasp faith properly.

When the twenty-six Christians were captured, they immediately gave thanks to God and rejoiced that their unworthy selves had been counted among the ranks of martyrs. That was because Jesus had said: “Blessed are those who endure persecution for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. “Blessed are you when people curse you, persecute you, and falsely utter every evil against you because of Me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great.”

because He had spoken. They truly rejoiced and leapt for joy. And until death's moment they maintained gentleness, humility, peace of soul, composure, and endurance. Truly they were the chosen ones.

They were imprisoned, and on January 3 of the following year at Kyoto’s Ichijō no Tsuji, their ears were cut off and they were paraded through the capital’s streets. The blood flowing from their severed ears froze. On the seventh day they were paraded through Osaka’s streets; on the eighth day they departed Sakai Town and walked over two hundred ri along snowy roads to Nagasaki. Dressed in a single undergarment with ropes around their waists, barefoot and treading on ice... The youngest among them was Ludovico, twelve years old and a fourth grader. Next came thirteen-year-old Antonio. Not one collapsed or fell behind along the way, and they finally arrived in Nagasaki on February 5. They passed along that road beside our house in the afternoon. Passing by the university across the way and following the harbor shore, they reached Nishizaka by evening. As the crimson sunset dyed the execution ground, they died upon crosses pierced by spears. They smiled all the while. When the spear pierced his chest, Ludovico was said to have cried “Heaven! Heaven!” as his fingertips trembled. Old Jacob Kizaemon said nothing and seemed to have passed away quietly. From beginning to end, he had detested drawing attention—that was simply his nature.

In Bunkyū 2 (1862), an official feast commemorating Japan's Twenty-Six Saints was held at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, and the Pope decreed that churches worldwide should observe this celebration annually on February fifth. As the proverb says, "It's darkest beneath the lighthouse"—the Japanese alone remained unaware of this. On the seventh day after Seiichi's birth, when he was to be baptized, Papa chose Saint Jacob Kizaemon from among many saints to be the patron of his baptismal name. I wanted him to live his whole life emulating this old man's example.

"Humility!"

What permeated this old man’s entire life was this spirit.

Don’t push yourself forward, don’t act superior, don’t seek fame, don’t chase popularity, don’t mind what others think—always do good in secret!

I must not forget the words of Jesus. “All who exalt themselves will be brought low, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

He gritted his teeth.

“When I gave greens to the chicks, Papa, they had a huge fight. “Even though they were hungry and could’ve just eaten right away, instead of letting the others have any, they fought to take it all for themselves—pecking and chasing each other, tugging and pulling at the greens—until they ended up trampling them and making them too dirty to eat. “They’re so dumb, those chicks.” Seiichi returned from the chick coop and made his report.

“Why did they have such a big fight?” I asked. “The greens were too scarce—since there were three chicks but I only gave one stalk—” “Then how can we prevent them from fighting?” “Just give them plenty.”

“If you understood, you should have done it.” “I did understand, but there wasn’t any.” “If there’s none left, what should you do?” “You could give them substitute feed like chickweed or dock. But lately, since every household in the neighborhood keeps goats, even that’s gone.”

“Then what should we do?” “Hmm… Well… If we open the door and let them out, that would work—but since they’d ruin the neighbor’s field, we can’t do that…”

Seiichi seemed to have no good ideas.

“But speaking of that—what about the doves?” "They’re doing well." “Those doves of ours...” “Oh...” “Now, regarding the work of the boys’ league to prevent war—shall we try thinking about that together with this chick greens problem—”

“What does that have to do with anything?” “Who starts wars? They do it from lack of greens,” Dr. Nagai continued, his voice adopting the didactic tone he used when explaining scientific principles. “Give them enough food and they won’t fight—humans are no different.” He shifted painfully on his sickbed, the dynamite-like tumor in his abdomen pressing against his ribs as he spoke. “Overpopulation meets scarce resources—that breeds class struggle within nations and war between them.” A coughing fit interrupted him momentarily before he pressed on: “Shouting ‘Let’s prevent war with our dove allies!’ means nothing unless we root out war’s causes.”

“Hmm.”

“It has long been said that Japanese people love war, but do people who inherently love war even exist?” “No one would want to be killed so carelessly.” “Nor would anyone want to suddenly kill someone they’ve just met and hold no direct grudge against.” “War is when multitudes, driven by a general’s orders and in the nation’s name, frenzy and slaughter each other.” “How can we claim collective killing isn’t a sin when individual murder is considered a grave crime?” “I believe Japanese samurai drank sake before and after battles not so much to numb their fear of death, but rather to dull their conscience over having killed others.” “The Japanese people detest war.” “Yet since opening our nation to the world, circumstances compelled us to wage endless wars until foreigners came to see us as war-loving.” “Those circumstances arose from living on a volcanic island protruding from the sea—lacking resources to sustain our population.” “Japan’s history is written in bloodshed.” “From Emperor Jimmu’s era to the atomic bomb, might alone defined greatness.” “What became of our people raised under such beliefs?” “This—precisely this.” “It fulfills Christ’s words: ‘Put your sword back in its sheath, for all who draw the sword will perish by it.’” “Now—having reflected on two millennia of history—what fundamental error did our people commit unknowingly?”

“Hmm…?” “—” “They failed to discover and create new resources through cultural power. They merely tried to obtain scarce natural resources through military force—that was their mistake. Now, carefully reflect on history once more as you think this through.”

“…………”

“Instead of adopting peaceful and productive methods to enrich life through creative ingenuity, they tried to steal resources others had developed to live comfortably.” “They chose violent, destructive methods—”

“But Japan is a have-not country, so isn’t it unavoidable?”

“A have-not country? “It’s precisely because you don’t create that you don’t have. The Japanese are quick to call America a have-nation. Then, do they have trees that grow airplanes in America? Or a lake where you can catch television sets? Huh? If you dig up some mountain, do cars come out in endless supply?—”

“No way.” “America wasn’t a have-country from the start either. They created resources from within human minds. What about the Japanese?” "But Japan doesn’t have the raw materials to make such machines—"

“Because they only imitate foreigners’ inventions and discoveries, they end up saying there’s no raw materials or some such excuse. Why not use the raw materials available in Japan to invent something new?”

“That makes sense.” “Now then, present-day Japan resembles a chick coop. On this cramped land, people jostle together in overflowing numbers, violently scrambling over meager resources. Some even handle goods imported through foreign goodwill like chicks trampling leafy greens until they become inedible. How can we save them? The answer is simple: Provide the bare minimum required for subsistence. But those provisions fall short. They’ve exhausted all substitutes too. Emigrating part of the population remains forbidden. Yet our numbers swell daily. Hence emerges this population control theory. They propose restricting numbers according to available supplies. This entails two methods: culling those already living beyond a set number, or preventing births beyond a fixed quota. When they say ‘cull,’ they don’t mean executions—if society withholds relief measures, weaker individuals losing the survival struggle naturally perish. Thus society collectively starves them through indirect means. Without food rationing, this would’ve occurred already—a practice only immature societies employ. Some intellectuals earnestly argue birth prevention proves less cruel than culling, but either way it remains murder dressed respectably.”

“Murder? Then population control theory is essentially advocating murder, isn’t it?” “Exactly—it’s a sin! Because God commanded: ‘Be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth!’ That’s His divine order...” “But when life’s already so hard, isn’t it unreasonable to still say ‘Be fruitful and multiply’?” “It may appear impossible. But an omniscient, omnipotent, all-good God would never demand the impossible.” “Yet isn’t that impossibility happening right before our eyes?”

“Are you suggesting God bears responsibility for this?” “God shouldn’t be responsible, but—” “Would a God of love command ‘Fill the earth’ without first preparing what humans need to survive? He would never issue such an irresponsible command. Even if humanity multiplied enough to fill the earth, everything needed to survive should have been properly prepared. Could it be humanity hasn’t yet discovered it? It’s been hidden somewhere—simply because we’ve been too indolent to extract and utilize it. Humans were endowed with wisdom and free will from the beginning. And God commanded: ‘You shall earn your bread by the sweat of your brow.’ Has humanity up to now properly exercised this wisdom, free will, and sweat?”

“I think we’ve exerted them quite well. After all, we’ve built today’s civilized society that’s utterly different from the animal kingdom—the use of fire; machinery; materials like stone, wood, copper, iron, aluminum; technologies employing steam, electricity, radio waves… Then there’s increased food production through cultivating fields and paddies… and so on—”

“Right.” “That’s certainly true.” “However, many of these involve using natural resources exactly as they’re found.” “Coal, oil, fish, metals, cotton, wool, milk, beef… Human ingenuity has scarcely touched these.” “They dig up coal to burn it, catch every fish they see, cut down mountain trees for houses, make fire, gather fruit-bearing plants and edible grasses to cultivate.” “They live no differently than animals surviving by instinct alone without wisdom.” “It’s like a foolish son idly devouring the inheritance his parents left behind.” “Then when they exhaust everything around them, they go next door to seize more by force.” “Such people are wild beasts.” “They bare their teeth at trifles, slapping the label of ‘conflict’ on any pretext.” “What then is the meaning of being human?” “Where did they misplace their wisdom?” “One wants to demand.”

“When you say they’ve applied wisdom to create new resources, what would those be? For example—”

“Fixation of atmospheric nitrogen—synthetic resins—nylon—certain radio waves like wireless telegraphy waves—shortwave—ultrashortwave—X-rays—and such.” “Ultrasonic waves—dynamite—electric current—soap bubbles—pencils—paper—aspirin—engines—ah, airplanes—” “Jeep… tractor… bulldozer… chewing gum—”

“Chewing gum?” “Hmm... I see.” “Artificial lemon water—saccharin—artificial butter...” “My my, Seiichi—you’re just listing food and drink items.” “I know more! The biggest one—” “The biggest one—”

“Oh? — What’s that?” “Atomic power!” “That’s it!”

The two fell silent, excited by their own words. The atomic wasteland surrounding the hut lay eerily still despite the midday hour. Though the wind blew unimpeded through the hut's interior, no sound of it remained outside. There were neither trees nor grass for the wind to rustle. It had become a flat, featureless plain. He looked out through the glass once more. What an incredible force that had been! Even now, he marveled. With just a single blast, this vast town had been transformed into a barren field.

“The meanings told by this atomic bomb that exploded here are manifold.” I began speaking quietly.

“This recent war had the scramble for resources as one of its main causes.” “The total quantity of natural resources that ought to be utilized had become roughly understood.” “For example—how much oil reserves remained globally? How much coal? Iron? Aluminum?” “Arable land?” “...As this had become understood, they could predict how many years until such-and-such resources would be depleted, how many years of mining would exhaust others...” “For our nation—for our nation alone to survive and maintain a civilized life—we had to secure those resources and these resources now.” “Ideally, it would be best to obtain them through peaceful trade, but this hasty national egoism—which proclaimed surface-level reasons like justice or whatnot—is what I believe started the war, driven by the belief that our nation would perish unless we resorted to force to achieve our aims.” “Yet when the war began, it devoured resources beyond all expectations. What was meant to secure resources ended up losing everything—just look! No aluminum for lunchboxes, no frying pans for kitchens, no coal, no electricity, and on top of that, we’d even lost all our money—that’s the state we were in.” “As I said at the outset, this was the ultimate consequence of our nation’s tradition—dismissing as too cumbersome the path of enriching life through cultural power and opting instead for the quicker method of military force.” “In the final stages of the war, we Japanese had fallen into so-called grinding poverty and were in a state of utter despair.” And then, with a blinding flash and thunderous blast, the atomic bomb exploded.

The atomic bomb taught humanity that an entirely new resource existed. Here lay a profound moral significance. Oil would dwindle. The bottom of coal had come into view. Would human civilization not come to an end along with the depletion of power sources? Before the path of human survival had loomed a black rock of despair. —It was that atomic bomb that blasted away that rock. Through the hole blasted by the atomic bomb, humanity saw the light of a new world shining forth. Through this hole—if they entered and searched—they could extract endless new power, draw out endless new resources: this bright hope welled up in humanity’s heart. All things were composed of atoms. Everywhere was filled with atoms. Within these atoms, God had hidden such tremendous power since the creation of heaven and earth. Moreover, the wisdom to discover that, extract it, and utilize it had also been given to humanity. If only they applied their wisdom, there must still be countless other power sources and materials waiting to be discovered.

All creation was created by God to serve humankind. To leave unused what had been specifically prepared for human use was human negligence. It was unforgivable negligence—they were commanded: 'Toil with sweat on your brow.' Yet where were the multitudes of humanity toiling with sweat? Were they not sweating at their legs? Were they not sweating at their arms? To say labor was sacred—that was all well and good. When speaking of labor, the masses considered manual work primary. And they rolled up their sleeves and boasted. They relied on public sentiment to devalue those who labored with their minds. Yet one must have keenly felt it during that burnt site's land leveling—how hundreds of Japanese laborers had sweated at their arms, shoulders, and legs while wielding hoes, but due to its tedium, a single bulldozer suddenly arrived and finished grading in the blink of an eye.

If physical strength were what mattered most, bears would surpass humans. If shoulder power determined worth, humans could never rival oxen. In running they lose to horses; their sense of smell pales before dogs'. What makes humans truly human lies in possessing wisdom and free will. How utterly foreign this dictatorship of muscle-worshipers must seem to those endowed with reason and volition! For humans to live as humans ought means wielding these gifts of wisdom and free will in obedience to God's divine intent.

"The age of negligence—when humanity, like animals driven solely by instinct, recklessly exploited natural resources—had passed. That single atomic blast roused humanity from its slumber. Now had come the era in which humanity would correctly use the wisdom and free will it had been given to uncover hidden resources one after another. The time had come when wisdom prevailed and physical strength retreated to its rightful position. 'It is a splendid era in which humans can live truly human lives,' he said. 'Seiichi and his generation live in that era.' 'How enviable.'"

“So then—the atomic bomb was humanity’s great wake-up call from its slumber.”

Scientists and Religion

“Religion is the path through which people serve God.” “God is truth.” “Therefore, one could also say religion means serving truth.” “Meanwhile, scientists pursue truth through scientific methods.” “In other words, they strive to correctly perceive what emanates from God.” “Both religion and science share the same goal—truth.” “The two point in the same direction.” “They are not opposed to each other.” “There is nothing unreasonable about scientists possessing religion—moreover, we can assert that true scientists must necessarily adhere to the correct religion.” “Indeed, most eminent scholars of modern times have been genuine believers.”

“But it’s also said that modern science progressed because scientists fought with the church and made its influence retreat.”

“That’s an empty claim propagated by people who want to oppose the church.” “And it’s not that scientists themselves are making those claims—it’s cultural critics who’ve never once held a test tube who are saying them.” “There were indeed scientists who rebelled against God, but the hypotheses they proposed, though they captured people’s attention for a time, were eventually proven wrong and faded into obscurity.” “The Darwinian theory of evolution is a prime example of this.” “There are no civilized nations nowadays that believe the theory of evolution to be the truth.” “I hear there are still people in Japan who think humans evolved from monkeys.”

“I hear the church teaches that the Sun revolves around the Earth—isn’t that so?” “Even elementary school students these days know that the Earth revolves around the Sun.”

“That question comes up often. “In the universe, celestial bodies demonstrate orderly motions. “From which point in the universe should we describe each heavenly body’s movement? “Any point can serve as your base. “Take Earth as your base point—then the Sun revolves around Earth. Take the Sun as the universe’s base point—Earth revolves around the Sun. “Choose the North Pole as your base point—both Sun and Earth move. “There’s no need for geocentric and heliocentric theories to clash so vehemently. “We simply use the heliocentric theory for convenience—its calculations are easier.”

“So, scientifically speaking, both the heliocentric and geocentric theories are truths, then?” “Both are hypotheses. Human wisdom is an imperfect thing. God’s wisdom is perfect. Imperfect things cannot fully elucidate what is perfect. Science is exploring God’s wisdom by exhausting the limits of human knowledge. But it can only reach an approximation of the truth. Therefore, what has been revealed by the power of science are hypotheses. There can be countless approximations. Therefore, in science, there are multiple hypotheses for a single problem. Of these, the one that seems closest to the truth becomes established as common sense among the general public.”

“But—it’s generally said that truth is revealed through science.” “That’s what scientific laypeople say. And they don’t properly understand the definition of truth, you see. Truth is eternal. Scientific theories change with the times. The geocentric theory came into fashion, then the heliocentric theory came into fashion, now it’s considered that either could be correct… Or perhaps the particle theory of light was considered correct, then the wave theory was considered correct, and nowadays it seems both are correct—though it has come to be thought that both might be mistaken… Lately, the atomic theory has become quite influential, but—”

“Is the atomic theory also a hypothesis?” “It’s a hypothesis,” Dr. Nagai replied. “The concept currently prevails because it offers the most convenient explanatory framework. But specialists in atomic research are beginning to recognize the need for conceptual revision.” Seiichi leaned forward. “Then is it false—this notion of electrons orbiting the nucleus?”

“Is it a lie, or is it true? “That is something that cannot be understood by the power of science alone. “However, as atomic science progresses, ideas different from today’s way of thinking will become popular. “That is the progress of science. “However, truth remains unchanged from the beginning. “There’s no such thing as progress.”

“Are you saying science cannot grasp the truth?”

“Science seeks truth. It cannot attain it. It can only seek. It can’t master it.” “Then isn’t pursuing science meaningless?”

“What nonsense! It has tremendous significance! If you conduct scientific experiments, you’ll understand their significance.” “While conducting experiments honestly with your own hands, you’ll experience the joy of seeking truth.” “The power of science cannot grasp the truth.” “In other words, God’s true nature cannot be seen.” “But we can observe God’s divine works.” “The omniscient, omnipotent God who sustains and governs the universe—we’re permitted to witness His beautiful order, righteous laws, and ingenious mechanisms.” “Isn’t that alone a tremendous blessing?” “You see,” “By merely observing that orderly beauty, one understands how meticulously God has poured His love into ensuring humanity’s happiness.” “…Humans cannot embrace the sun with both hands.” “But we can witness its workings.” “When we recognize that bright daylight, pleasant warmth, and plant growth all stem from solar radiation reaching Earth through rays of light—then we comprehend how essential this star is to our well-being.” Primitive peoples with limited wisdom consequently regarded the sun itself as life’s progenitor—thanking it directly bestowing titles like “Lord Sun” and “Sun Deity,” worshipping its crimson orb as supreme holiness. Even without physically embracing our star merely understanding its functions stirs profound gratitude—those who know the true God recognize these life-giving rays don’t originate from solar will but flow through divine governance from He who reigns above. “Therefore our gratitude belongs not to the sun but to God.”

“Is faith absolutely necessary for practicing science?” “It is absolutely necessary.” “Why?”

“Faith means being illuminated by truth’s light. A life of faith means walking the righteous path under that truth’s illumination. Like ships advancing safely through dark seas toward their destined ports, guided by lighthouses. This illumination by faith’s light comes through God’s bestowed grace—it cannot be attained through human effort alone. Now scientists grope for truth in night’s darkness. Those lacking proper faith—those denying God—wear black blindfolds in such moments. Thus they miss the light shining from truth itself, searching aimlessly until their efforts come to naught. But those with faith walk bathed in God’s direct light—truth itself—marching straight toward it. Even faithless scientists might occasionally blunder toward truth through sheer luck. Yet such happenstance proves unreliable.”

“So does having faith alone make research more efficient?” “Proper faith is required.” “Not just any faith will suffice.” “And you must always maintain humility.” “We must conduct experiments with reverent hearts—with the mindset of being granted permission to observe a portion of the Creator’s works in governing the universe.” “In essence, we scientists conducting experiments in our laboratories are no different from monks praying in their monasteries.” “Experimentation is prayer!”

The Word of God

“I heard Jesus performed a miracle to multiply bread.” “If Jesus would appear before us now and multiply this bread, I’d be so happy.” “Because the people who received bread from Jesus thought that way too, that’s why He wasn’t pleased with them.” “Because Jesus Christ was a God of love, He took pity on those suffering in sorrow before Him—resurrecting the dead, healing the sick, multiplying bread to fill multitudes’ hunger—but this was to demonstrate He was the true God. Saving humanity from worldly physical suffering wasn’t God’s primary purpose.” “What Jesus sought from humanity was that they pray to gain eternal life.” “His primary purpose was granting eternal salvation.—Do you remember?” “When Jesus fasted forty days in the wilderness and felt hunger, the devil approached, pointed to nearby stones and said: ‘If you’re Almighty, turn these to bread and eat.’” Then Jesus declared: “Man shall not live by bread alone,” “‘but by every word proceeding from God’s mouth,’ thus rebuking the devil.” “Of course people need food to live.” “But one can’t live rightly on food alone.” “We must keep every word from God’s mouth.” “When hungry, Jesus clearly stated:” “We hunger now,” “But what we seek mustn’t be bread alone.”

“But everyone keeps saying ‘bread, bread’.”

“That’s just human wretchedness—it can’t be helped.” “No matter how earnestly the church strives to spread the Word of God, the crowds just pass right by and head to the black market.” “For now, we must first fill their stomachs enough that they can calmly listen to God’s word.” “In other words, it means first providing them with the essentials needed to keep their bodies healthy.” “Putting it in more technical terms—it is rescuing humanity from material poverty.” “I believe this is necessary for humanity to properly hear God’s word.” “I hear there have been many thefts lately—this too must be because goods are scarce, compelling people to commit crimes out of desperation.” “Also, I hear there are many family suicides due to poverty.” “Suicide is a grave sin, but had they possessed material means, they would not have chosen such a hell-bound death.” “—Whose responsibility is the task of providing the people with the necessities required for this life?”

“That would be the government.”

“I see—the government would be the one directly handling distribution.” “But if we consider it more fundamentally…”

“They would be the producers.” “Exactly.” “Producers, right?” “But if we consider it even more fundamentally…?” …”

“Ah, I see—it’s scientists,” Seiichi said. “Scientists who apply their wisdom properly, make discoveries, and bring new things and energy into people’s lives.” “Exactly,” Dr. Nagai replied. “It’s scientists’ duty to lift humanity from material poverty. When people escape poverty, they gain free time and energy. This saved time and labor can then be used according to God’s word—meaning they can attend church and do His work. Though truthfully, it’s the reverse.” He adjusted his breathing before continuing. “True human life begins by hearing God’s word. Scrambling for food comes second. Remember when Jesus visited Lazarus’ home in Bethany? While Martha bustled about the kitchen preparing a feast for Him and His disciples, Mary sat listening at His feet.” “Martha grew upset and protested, ‘Lord, don’t You care that I’m left to do all the work? Tell her to help me!’” Dr. Nagai’s voice softened with reverence. “And what did Jesus answer? ‘Martha, Martha—you worry about many things, but only one is needed. Mary has chosen what’s better.’” His finger tapped the Bible’s worn cover. “That single necessity is hearing God’s word. Kitchen worries rank far below. Yet modern people idolize their flesh so fiercely that if you say ‘Seek God first,’ they’ll either flee or attack.” A wry smile touched his lips. “So we compromise—while churches spread the Word, scientists must keep improving lives.”

“But, Papa. When science flourishes and material life becomes affluent, they say people only come to appreciate material things, and religion declines.”

“There’s some truth to that view,” he acknowledged. “But that only happens when it’s not the true religion at work, and when scientific achievements get misused through human free will. Look at America and Western Europe—Christianity flourishes there abundantly. Particularly in affluent South America, it’s truly remarkable. Yet contrast that with the misery of people in Eastern Europe who persecute Christianity. When nations grow impoverished, anti-Christian Communist Parties gain strength. To maintain that power, they deliberately keep populations poor—campaigning through strikes and government office raids to prevent national prosperity.” He nodded grimly. “They’ve planned this thoroughly. To counter it, we must practice Christian neighborly love—providing food, clothing, homes and new livelihoods for those being dragged into communism’s clutches, all while proclaiming God’s word. In essence, scientists’ work lays the foundation for building God’s kingdom.”

“Through the power of science, how much time and labor can people save?”

“Hmm—in times before scientific advancement, people had to do everything through human labor alone.” “That’s why they used slaves.” “These slaves would run errands for their masters—chopping firewood, cooking meals, catching fish… handling every chore.” “But now we have telephones, telegraphs, postal services.” “Slaves became unnecessary for such tasks.” “With electric heaters and gas stoves, you can cook by turning a switch or flicking a lighter.” “No need for slaves to trek into mountains chopping wood, splitting logs to dry them, or clinking flintstones to spark flames.” “Thanks to whaling ships and refrigeration systems, even whales from southern oceans can be eaten here. This means modern American lifestyles effectively harness eighty times their population’s worth of human labor.” “Through science’s power, America now saves time and labor equivalent to eighty times its population—resources freed up for other uses.” “What do you think?”

“Wow! That’s incredible!” “Seiichi just prepared this tea for Papa—but how many minutes did it take?” “Well, drawing water from the well, pouring it into the kettle, lighting the charcoal brazier, fanning it furiously while waiting for it to boil…” “If this scientific equipment had remained intact—?” “Turn on the water tap, flip the electric heater’s switch, and you’re done.” “You see? Some minutes would be saved—this applies even to a single task. When they accumulate, it becomes quite significant. I wish we could at least eliminate the wasted time and leg fatigue from Aunt standing in line at the rationing office.—So then, when humans are freed from material poverty and can obtain what they need to sustain their physical lives as they wish—what will people do?”

“Wouldn’t they just eat their fill, wrap themselves in warm futons, and fall asleep while listening to radio music?” “There may not be many such people—but we should pay no mind to such foolish idlers.” “Let us consider sincere individuals instead.” “If they were freed from worrying about their physical bodies—?” “There would be no choice but to contemplate the soul, ultimately.” “That’s how it must unfold, don’t you agree?—What is the soul? What constitutes the soul’s happiness? From where does the soul originate? What function does the soul perform during life? How must it be maintained? Where does the soul go after death? ……Ultimately, this becomes the question of God. If each person were to deeply ponder this problem, the world would grow beautiful—I assure you.”

“I wish we could create such a world soon.” “To that end, we scientists must first strive with all our might.”

Doctor

He had talked about wanting to follow in Papa’s footsteps and become a doctor—but if his reason for pursuing medicine was simply doing good deeds like saving dying patients’ lives—that expectation would prove misguided. When Papa was young and newly practicing medicine—he’d swaggered about believing he held patients’ lives literally in his hands—convinced he could preserve or end them at will. Taking on terminally ill patients abandoned by other physicians—successfully treating them with radium—being revered by those discharged survivors—this fed his arrogance. Yet when treatments failed and patients died—he’d plunge into despair—certain he’d committed some fatal error. In other words—I’d convinced myself lives hinged entirely on my technical success or failure.

However, as I gradually gained experience, this confidence began to waver. There were times when patients I had given up on as beyond recovery would unexpectedly make full recoveries, and times when patients I had confidently vowed to cure would suddenly die. As I accumulated more experience as a doctor and honed my skills, it gradually became clear to me that I possessed no power to save or end patients' lives. I had diagnosed that this patient would die, yet they didn't die and recovered fully. Or patients whom other practicing doctors had given up on as beyond saving would recover. In such cases, it was simply that the prognosis delivered by doctors had been mistaken. They recovered because they were meant to recover. Despite having exhausted every possible means, when a patient died, it was because they were meant to die; it wasn't the doctor's failure. For doctors to claim they saved a patient's life or that their failed treatment caused someone's death was nothing but arrogance. It should be called not knowing one's place.

God says, "Can any one of you by striving add a single cubit to your lifespan?" No matter how much one strives, has it not been clearly stated that humans cannot extend their lifespan even by a single cubit through their own power? Not even a sparrow will fall to the ground without God’s divine will. How much more then for precious human life—this follows the divine will of the God who created it. A doctor’s power cannot prevail against it.

Then for what purpose do doctors treat patients? You might ask. The doctor’s work is to suffer together with patients and rejoice together with them. If a patient suffers from abdominal pain, the doctor suffers alongside them too, praying fervently about how this suffering might be eased. When patients hover at death’s threshold in anxious torment, doctors too share that torment, racking their brains to somehow wrest them from death’s grasp. When a patient’s fever breaks and they sigh in relief, the doctor sighs in relief too. When a patient finally regains health and says “Thanks to you,” the doctor returns the greeting with “The thanks are yours.”…

The more experience I gained as a doctor, the less confidence I had in my own skills, until finally I became like a mother with her infant—someone who could only feel anxious every time I faced a patient. When I examined an elderly patient, I felt as though examining my own parent; when giving an injection to someone my age, it was like injecting my own sibling; when operating on a child, it was as if operating on my own child—I came to feel the same as when watching a blood relative suffer from illness. And then I would forget everything else, pacing anxiously and fretting over what to do—rereading books, shaking test tubes, scrutinizing X-rays in detail, selecting injection medications...

As a doctor, Papa had managed to carry on with nothing more than that.

If it were merely a matter of exerting wisdom and applying technical skill, the work would be easy—but doctors do not simply repair the body. Not only must they suffer with patients in spirit, but their very bodies must resonate with the sick person’s pain, enduring it with their entire being.

When I realized that it was ultimately God’s divine will that determined a patient’s fate, my examinations of patients transformed into prayer. Administering injections became prayer; performing X-rays became prayer; I came to perform them always praying for God’s blessing upon the patients.

Specialty According to Professor Ikeda, your homeroom teacher, you aspire to follow in Papa’s footsteps and specialize in atomic medicine—but why would you form such an aspiration? Since you don’t understand the broader circumstances of academia and have simply decided atomic studies must be a good choice because they’re being so vigorously discussed in newspapers and magazines these days, I’d have to say that’s rather rash. This is the problem Papa risked his life to research. Just considering the fact that you’ve developed a resolve to risk your life should make you realize how fascinating this research truly is. I think there are currently few other academic fields as fascinating as this one. Therefore, there is more than enough worth in dedicating your life to this research. Even if any sacrifice is demanded, it’s work worth doing. In this world, there are many unfortunate people who cling to occupations unsuited to their nature just to put food on the table, spending their entire lives in a joyless monotony as flavorless as sucking on a towel. I don’t want to spend this irreplaceable life living in such a way. The thought of going to work every morning unwillingly—I can’t even bear to consider it. In comparison, what immense happiness it would be to devote one’s entire life to work one loves—even if the income is meager and the sacrifices great! Papa is now confined to bed like this, but if my condition improves and I can walk even a little, I will go straight back to that beloved laboratory. There was a time when Papa spoke to a young man. “Appetite yields to vocational desire”—the desire to work is greater than the desire to eat. Make that kind of work your specialty.

Now there was one thing that had to be considered. The scientific community was in constant motion. Science as a whole progressed steadily. Upon closer examination, among its many fields, some might unexpectedly emerge and achieve remarkable development. There were cases where age-old problems gradually approached complete solutions. Fields like atomic studies had first emerged fifty years prior and recently made dazzling advances that captured attention. Penicillin and streptomycin were examples of those that had only recently surfaced. Undoubtedly astonishing new disciplines would emerge henceforth—work being diligently pursued even now by one or three scientists in some small laboratory, unknown to the world.

Seiichi would graduate from university and choose his specialty ten years later. What state would atomic studies be in ten years hence? And when his research career would end some fifty years after that, how much academic appeal would atomic medicine retain? When Papa first began studying atomic studies, this field still lacked general recognition in Japan, forcing him into grueling adversity. The number of scholars aspiring to specialize in this area each year could be counted on one's fingers. Thus even though Papa is now considered a mainstay in Japan's atomic medicine community, I still feel we've fallen completely behind when compared to America's recent advancements in this field. To start pursuing atomic medicine now would be like joining yesterday's marathon race today, wouldn't it?

It is often said that the Japanese are skilled at imitating foreigners. In the scientific community too, this tendency to chase after prevailing trends persists. There are numerous papers consisting of replications or supplements. Replication means redoing experiments first conducted by others. A supplement merely fills minor gaps in another researcher's mostly completed work. Grand endeavors like invention and discovery cannot be accomplished through imitation. Isn't this imitative mentality precisely what drives middle and high school students today to express interest in atomic studies?

Shouldn’t young people harbor more outlandish dreams? Things that ordinary people are convinced they simply cannot do. For instance—methods like damming the Bering Strait, exterminating all rats, creating drugs that suppress anger, developing concrete that can be endlessly softened and reshaped, inventing non-flammable fuel, adhesives that mend wounds, harnessing atmospheric electricity, hardening the soles of one’s feet like shoe leather to walk barefoot, or techniques to instantly reproduce three-dimensional objects as they are (perhaps termed “solidographs”)—wouldn’t it be more fitting for young people to set their aspirations on attempting such inventions?

Flying through the sky—the dreams of ancient people had now been realized. They dove through ocean depths, sent voices across vast distances, showed their working selves to people worldwide. Eating ice in summer, undergoing painless surgery, exterminating lice, preventing epidemics... What we now performed daily without surprise or concern had been treasures of dreams—things people of old desperately desired yet could never obtain.

Young scientists must have dreams. And they must have but one dream. Cling to a grand and difficult dream—one whose realization within your lifetime remains uncertain. Then surrender your entire life to that single dream.

Atomic studies already seemed too antiquated to be considered a suitable dream for young people to embrace.

Scientists The miners who unearthed jewels lived lives diametrically opposed to those who adorned themselves with jewels. Who had discovered those gems glittering on noblewomen’s chests as they danced beneath chandeliers, intoxicated by fine wine and swaying to joyous music—through what means and in what places? Laborers who entered gaping mine shafts in Africa’s uninhabited mountains, guided by headlamps, pressing onward until they reached earthen walls at tunnel ends to swing their pickaxes. For each pebble they scrutinized with sharp discerning eyes—jewel or mere stone?—they strained every muscle to dig through fresh soil as they advanced. The will to uncover beauty; faith in inevitable discovery; perseverance refusing cessation until success; physical endurance to dig endlessly.—They might excavate their whole lives yet never find a single gem. Countless predecessors had perished mid-quest within those mines. Yet true to the adage, successors climbed over corpses to inherit pickaxes. Unknowing who might use their unearthed jewels, where or how, they kept digging while praying: “Only let these not become tools of sin.”—

Scientists are laborers who produce civilization. In laboratories unseen by anyone, they exert their mental and physical strength to diligently unearth civilization. They simply pray that the inventions and discoveries thus unearthed will not be used for sin.

Cultural life, civilized society. When humanity lives brightly, cheerfully, and conveniently, scientists—poor and suffering, sweat streaming from their chests, noses, and palms—produce cultural assets. Many modern people who pride themselves on cultured lives are mere consumers of culture. Sinking deep into sofas, sipping cocoa or lemon squash, listening to Tchaikovsky flowing from electric gramophones—yet they had only just earned the money to buy these trappings of cultured existence by superficially transferring cultural assets from right to left...

Producers had no connection to consumer life, and consumers knew nothing of the hardships of productive life.

＊　　　　　　　＊

Though a single white lily had bloomed in the garden, my aunt placed it by my pillow. In the Atomic Wasteland, this third year finally saw flowers blooming normally again. Last year they too had bloomed, but strangely. How beautiful and precious these lilies appeared after such long absence. What a wondrous work of God! Truly they surpassed even King Solomon in all his glory. How splendid—how perfectly splendid lilies are. Were one to fashion flowers, none could surpass lilies. White lilies above all. Every visitor who came praised these lilies.

On the third day, I received a bundle of lilies from a group of female students. How many flowers were there? At a glance, I counted no fewer than twenty. I tossed them carelessly into a large vase. It was no longer a flower. It had become a single glowing mass. It was less beautiful than blinding. Beyond praise—it overwhelmed. I couldn't keep looking—it intoxicated me.

A friend came to visit, but before opening the entrance door, I heard him murmur, “Oh, there are lilies here.” And as soon as he stepped inside, he whispered, “What a lovely fragrance.” This is precisely how a nation’s scientific community should be. How truly lonesome when merely one or two scientists receive praise, become spectacles for admiration, or turn into subjects of conversation. In countries boasting hundreds or thousands of exceptional scientists—lands that have nurtured multiple Nobel laureates—each individual researcher fades into the background. And that nation becomes permeated with the fragrance of science—a scent that carries beyond its borders.

The Purpose of Life

Tadpoles grow legs, their tails shorten, and they eventually become frogs. There are no distinguished frogs or foolish frogs. They are all the same frogs. They are born completely equal and become completely equal frogs. However, these frogs cannot establish a social system. Many frogs with the same strength gather together and do nothing but clamor noisily all night long.

If all humans had equal abilities, would such an efficient society have emerged? If all humanity were uniformly at the Prime Minister's caliber? If all humanity were uniformly trusting? In either case, they'd likely just gather and make noise without accomplishing anything. Isn't it precisely because humans' innate abilities are unequal that social systems function smoothly? While differences in people's inherent qualities might benefit society as a whole—doesn't this mean those born dim-witted, physically frail, or into poverty get shortchanged? If we accept that God lovingly created each person—does this imply variations in the measure of His love for individuals? Doesn't this suggest unfairness in divine affection?

Geniuses effortlessly make great inventions and receive applause from the world, but the less talented cannot even enter advanced schools no matter how much they study. Even if one is intelligent and physically strong, if their family struggles to make ends meet each day, they cannot develop their talents and must rot away in the mountains. Humans are first created when conceived in their mother’s womb; before that, they are utterly nonexistent. There is no such thing as a previous life. If there were previous lives, one might attribute innate fortune or misfortune to karmic causality from those lives—but since no such previous lives exist, the differences in human nature are not the individual’s responsibility, but are determined entirely by God’s divine will. Why does God permit such unfairness? ——

As Jesus and His group approached the temple in Jerusalem, there sat a man blind from birth begging for alms. The disciples turned to Jesus, “Whose sin is responsible for this man being born blind?” “Is it his own sin?” “Or his parents’ sin?” the disciples asked. Jesus answered, “It was neither this man’s sin nor his parents’.” “He was born blind so that God’s works might be displayed in him.”

He answered, and wrought a miracle to restore his sight.

Ill health and poverty—misfortunes deemed such by societal norms—all exist so that upon them may be manifested the glorious works of God. As long as these people continue maintaining sincere hearts, God’s works will surely manifest in time. It is not only those born into misfortune—no matter how different each person’s innate circumstances may be, God’s works will surely manifest in their lives someday. The diversity of innate circumstances exists so that God’s works may manifest in various forms. All human beings stand completely equal as those through whom God’s glorious works appear.

For humans to achieve success by becoming great politicians, scholars, or wealthy individuals—in God’s eyes, these are not life’s purpose. That is life’s purpose as seen by those who do not know God. The true purpose of life is "to know God, to love God, to serve God, and finally to attain heavenly happiness."

To achieve this purpose, innate differences hold no relevance whatsoever. Even those born blind can fully attain this purpose. Those of modest ability and geniuses alike may reach it through equal means. One cannot claim poverty prevents knowledge of God. Should one live their whole life without knowing God, even conquering nations as a great general would not fulfill life's purpose. If someone knows God yet loves Him not—becoming a companion to demons—they remain unfulfilled though history enshrines them as great thinkers. Though one's tongue loudly invokes "God! God!", they who serve devils through daily deeds cannot attain life's purpose.

Neither Seiichi nor Kayano possessed any spark of genius. They had been granted only ordinary talents. To compound matters, our household knew no wealth. Yet God's works would surely manifest in their lives. Let them live on—loving God with simple hearts as they await this revelation. May they never mistake life's true purpose. ——

Occupation

After death, one receives judgment from God. At that time, what becomes an issue is not "what one did" during their life, but "how one did it." “Whose child were you?” is not asked. “How did you serve your parents as their child?” will be asked. “What was your occupation?” is not asked at all; instead, “How did you perform your occupation?” will be asked. After entering Heaven, all worldly distinctions—whether one’s status was high or low, wisdom great or foolish, strength mighty or weak—have vanished.

Even in Heaven, employees need not bow their heads before executives. Those who fulfilled their duties faithfully as employees would likely be seated higher than executives who had been somewhat negligent. And they would likely cease to dwell on whether they had been executives or employees. Those who styled themselves as executives could only maintain such airs until death; those who took pride in being professors only during their lifetimes; distinctions between millionaires' wives and tenement caretakers lasted merely in this world. In the next life, there existed neither ministers nor clerks, captains nor cooks, princesses nor nurses, principals nor janitors, grand champions nor the disabled, politicians nor craftsmen. In God's eyes, neither occupation type nor wage levels, neither social appearances nor popularity, neither status nor scale held significance—what mattered was whether each individual had chosen work that fully employed their given talents, whether they had remained faithful to that vocation, and whether they had manifested divine glory. Upon these evaluations rested the eternal honor bestowed upon souls.

In this world, there are men who play the hero, making grand declarations like "I need no money, no honor, no degrees, not even life"—yet do nothing and remain in poverty; but there are also many lazy individuals who, unable to earn money, attain honorable positions, or even muster the will to study, nonetheless bluster with empty boasts while putting on airs. The person who can declare "I need no money" must be one who actually holds great wealth in their hands. The person who says "I need no degree" must have published research papers worthy of receiving one.

In God’s presence, degrees, honors, and wealth hold no meaning; no profession is of any consequence. Whether one is a minister or a professor, a janitor or a guard—it makes no difference at all. In essence, any occupation suffices—provided each person takes up work that fully utilizes their given talents, loves God, serves Him, and manifests His glory. Even someone who can only circle rice paddies shouting to chase sparrows—if they devote their life earnestly to this task for their village—would receive full marks in God’s evaluation of their life. A man granted talent to become a minister yet ending up a vice-minister due to laxity in study would score ninety points before God. Thus in Heaven, the sparrow chaser sits above the vice-minister. The sparrow chaser does not surpass the vice-minister only upon entering Heaven—he already ranks higher while alive. No one’s worth may be judged by their occupation. A person’s worth hinges solely on whether they fully employ their bestowed talents. To illustrate: should a bank president botch investments and trouble depositors, a shopkeeper who never errs even with one pair of zori sandals would be deemed greater.

Even if one is intelligent, it is nothing to boast about at all. That is not the person’s own doing, for God has granted them those fine talents to exercise in consideration of the needs of all human society. Even if someone is intelligent and becomes a doctor, becomes a professor, or even a minister, that is not that person’s own doing. That, too, is merely one position necessary for human society. And because there must be placed in that position a person suited to it.

Eternal Life

We are living. The year，month，and day we were born；the year，month，and day we will die. That is to say，we are living in time. One keeps a diary，writing entries like “April 29th：wake up at 5：30 AM，Mass at 6：00，church sports day starting at 8：30…” This is life in time.

However, while living within time, we simultaneously live eternal life. Eternity does not mean infinite extension of time. It differs fundamentally in nature from time. Eternity consists in the experience of direct relationship between myself and God. To perform good deeds aligned with God's divine will is to live eternally; to commit evil deeds opposing that will is to die eternally. Put simply, eternity means having circles and crosses recorded in the ledger kept at God's hand.

However, within our lives, there are many things that are neither marked with circles nor crosses in God’s ledger—that is to say, things that are neither good nor evil. For example: sleeping at night; walking down roads; eating meals; gazing at clouds; breathing; scratching an itch; sneezing; watching baseball; listening to the radio—such things may remain in a diary but will not be recorded in God’s ledger. In God’s ledger, there is a blank.

Time will cease to exist on the day the world ends. The afterlife is not an extension of this world's time. Human diaries—that is, history—will vanish without a trace when the world ends. Life in time also comes to an end. What remains is only the records of eternal life. When you die and stand before God, and are shown your life's record—if it were blank...you would not understand why you were born human. There are likely many such people. For even if something is considered good by society, if one does it for oneself, it will not be recorded as good in God's ledger. Studying seriously—this is not a bad thing. However, if one studies to become an honor student and be praised, or to pass exams and obtain a license so that one can make a living, then it has nothing to do with God and thus does not become good. Toiling away growing rice, pulling carts, mining coal—no matter how hard someone works, if they labor only to feed themselves, it remains life in time and does not become eternal life. Even if someone donates large sums to orphanages or treats many patients free of charge, if they do so to make their name known to the world and have people call them a philanthropist or apostle of love, it will not be recorded as good in God's ledger. It remains blank. Many heroes, great figures, artists, religious leaders, politicians, beauties, and scholars have left their names in history—but how many of them have truly been recorded as 'good' in God's ledger? Since many of those people likely dedicated their lives to their own honor, they lived only in time and were prominently inscribed in human history—but with the end of the world, with the end of time, they will vanish without a trace.

This life is a workplace for storing treasures in Heaven.

Every single day, every hour and every second, while living in time, we must devise ways to live eternally. We must accumulate small eternal treasures. We must constantly perform small good deeds and have them recorded as "good, good" in God’s ledger. ——Then, how can small treasures be created? Whether a deed becomes a treasure or not is determined by the intention behind it.

“For God’s glory alone!”

Acts performed with this resolve are eternal because they directly relate to God. No matter how small the act—whether picking up a single straw, removing one pebble from the path, or trimming overgrown nails—if done for God’s glory alone, He will deem it good. Even when sleeping at night, if you rest with the resolve to heal today’s fatigue and regain strength to labor tomorrow for God’s glory alone, He will count this as good. Those neutral acts I mentioned earlier—eating meals, breathing, sneezing—if done for God’s glory alone, become eternal good deeds. We must always strive to do only what serves God’s glory. Do not do what brings no glory to Him. ——If you persist in maintaining this disposition, you will live eternally.

And what’s truly merciful is that this way of living can be adopted by anyone, no matter their circumstances. God is perfectly fair, you know. If one must do work benefiting society or the nation to be deemed good by God, then a sick person like me would have to despair entirely on this point. Not only can I be of no use to society or the nation—I’ve become nothing but a burden, you know. But when it comes to doing things for God’s glory alone, there’s no end to what even sick people can accomplish. And I feel life’s true significance. There isn’t even room for despair or wishing to die quickly to take root.

For God's glory alone!

There is no end to the things one can do. Life is delightful, isn't it—

Flesh and bone.

I had known since my student days that myelogenous leukemia patients characteristically complain of bone pain—but now experiencing it myself, I could no longer coldly cite it as a clinical feature like I did back then. Medical textbooks show no compassion in their descriptions. To reduce this agony to mere words is itself an act of cruelty. The ache in my bones defies description—an unpleasant sensation without clear edges. At least if I were drenched in greasy sweat and groaning, there'd be purpose to it. If it were neuralgia—the kind that contorts your face impressively—I could explain it to others. Neither fully painful nor painless, this vague ache lingers deep within my body, impossible to locate. Even when motionless, my bones generate their own torment. A touch brings dull throbbing. A tap would make me leap up. The tibia hurts most fiercely, then the sternum—the rest blur together—but my ribs, lying just beneath paper-thin skin, pulse dully with every incidental contact. This body once carried seventy-one kilograms of athletic vigor, now reduced to countable bones that feel even the futon's weight reverberating through them.

Another source of pain is my abdomen. My spleen has enlarged and presses on my stomach, intestines, and heart, so food doesn't enter much, my bowels don't move well, and I experience shortness of breath. It's just like a woman in her tenth month of pregnancy heaving her shoulders with each breath. In pregnancy, once the baby is born, all's well that ends well—but my spleen isn't going anywhere. The blood circulation in both legs deteriorates, and mild spasms come.

——At this, I groan. Having them rubbed brings some relief. The manner of rubbing proves difficult. Rubbing too hard reverberates through the bones. It must be done gently. I think I should just rub them myself if it's such trouble, but my abdomen swells like a mokugyo drum, leaving me unable to bend or reach. Adults' massages only worsen the pain. Thus during visitors' presence, I must stifle inadvertent groans. Only children suffice for this rubbing task. Both Seiichi's and Kayano's hands—soft-fleshed, supple-boned, gently weak—prove most suitable for massage. When my two children rub me, it feels as if I'm massaging myself with my own willful hands.—Is this what they mean by flesh and blood?

As I was being massaged, before I knew it, I had forgotten the pain and was slipping into a pleasant sleep.

After dinner, it was often the children who would fall asleep first. ――The massaging hands would naturally slow to intermittent pauses, then stop altogether as a sudden small weight pressed down on his legs, the sound of peaceful breathing reaching his ears.

A severed branch

The rose vine by the gate bloomed so profusely that its branches drooped. This was a branch we had received from the seminary in the spring following the war damage and planted in the still-unrebuilt burnt ruins where no house yet stood. By its third spring, it had already grown into a luxuriant thicket, and now each person passing the gate would go their way with hearts uplifted, thinking, "How lovely!" The people living in this atomic wasteland too seemed to have finally found the leisure to appreciate flowers. From now on, they would likely plant flowers at every house. They wanted to quickly clear away the roof tiles and transform this place into a village blooming with flowers.

Kayano cut a branch and placed it in the vase by my pillow. In the morning, the bud had swelled; by noon it began to open, and by evening it bloomed into a fresh deep red. By then, the next bud had swollen like the tip of a pencil dipped in crimson. In this way, one after another, flowers bloomed by the pillow. When observed closely, the leaves too were growing larger. The cut rose branch in the vase continued to grow just like the original plant by the gate, blooming beautiful flowers that attracted insects in order to bear fruit.

Observing this branch, there was no sign it would wither pathetically even after four or five days. It overflowed with vitality indeed. It brimmed with hope. And vigorously carried out its work. The stem diligently drew up water from the vase. The young leaves' cells did not cease multiplying. Inside the bud, tremendous effort was exerted to produce crimson pigment. Since Kayano's hand had broken off the branch, no matter how much its leaves might grow, it would not last more than five days in the end. Even were it to bloom flowers, it was certain to wither before bearing fruit. Yet the rose vine did not cease its growth. It continued blooming flowers one after another.

“If God so clothes the grass of the field—which exists today and tomorrow is cast into the furnace—then you shall not worry about tomorrow.”

Nyokodo

April 30, 1948; I finished writing this book at Nyokodo.

The hill over there was Urakami Cathedral. The red brick cathedral had collapsed, its southern wall standing precariously. A group of believers created flower beds in its front garden. The new wooden cathedral had also been completed for over a year and had already blended into the landscape. In the level below its front, the wooden walls of the community center—whose completion had just been celebrated yesterday—glistened. At the entrance of the community center, about a hundred boys gathered for catechism practice.

The area where the town once stood transformed into a vast wheat field, with makeshift barracks floating here and there across the plain where the wheat had begun taking on a faint yellow tinge. The harvest would soon begin.

The Nyokodo where I sleep is a two-tatami room house. Beside my sickbed lies just a single tatami mat—that is where Seiichi and Kayano reside. This was made possible through the generous contributions of Father Nakata, Father Nakashima, and Elder Fukabori from the church, and was kindly built by Mr. Yamada and his team from the Catholic Carpenter's Union.

For the glory of God alone, I joyfully entered this house. For one who is far from my homeland and has fallen ill on my journey, the kindness of Urakami villagers loving me as themselves is profoundly moving; I have named this house Nyokodo and offer unceasing prayers of gratitude. Children of the Ruins by Nagai Takashi

A father afflicted with a terminal illness, two young orphans-to-be—these were the inhabitants of Nyokodo. Where did the right path lie for these three individuals to live on? ——They had sought it through suffering, agony, thought, prayer, and ceaseless effort. I wrote into this book exactly as they were—the thoughts I had pondered, the actions my children had taken, the words I had spoken to them, and the act of recording these now since they likely wouldn’t be understood, to be read later.

This is a record of my home. It is not an official document. This way of thinking and living may not align with common societal norms. Yet I secretly believe the souls of those parents—those who vanished in an instant, leaving beloved children in scorched ruins—might resonate with these words. Should any spirits find harmony here, this book shall speak for those departed voices. From my vantage point, Seiichi carries roof tile fragments in a basket to discard them, while Kayano arranges rose vine blossoms on shards of Arita porcelain, playing house by herself. How will these siblings judge my thoughts when they mature? In fifty years' time—when they'll have far surpassed my current age—they might gather to open this volume, dentures clicking as they muse, "Father's ideas were rather youthful, don't you think?"