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Hiroshima
1943
by Rie Imanaka
It
was two days after my fifth birthday that Papa left for war. I
remember it was a hot day in July. My mama, big sister Ayako,
and I stood in front of the house under the glaring sun. We were
each holding our hand-made flags. Ayako's was the biggest. Each
side was about my arm's length. I remember how vivid the red circle
looked in the centre. The contrast of red against white almost
stung my eyes. The flat sun burned like magma, as the proud sun
above.
I
remember Mama turning on the radio. It was always the same, the
radio. Incessant clamours of the battle situations in the south.
I was never interested or even understood what war was. They were
all chatters to me. The radio eventually became lullabies for
my naps, the metallic buzz resonating with the songs of Cicada.
"Ayako,
pray for Papa," mama said. Her fingers dug into my back like
spiders as she pushed us forward.
I
can never remember Papa's face since he had the sun to his back.
The sunray defined papa's tall, rigid figure and illuminated around
him like an aureole around god. I wanted to run into papa's hand
and get his sweaty, soiled smell but somehow my feet wouldn't
budge. I stood there, frantically waving the rising-sun flag,
watching him walk off into the sun, his dark shadow sinking into
the halo. The light would engulf him, his outline of the shadow
getting smaller and smaller, until I saw nothing but light in
my eyes.
Mama
made the best okonomiyaki. The batter was made with flour and
cabbage. They would meet with the day's catch; squash or onion,
squid or egg if lucky, and meat on occasions. Mama would then
pour the mix over a hot plate and kept it on low flame until it
sizzled and heavenly scent of sauteed vegetables danced in the
room.
She
had a special sauce that she secretly kept in a pot. I think this
was what made it so tasteful. Mama said grandma gave it to her.
It was rich and tasted of zillion herbs.
She
would make them okonomiyakis only on special occasions. She made
a batch for me on my birthday.
It
was two months after that hot June day that we received a letter
from the Head. I couldn't read, but Mama read it to us that he
had gone. Missing while serving our Great Emperor. I knew Papa
was not coming back to our house.
I
couldn't see my mama. She was trembling like a weak rabbit, her
shoulders shook so much that I thought they might break off. She
had our back towards us, but when she turned around, she no longer
had tears coming down. Calming her puffed-up cheeks, she said
"your Papa did great deeds" and she held her palms together.
I didn't understand.
Later
that day, I heard sizzling noise from our kitchen. When I took
a peek, mama was stirring bowl full of watered flour with chopsticks.
"This is for our Papa," she said, noticing us approaching.
Me
and my big sister Ayako ran outside to dig some potatoes. We had
a harvest of fat cucumber, fist size squash, and a few potatoes.
I
couldn't stop crying as we ate the okonomiyaki. It was so bitter.
It was my first encounter with death, first encounter with war.
War mixed us all together like batter, and cut us into pieces.
Two
years later, that great big bomb was dropped in Hiroshima. Mama
and Ayako never suffered since they fled to Nara to mama's sister's
place.
I
stayed in Hiroshima. I hid under our family stone. I was first
buried there a week after I came out of Mama. The lady who helped
mama used big words like "mal-new-tree-sion" and "unfortunate".
Mama cursed the war.
I
decided to stay behind because I felt I should be there in case
Papa returned.
The
bomb was great. The heat penetrated into the ground and burned.
It was as if the Sun came down. The angry God shook the ground
and roared. It cleared away every shadow and sound in sight.
I
never learnt what war was all about, I just know Papa will be
here some day. Mama's with me now. When he comes back from the
sun, I will run to him and jump into his arms. I will smell his
sweaty, soiled skin and stay by his side forever.
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