The soldier followed her.
Noriko permitted him to accompany her. “What is your name?”
“Sergeant Hardesty.”
“No, what is your name?” Noriko stressed that question this time, speaking her words slowly.
“My name is Max. It’s short for Maximilian, though I don’t like that name very much.”
“You should carry your name with honor, Max. I am Noriko.”
“I’m happy to meet you, Noriko.” Max stood beside her. They shared a prolonged silence as they stared at the ruins.
“This is where the bomb exploded. It is what you call Ground Zero,” Noriko said. “Tell me, do you find this building beautiful?”
Max struggled with his words. “No, of course not. I’m not a terrible person.”
“No, I am certain that you are not. But there is beauty in everything.” She paused. “Look at how the setting sun appears to be trapped within the twisted metal of the dome. It is as if a spirit watches the city from above. It wants this building to stand a century from now. It wants people to remember. It wants to make certain that nothing like this ever happens again.” Noriko turned and looked at him. “You are staring at my face. Perhaps you have noticed the scars.”
Max looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize. I am used to being stared at. I am one of the hibakusha.”
Max paused. “I don’t know that word.”
“The Japanese do not speak of it, but I am not your average Japanese person. The bomb took my humility. It took my humanity as well.”
“Then you shouldn’t talk about it.” Max moved closer. A dry wind blew through the remains of the city. Burnt scraps of clothing still drifted about. His uniform shirt ruffled, as did her kimono.
They said nothing for a time, and Noriko broke the silence. “The hibakusha are the survivors of the atomic bomb. We are shamed. We are shunned. We are of two worlds, of the living and the dead, and neither will tolerate us.”
Max looked beyond the ruins, where new structures had already begun to sprout. “Do you think that they will ever rebuild all this?”
“Much has already been accomplished,” Noriko said. “The Japanese people thrive in times of adversity. We will grow stronger and happier, yet the past will always be with us, and those who have lived and died during this time will be honored by those of a more peaceful future.” Noriko began to walk away, then stumbled.
Max caught her. “You need help. Do you have a family? Friends?”
“I need to rest,” she said. “It has been, as you Americans say, a long day.”
“Do you have a house? May I take you somewhere?”
“I stay in a shelter with others like me,” Noriko said. “It is not far from here.”
“My jeep is nearby. I will take you there.”
“I will agree to this. Thank you, young man.”
Noriko dreamed of Lady Deigan again. They floated above Hiroshima. Deigan was beneath her, staring up at her from behind her mask, the placid face of an elder, with open lips that portrayed only the expression reflected by Noriko’s emotions. With a blue-white flash, it happened again. Their bodies spun in a radioactive wind, and below, Hiroshima perished. Noriko listened for the screams of her children, but there were no screams to be heard. They had no time to scream.
The soil below went black with ashes, and Deigan took Noriko’s hands as she pulled her down, to where the trees became skeletons and the life-giving water boiled away.
Noriko awoke to hear arguing. She was in bed, where she had been after Max had brought her home. Kiko, one of her shelter mates, approached her bed and told her that someone was waiting for her at the door. An American. She got out of bed. Her leg bothered her more than usual.
Max was waiting for her. “I came to check on you,” he said. “That’s one of my duties. To observe. To make sure that the people here are getting along okay.” He paused. “I enjoyed our conversation yesterday. I wanted to come.”
Noriko could hear the others. They were arguing again. “Let us go outside,” she said.
They stepped into the garden. “Is something wrong in there?” Max asked.
“Some of my housemates get agitated when there is an American around. Do not, as you say, take it personally. We are all hibakusha here. There is much pain.”
Max bent down and examined some of the leaves in the vegetable garden. “I grew up on a farm, but I don’t think that I’ve ever seen plants that were this green and healthy.”
“We keep extending the limits of the vegetable garden. The plants want more land. They are not happy if they are confined. It has something to do with the soil.” Noriko knelt beside him and looked into his eyes. Being in that position caused her pain, but she thought it important. “The soil is well-fertilized. It is full of ashes. And occasionally, one of the girls will dig up something more. A finger. An ear. Parts.”
Max stood, and then he helped her up. “May I ask you about how it happened?” He spoke slowly, carefully. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Noriko looked at the ground. “I will tell you. It was a typical morning in most ways, full of tension. The war had turned us into a quieter people. There was much fear. Fear that we were losing. Fear that the Americans would invade. Fear of what would come after. And then the sky lit up. I do not remember what happened next. I believe that I passed out, but when I woke up, there were bodies. And those who could walk … Flesh hanging, limbs blown off, their intestines pouring out of them. The pain that I felt cannot be described. I watched others die. And my children …” She stopped and started to cry.
Max gently placed his hand upon her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Noriko regained her composure. “My children were away at school. The building was obliterated. Vaporized. Nobody survived. My husband was in the army, far away. I believe that he is still an army man, but I do not know for sure. He never came back to me. He knows that I am hibakusha. He is ashamed.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Max shook his head. “We did things. I did things.”
“And the Japanese Government did things. And the Germans and the rest of them. It is complicated.” Noriko looked into the distance. “We are not our leaders, are we? We are good people. Do not forget that.”
Max forced a smile. “What did you do during the war?”
“I was valued for my English language skills, so I wrote propaganda. I am an artist as well. I had much practice drawing your Roosevelt. He had very big teeth. I did not portray the Americans very kindly.” His hand was still on her shoulder. She placed her hand over his. “What about you, Max? What did you do during the war? Perhaps you were too young to fight, then. You are an innocent.”
Max pulled away. His expression changed. “I am not as young as you think I am. I was involved. I did things. I did things.” He stressed those words.
“I apologize,” Noriko said. “You do not wish to speak of this. I can hear it in your voice.” She paused. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes, actually I am.”
“I would cook for you, but the others would never permit you to come into the shelter. Their pride has been damaged. So I will show you our shopping district. We can find food there. It is not what it was before the bomb, but we try.”
Noriko didn’t stand too close to Max as they walked through the shopping district. She didn’t want others to think that she was a prisoner. “Many refuse to come here. They believe that the food and water are tainted. But there are others, like me. This is our home. Nothing can drive us out, even the bomb.”
“I haven’t been here before. I can see that there has been a lot of progress.” Much of the area had been cleared of rubble, and new structures were popping up. The air carried smoke and food smells.
“There were many shops here before the bomb came,” Noriko said. “They lined both sides of this road, very far, and there were dozens of beautifully carved wooden portals with lanterns above. The shopkeepe
rs would hang their signs all along here, and at night, when the lanterns were lit, it looked like the sky was filled with a thousand moons. It was always busy, people walking, riding their bicycles, buying and selling. Laughing. So much happiness. Now there is only what you see. Hastily-built structures, ugly, utilitarian, I think that is the word for it. This is an ancient country, Max. The houses of our ancestors remain a part of them, so when you visit an old house, you visit the ghosts of those who had lived there centuries ago. But the bomb wiped those buildings away, and it took our ancestors with it. It took our history. You help us rebuild, but your buildings are very western. We will thank you for your efforts, but when you leave, we will tear it all down and build in a way that honors us.”
They stopped at a shop of a man who sold fish. The fish were laid across a rough wooden table along the side of the road. The merchant’s shop was open at the front and had no doors. It was little more than sheets of tin roofing material that had been sloppily joined together. He looked tired. His eyes were sunken, few teeth remained. His clothing probably belonged to someone else. When Noriko approached, he looked briefly at her, and then he turned his head away. Max approached next. The man bowed his head and kept it bowed.
Noriko asked the merchant something in Japanese. He ignored her. She looked at Max. “He does not want to sell anything to me. He sees only my scars.”
“What do you want?” Max asked.
“This fish looks very good, and the rice as well. But we will go somewhere else.” Noriko started to walk away.
Max stopped her. He bent down, looked into the man’s eyes, and pointed at the fish and rice.
The man prepared two small servings of fish and rice, wrapped them in paper, and handed them to Max.
“How much do I owe him?” Max asked Noriko.
“He will not take your money. He is afraid of you.”
Max tried to offer the man money. Noriko was right; he wouldn’t take it.
They found a small table nearby. Noriko unwrapped the fish and rice, and they prepared to eat. “I have no chopsticks,” she said. “It is too much trouble to get them now. We will have to do the best that we can.”
Max looked at the fish. It remained on the paper, and it had mixed with the rice. The fish smelled strong. The rice was acceptable.
Noriko looked at him and smiled. “Have you ever eaten raw fish? It is quite healthy for you. We Japanese live a long time, or at least we used to.” She lifted the paper to her mouth and took a small bite of fish.
“I have eaten raw fish before,” Max said. “When you are stationed in Japan, it’s unavoidable.” He took a bite as well, and before long, they both had finished their meals.
They stood and began to walk back through the shopping district.
Noriko froze.
Max saw what she was looking at. A man at a table was selling masks. He looked at Noriko, and then he walked up to the table. The masks resembled souvenir masks that might be for sale in the States. A woman. An old man. A devil.
Noriko approached him quickly, took his arm, and led him away. “We must go. Now. Let us get back to your jeep.”
“What’s wrong?” Max asked.
Noriko didn’t answer, and she didn’t speak again until they were in the jeep, heading back toward the shelter. “Those were Noh masks,” she said. “Noh is a very old form of Japanese drama. The actors wear those masks to represent many beings, old men, women, demons, spirits, and animals. But it is much more than that. This is difficult to explain to an outsider. The dead are always speaking to us, Max. But we try too hard not to hear them when we are awake. That is why they speak to us in our dreams. And they speak to us through Noh.”
“I saw someone wearing one of those masks,” Max said.
Noriko held her stomach. “Pull over, Max. Please. Pull over.”
Max pulled over.
Noriko quickly climbed out of the jeep, bent over, and fell to her knees. She clawed at the ground and gagged, then vomited.
Max placed his hand upon her back. “God, what’s wrong? What can I do? Was it the fish?”
“It is not the fish,” Noriko said. “Help me up.”
Max helped her stand.
“It is the bomb.” Noriko leaned on the jeep. “I am growing thinner. Soon, I will be as thin as you are.”
Max handed her his canteen.
Noriko took a long drink. “You said that you saw someone wearing one of those masks. Have you ever seen Noh performed?”
“No. I saw someone wearing a mask when I found you passed out near that blown-up building. He was dancing, I guess, but moving very slowly. His mask was red, like a devil. I didn’t know what to make of it, but after I bent down to check on you, he was already gone.”
She looked at him, terrified. “Max, what did you do during the war?”
“I did things.”
“Tell me. It is very important. What did you do during the war?” Noriko was nearly shouting.
Max looked toward the ground. “I dropped bombs. Not this one, but there were many others.”
There were tears in Noriko’s eyes. “So that is why Shikami let you see him. He is angry at you.” She reached out and took Max’s hand. “We are linked. Both of us are outsiders.”
“What’s going on?” Max asked.
“Take me back to the place where you found me. Take me back to Ground Zero. I’ll show you.”
The demon Shikami was waiting for them in front of the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall. He danced to the music of the Noh.
Max parked the jeep nearby. They watched Shikami. “Is that an actor?” Max asked.
“He is not an actor.” Noriko climbed out of the jeep. “Follow me.”
They walked toward the ruins. Shikami beckoned to them, slowly and fluidly, as was the way of Noh. His arms were open, and his long yellowed fingernails urged them forward. The wind billowed within his robes, and the eyes of his demon-red mask turned golden.
“Can you smell it?” Noriko asked.
“Smell what?” The Promotion Hall was close. There were figures inside, other spirits of Noh.
“The air. It is damp. It smells like rain and smoke, like a thundershower, yet there are no clouds, and there are no other people here. Just us. And them.”
Max quickly looked around. It was late afternoon when they arrived, but the sun was just starting to rise. The ruins cast long shadows, yet the sun was too low for that. He looked at his wristwatch. The hands were moving backward rapidly, and old Hiroshima, the city before the bomb came, was rebuilding itself. The Promotion Hall stayed in ruins, but the walls were growing transparent.
“We inhabit a land between worlds,” Noriko said. “It has already begun.”
They stepped over rubble into the building.
“The spirits want us to stand beneath the dome,” Noriko said. “I hear their voices in my head.”
Below the ruined dome, they waited. The Lady Deigan, the vengeful one who tormented Noriko in her dreams; Ayakashi, the warrior spirit; Akobujo, the old man; and Fukai, a woman, like Noriko, who had lost her children. All of them wore the masks of Noh.
Shikami followed Noriko and Max. They could see the dome through the floors above.
“We are to stand at the center,” Noriko said, “directly beneath the spot where the bomb detonated.” Max followed her there.
The others surrounded them.
They watched the sky through the blackened skeletal braces that once supported the dome.
Something was whistling toward them.
“Close your eyes,” Noriko said. “The flash will be very bright.”
Hiroshima died once again. The flash came like a million bolts of lightning, and their ears rang with the wind, the roar of collapsing buildings, the crackling of flames, and the sizzling of flesh, and yet they remained protected within this space. Noriko felt her cheeks as she opened her eyes, and she found only the old scars there, nothing worse. But outside the building, the explosion obliterate
d all that had been reborn.
“Look,” cried Noriko.
Max opened his eyes.
The others moved back so they could see. A billowing mushroom cloud engulfed the sun. Pale ashes rained down through the open dome. There were flames, but then something else began to glow. Figures. Human figures. They watched them sprout from the ashes all across the city, miles of brilliant white lights glowing like stars. Many of them gathered outside the building, close to the dome. They had no faces. They had no masks.
Noriko cried. “My children are out there.”
Shikami approached them. He took Max’s arm, and then he began to lead him away.
“No!” Noriko yelled. “Not him. He is young. He must be permitted to live out his life.”
Shikami stopped and bowed his head in her direction.
Fukai approached Noriko. She wore the mask of an older woman. The lips showed no expression, so Noriko shared her own. They both wore the face of those who had lost their children.
“Do not take him,” Noriko said. “Please.” She placed her hands over her stomach. “Something is growing inside of me. It is getting larger. I can feel it. There is only pain left for me in my world.”
More ashes rained down, coating them in whiteness.
Fukai nodded.
Shikami released Max.
“Go now, Max,” Noriko said, “Never come back here.”
The ashes were turning pink, floating through the open dome. Cherry blossoms.
Max wouldn’t leave.
Fukai reached up, and slowly, she removed her mask. The face of the woman underneath looked like Noriko, only an ancient sadness resided there, frozen like the mask.
Noriko took Fukai’s mask. She looked at it for a long while, and then reverently, she put it on. “My scars are gone now,” she said.
Max was shaking his head.
“It is as it should be,” Noriko said. “You are a good man, Max. Do not punish yourself for your past. Move forward. If you do not, there will be no journey for you, and you will never find the joys that await you along the way. But when you sleep, your dreams will torment you. It is the way for those who have suffered through war. But I will be with you, and I will see to it that these spirits do not torment you too badly.”
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