-Hiroshima-

I wasn’t expecting it.
I knew where we were going.
I had looked at the map; two maps in fact.
We knew where to get off.  And still, when we got there, I was surprised.
There it was.

We had taken the street car, and for only the third time on the twenty minute ride from our hotel did the announcement for a stop come in English:  “This is the closest stop to the A-bomb Dome.”  I had glanced over my shoulder just before the street car came to a complete stop.  And there it was.

We stepped off the street car onto the shoulder-width platform in the middle of the road.  My wife opened the small umbrella we had brought along.  And we stood looking at the dome through the clear brown plexiglas wall of the platform waiting for the light to turn red.  The light turned and we moved, the three of us, in a huddled mass under the umbrella toward the Dome.

The remains of the brick building that was once the Hiroshima Prefectural Commercial Exhibition Hall sets not more than ten meters from the street.  There was no one there.  We were alone in the rain under a cheap umbrella to look at what remained of the building that sat roughly 100 meters north and about 600 meters below the hypocenter of the explosion of the first atomic bomb.

I was surprised that so much of the building still stands.  Surprised that it is right next to the water.  Surprised that the Motoyasu River that branches off the Ota River is so narrow.  Surprised that the T-shaped Aioi Bridge, the likely visual target for the bomb drop, is just thirty-forty meters away.  Surprised that we were the only ones there.  The last being the most haunting.

Hiroshima was the largest island in the delta of the Ota River.  The Ota divides into seven branches as it runs through Hiroshima and empties into Hiroshima Bay.  Just north of the Peace Memorial Park is the rebuilt Hiroshima castle.  This castle was built in 1589 by Terumoto Mori. It was lord Mori who would decide to build his castle on the largest island in the delta – “Hiroshima” literally meaning “broad island.”  Hiroshima would continue to grow in importance and in size as land was reclaimed.  The Imperial Family would use this castle and its grounds in ousting the Tokugawa Shogunate in the mid 1800s. Hiroshima would continue to be used as a major staging area for the army during both Sino-Japanese Wars, the Russo-Japanese War and during WWII.

The Motoyasu branch of the Ota river separates the the Peace Memorial Park from the A-bomb Dome, now a registered UNESCO World Heritage site.  The park is quite large and has a variety of memorials and statues:  There is the reflecting pool, and an eternal flame, a children’s monument, a new memorial for the victims and at the far end, the Peace Museum.  It wouldn’t be until the next day that I would spend three hours in the museum where the message of peace and horrors of war are laid out.  But on this evening we were just wandering around in the rain.

We took shelter from the rain and ate supper. With nothing to do and the rain having stopped, we walked back to look at the Dome and the Children’s Peace Memorial, again.

This is when the other thing happened that I wasn’t ready for:  the questions.  The questions of a four-year old.  Our daughter’s questions.  We kept looking at each other, running our answers by one another before speaking.  The questions started in earnest when we got back to the Dome which is lit dramatically at night:  a yellow floodlight shining up through the five story dome; floodlights casting unusual shadows on the outer walls.

Is that building on fire?
Is this a bad place?
Is this a safe place?
The questions came methodically, almost patiently as we continued to choose our words carefully.

Why was there a fire?
Why was there a bomb?
Why were the people fighting?
Why were the people at war?
What is war?
Did people die?
Why did the people die?
Did they go to heaven?
Can we go back to the cranes?

The Children’s Peace Memorial sets within sight of the Flame of Peace, but just out of sight of the Dome.  The Children’s Peace Memorial, erected in 1958, first became an idea in 1956 with the death of a twelve-year old girl named Sadako.  She was two when the bomb dropped.  Ten years later she was diagnosed with and died from Leukemia.  Sadako decided to make one thousand paper cranes; legend had it that if a sick person could make 1,000 cranes, they would be cured.  Sadako did not reach her goal.  Her classmates finished folding the cranes for her and began the petition for a monument to honor the children that died from the effects of the bomb.  A statue of Sadako, holding aloft a large crane, stands atop the monument.  Children continue to fold origami cranes and bring them to the Children’s Peace Memorial.  Surrounding the Children’s Peace Memorial are about nine booths, each a little larger than three telephone booths.  Children still fold origami cranes.  Children still bring the folded cranes in sets of one hundred and one thousand to this memorial.  These booths, filled with thousands of paper cranes, are the official registration point for the cranes.

We went back to the cranes.  It was here that the questions seemed most easily answered.  It was here that the concreteness of folding a piece of paper seemed to be something we could all comprehend.

***Due to technical difficulties, these pictures are not currently available***

Pictures from this trip.

Written May 14, 2005