Page 50 of Daikon

She waited until he was out of sight down the line before coming out from behind the wall.

She followed him west for a time, keeping well back, then branched off onto a road.

It wouldn’t be much longer now. She could see the Arakawa drainage canal up ahead, the twin steel trestles that crossed it leading into Adachi district.

The Sumida River was only a short distance beyond that.

Fortunately she would cross the Sumida well to the north of the Umamichi neighborhood where they had once lived, and the Kototoi Bridge where she had spent that terrible night in the river.

She did not want to see those places again.

The energy from the food Ogawa had given her was almost used up.

She was desperately tired. The hum approaching in the distance therefore took some time to enter her brain.

When it did, she started scanning the sky, her heartbeat increasing.

It took her a moment to spot the source, three specks to the west, heading her way.

They were too high to see clearly, but there was no mistaking what they were.

A trio of B-29s. Her logic told her they were likely observation planes and therefore harmless.

But the animal inside her, responding to the sound of the engines, made her afraid.

She could see something else now, a cloud gently descending.

She didn’t know at first what it was, her eyes locked on the bombers as they passed overhead and banked left over Tokyo Bay to return to the south.

Then the cloud was nearing the ground and she could make out that it was a rain of paper, tens of thousands of leaflets that the bombers had dropped.

Most were falling to the west to blanket the ravaged city.

Some, however, were being blown closer, fluttering down to settle on the road up ahead.

She continued on to where the leaflets had fallen.

People were exiting nearby houses to join passersby in chasing down the half sheets of blue paper to read the message from the sky.

Noriko had seen several leaflets dropped by American bombers earlier in the summer, warning the Japanese people that their own government was leading them to destruction and promising further horrors if Japan continued to fight.

She picked up one of them now, assuming it contained a similar message.

One glance at the official-looking prose and she knew it was different.

“To the Japanese people,” it began. “The Japanese government, acting on the wishes of the Emperor of Japan, has informed the Allied powers of the United States, Britain, the Soviet Union, and China that it wishes to end hostilities and bring the war to an end. Below is the full text of the message we received. On the other side of this paper is our reply. We urge your government to accept our terms for an honorable surrender so that you may begin the work of building a new and peace-loving Japan.”

Noriko read both sides of the leaflet. The government’s peace overture had specified only one condition, the preservation of the Emperor, and the Allied response did not seem to preclude this.

She looked about her, astonished, as the enormity of this news soaked in.

First the Americans had destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki with atomic bombs, demonstrating their irresistible power, and now the Japanese government was suing for peace.

The realization washed over her that the war soon would be over, that there would be no Final Battle, that peace could come without the sacrifice of the One Hundred Million.

“Don’t touch them! Don’t touch them!”

Noriko let go of the leaflet as if it had burst into flames, instantly obeying the command even before she saw the policeman.

He was advancing down the street, picking up leaflets and shoving them into a sack as civilians, wary of his uniform, melted away.

She backed away, then turned and hurried off.

The policeman did not try to stop her. He did not even seem concerned.

More leaflets ahead, littering the street and settled on rooftops.

People were cautiously retrieving them and retreating indoors or around corners to read them.

After checking that no police or soldiers were around, Noriko slipped into the narrow space between two houses where she saw that one of the blue papers had lodged.

She snatched it up, shoved it into her shirt, and continued on her way.

The area around Ueno Station was even more decayed and dismal than when Noriko had last seen it in June.

The streets along which she was walking were lined with piles of rubble, mostly smashed brickwork and tiles, debris that could not be recycled or burned in fires for cooking.

Drabness was everywhere, dusty grays and browns.

The only dash of color came from the gardens, the squares of greens and yellows flourishing in the ash-enriched soil where wooden houses had stood.

Tokyo, the greatest metropolis in Asia, was reverting to farmland.

She stole looks at people as she continued along, her arms protectively crossed.

They appeared exhausted and beaten, their faces showing no sign that they had seen the leaflet.

Or perhaps they had seen it but didn’t believe it, passing off any talk of peace as an American trick.

She thought again of Ogawa and his watches, anticipating the coming of peace while everyone else was still mentally mired in war.

Maybe he was right. Maybe these dispirited, hopeless people would be willing to sell him the remains of their destroyed homes for a functioning watch.

She passed under the train tracks. On the other side was the middle school where more than a hundred people had roasted in the air raid in April.

Now she was passing Komagome Park, its trees all burned on the same night, reduced to black stumps.

And then she was there, at the front gate of the Riken.

The iron gate itself was gone, long since melted down for bullet casings and artillery shells.

A frayed and sagging length of rope now replaced it.

She stepped over the rope and entered the defunct research complex, looking furtively about, feeling like an intruder.

No guard was on duty. The grounds seemed abandoned.

She started for the dormitory where she and Keizo had lived following the loss of their house.

Was he there now? Did they still have the room?

There was a young woman squatting outside the ramshackle building, washing clothes in a basin. Noriko knew her. Seeing this friendly presence, the first in two months, made her legs feel weak.

“Yokoyama-san?” she said, tentatively approaching.

Sumi Yokoyama, Dr. Nishina’s secretary, looked up from her washing.

“Yes?”

She rose and dried off her hands, taking this gaunt, ragged woman for a stranger.

Noriko found herself so overcome with emotion that she was unable to say anything more.

She stood there, hugging herself, tears welling up in her eyes.

It was only then that recognition burst in Sumi’s face and she erupted: “Kan-san!”

Sumi Yokoyama was even kinder than Noriko remembered.

She unlocked the dormitory room Keizo still occupied with their few possessions.

The small urn containing their daughter Aiko’s remains was still there, alone, on the shelf.

Seeing it, Noriko felt her legs give out completely.

She would have fallen if Sumi had not caught her.

When she recovered, Sumi helped her wash herself and dress in clean clothes.

“But you don’t think he’s in trouble?” Noriko asked, having heard Sumi’s explanation of Keizo’s absence.

“Oh no,” Sumi assured her. “Nothing like that. The War Ministry needed him for something, but he couldn’t say what, only that he would be away for a few days.

He left with a young officer, a very nice man, and we heard nothing from him until he telephoned two days ago.

He asked if you had arrived. Isn’t that strange, that he knew you were coming! ”

“But he’s all right?”

“Oh yes.” Sumi Yokoyama’s expression clouded for only a moment before her smile reasserted itself.

“I’m sure he’ll return shortly. But come, we must go and let Dr. Nishina know you’re here.

He’s leaving for Hiroshima on Thursday. He’s been asked to join the scientific team being sent down there to investigate the damage.

Isn’t it horrible what happened? Oh, he’ll be so glad that you’re here. ”

They headed across the Riken compound to Building 29, where Dr. Nishina both worked and lived, sleeping on a cot in his office.

The outer meeting room was incredibly cluttered, books and papers piled all over and covered with dust, the blackboard on the wall a mass of smeared diagrams and calculations.

It had been a long time since anything had been cleaned.

Sumi Yokoyama excitedly burst into Nishina’s inner office without knocking. “Sensei!” she exclaimed. “Look who’s here!”

She instantly fell silent, for Dr. Nishina was occupied on the phone. He looked up, slightly annoyed. Then he saw Noriko and gave a visible start.

The two women bowed, embarrassed, and began to back out of the room.

“Just a moment,” Nishina said, speaking into the phone.

He beckoned to Noriko and held out the receiver.

“It’s your husband,” he said.

Noriko stood there, shocked, unable to move.

“Come,” Nishina urged her. “Come and speak to your husband.”

Noriko stepped forward and cautiously took the receiver.

Nishina motioned Sumi Yokoyama from the office and followed her out, closing the door.