S02, Umi Kobayashi ‘18, Naohisa Takata, Hibakusha, 1934, Hiroshima
During the October school vacation, I went to Hiroshima and visited the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum in front of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park, with the Atomic Bomb Dome straight ahead of it. I had the perfect opportunity to listen to the experience of a Hibakusha, a victim of the atomic bombing, and later to ask questions. His name is Takata Naohisa, who is currently 82. This is his story.
On Monday, August 6, 1945, I woke up at around 7:00, more lively than any other day. It was finally the day of my school field trip. My parents had already left for work and it was my grandmother who was yelling from the kitchen to come and eat breakfast. My younger brother and I sat down, clapped our hands, and said “itadakimasu.“ I had my miso soup, rice, fish, and sour plum. My grandmother normally sat in front of me watching us two eat with a smile. However, today she was facing back, being busy in the kitchen. My brother knew that my grandmother was making lunch for me to take on my field trip. We could smell the tamagoyaki (grilled egg omelette). We loved her tamagoyaki, but she only made it for special occasions. My brother finished his breakfast faster than usual and rushed next to her. He watched her fry the tamagoyaki enviously, disturbing my grandma. I said “gochisōsama” and left the kitchen to pack my bag. My brother kicked me and took his randoseru (school satchel) and left for school. He went out of the genkan, whining that I always had the privilege to eat tamagoyaki, which was not true because it was just his excuse to be able to eat even a tiny piece of it somehow. I had 15 more minutes before time to leave, so I decided to take a little nap.
Suddenly, there was a bright flash, and I lost consciousness. Then everything went black. I thought I had died, and I had no idea what had just happened. I sat up not knowing what to do. It was silent for a split second, and I heard my grandmother screaming for me. In the pitch darkness, I went to the kitchen, touching objects in the house with my hands to find my way to the kitchen. As it became slightly lighter, I saw my grandmother crawling down on the kitchen floor. Knowing that she was alive, I went and hugged her. The only that went through my mind was my younger brother in first grade. I worried whether he was already at school or was still walking. I still did not know that it was an atomic bomb, so I still hadn’t taken in the possibility of death. After 30 minutes, I decided to leave the house.
I went outside to see what had happened. I could see some collapsed houses. I walked all the way to the Ōta River. As I got closer, I realized that all of the houses had collapsed. Later I learned that the location of my house was not in Ground Zero. The river was full of people who had run to escape from the fire. I followed the route to our elementary school in search of my brother. I realized that I was lucky to not have any scars like all the other people near the city of Hiroshima. Scars were not just little cuts. People’s skin was burnt and melted. They looked like ghosts, and many that had both hands melted. Faces were unrecognizable. I was in despair and shock, but being one of the healthy survivors in this city, I decided to help out people while finding my brother. A young lady with her newborn baby had been leaning against a tree. Apparently she was separated from her two-year-old son who was waiting at her house. The only thing she wanted was to go home. I carried her on my back to where she lived. I realized that the time on her watch was still ticking. I reflected back on that later, and it surprised me that it hadn’t stopped from the extremely high pressure of the bomb.
I went back to the river to resume my search for my brother. I found a bunch of black randoseru near the river bank. I rushed to see my brother. I saw him and some of his friends, who couldn’t fit in the water, were suffering from their melted skin. I carried my brother on my lap and prayed for his life. I knew deep inside that his weak body would not be able to handle this many injuries. However, I still helped his last few minutes of his life. He wanted water. All the water from the river was contaminated, and the water pipes had been destroyed. I carried him back home and gave him a drink from the water bottle that my grandmother had prepared for my field trip. My grandmother and I watched him until he slowly passed away in my hands. I continued helping others.
After hearing his story, I asked how he feels about being a hibakusha. He said:
Not many hibakusha can talk about this brutal experience, but I think that it is important to continue sharing experiences, so that people understand that there was a huge mistake in the past, and they can learn to not let it happen again. The bombing was so sudden, especially because it was a day that was not any more special than any other day in the morning. At first I found it really hard to share my experience because of the loss of my brother, but mainly because I felt bad for being a survivor. Out of all the people who died immediately, or from after-effects such as keloids or cancer, I am still alive with no health problems. Many suffered, but I didn’t, and I feel a tremendous amount of guilt. It is also hard to be a hibakusha because we get discriminated against. Some people who wanted to be registered officially as atomic bomb victims for the health benefits could not receive them, but some people who were qualified as hibakusha deliberately refused to receive them. I think that hiding the fact that I was a hibakusha could’ve been a choice for me, if I wanted more freedom. I had nothing to look forward to what the future held for me, but right now I feel that as a survivor, the only thing I have to do before my death is to keep passing on the experience to younger people before my generation dies out.
From his story I learnt the severity of the atomic bomb and how its victims can share their experience to report this sad but meaningful event.