Sachiko: Chapters 6–14

Feeble voices pleaded, “Mizu. Mizu.” (Water. Water.)

The train lurched forward again.

Aki’s shoulder flared. Ichiro spiked a fever. Misa was listless.

“The war situation has developed not necessarily to Japan's advantage...we have resolved to pave the way for a grand peace for all generations to come by enduring the unendurable and suffering what is insufferable.”

“The war situation has developed not necessarily to Japan's advantage...we have resolved to pave the way for a grand peace for all generations to come by enduring the unendurable and suffering what is insufferable.”

Everywhere in the station, in the streets, people looked bewildered.

The few doctors and nurses at the hospital worked mechanically throughout the day, spreading their meager supply of ointment, Mercurochrome, or sometimes vegetable oil on wounds and burns.

Aki swallowed, mustering words.

But Sachiko was too ill to hear the lake calling. Instead, she heard her dead brothers. In Sachiko’s delirium, Aki, Ichiro, and Toshi came to her, smiling, reaching out, wanting to play.

Lesions opened in her skin.

Those wounded in the blast suffered from three major types of injuries: lacerations, burns, and radiation sickness.

The scientists who had developed the atomic bomb were unaware of the effects of full-body radiation exposure.

Radiation sickness would continue to perplex doctors in the months and years to come.

Instead of tile-roofed houses of wood and paper, makeshift shacks dotted the hillside. Dirty mats flapped against window openings and on poles jutting out from entrances to air-raid caves.

Japan itself—weary of war and wary of what would happen next—was on the threshold of a new beginning.

Japan itself—weary of war and wary of what would happen next—was on the threshold of a new beginning.

“Stay away from the soldiers,” Father reminded Sachiko as she ventured outside to explore her new neighborhood.

The soldier beckoned the children with his finger to come closer, then tossed the squares in the air.

Soldiers, particularly those assigned to Hiroshima and Nagasaki, were shocked by the devastating conditions. In letters and diaries, they wrote of the eerie silence, the mangled metal from streetlamps and factories, the smell of rot, and the hunger and despair on people’s faces.

He started by completely disarming the Japanese nation, taking away all weapons of war.

Pro-military Japanese government ministers were ousted or tried for torture and other war crimes they had set in motion.

Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes.

Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes.

Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes.

The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized.

The new constitution guaranteed freedom of expression, but in practice, the heavy hand of censorship banned articles, reports, passages in school textbooks, movies, or any text that questioned General Headquarters authority or informed the public about the war or the atomic bomb.

The principal pondered his answer.

She had no words to describe her anguish.

In the Urakami Valley where the atomic bomb had detonated, buildings and utility poles were slowly emerging out of the dust.

But flowers had bloomed. The graceful limbs of oleander trees, full of pink blossoms, swayed in the breeze. Morning glories sent their tendrils up fence posts.

Pungent waxy leaves had sprouted along their outstretched branches, and white blossoms peeked out.

“Nonviolence is the greatest force at the disposal of mankind,” were the words Gandhi lived by.

Sachiko flashed back to her experience of being taunted at school in Koyagi. What was it this time? Didn’t the girl like Sachiko’s clothes? Her hair?

She wrote until her hand hurt, until the pain in her heart subsided, until her mind cleared.

As the month of August approached, the atmosphere of Nagasaki was heavy with memories of the atomic bombing. City officials were preparing a commemorative service for the third anniversary of the bombing, to honor the dead and give hope to the living.