Excerpt
the
Diary
of
Dr. Michihiko
Hachiya
August 6, 1945
The hour
was early;
the morning
still, warm,
and
beautiful.
Shimmering leaves,
reflecting sunlight
from
a cloudless sky,
made
a pleasant contrast
with
the shadows
in my garden
as
I gazed absently
through
wide-flung doors
opening
to the south.
Clad in drawers
and undershirt,
I was sprawled
on
the living room floor
exhausted
because
I had just spent
a sleepless night
on duty
as an air warden
in my hospital.
Suddenly,
a strong flash of light
startled me --
and
then another.
So well
does one recall
little things
that I remember
vividly
how
a stone lantern
in the garden
became
brilliantly lit
and
I debated
whether
this light
was caused by
a magnesium flare
or
sparks
from a passing trolley.
Garden shadows
disappeared.
The view
where
a moment before
all had been
so bright and sunny
was now
dark and hazy.
Through swirling dust
I could barely discern
a wooden column
that
had supported
one corner of my house.
It was leaning
crazily
and the roof
sagged dangerously.
Moving instinctively,
I tried to escape,
but
rubble and fallen timbers
barred the way.
By picking my way
cautiously
I managed
to reach the roka
[a narrow outside hall
which skirts
the south and west sides
of a Japanese house]
and stepped down
into my garden.
A profound weakness
overcame me,
so I stopped
to regain my strength.
To my surprise
I discovered
that I was
completely naked.
How odd!
Where were
my drawers
and undershirt?
What
had
happened?
+++
[From the back cover:]
The time: 8:15 A.M.
The date: August 6, 1945
The place: HIROSHIMA
Hurtling earthward
with incredible speed
came the most
awesomely
destructive weapon
ever devised
by
the mind of man --
the atomic bomb!
Here
is the moving,
eye-witness story
of
the devastation
in Hiroshima
the day
the bomb fell --
and
the seven weeks
of terror
in its aftermath.
It is told
by
a Japanese physician
who survived
and
became a pillar
of strength
among the ruins.
New York Times --
"A unique
and
monumental account
of
one
of the great cataclysms
of all time ...
its publication
is
an extraordinary
literary event."
+++
[From
the front cover:]
The day-by-day,
eye-witness account
of
the atomic bombing
of
Hiroshima
and
the seven weeks
that followed!
HIROSHIMA DIARY
Michihiko Hachiya, M.D.
Translated
and
edited
by
Warner Wells, M.D.
+++
[From the fly page:]
Out of
the searing atomic flames
of Hiroshima
has come
a remarkable
and challenging book --
the unforgettable story
of the victims
and survivors
of the incredible bomb
which
ushered in
the atomic age.
"Hiroshima Diary
is a heart-lifting,
documented story
of amazing triumphs
of the human spirit.
In this hour-by-hour
and
day-by-day report
of a truly great
Japanese physician
you see survivors
of
the
first atomic bombing
rise
from horror
to grandeur,
from
the ashes
of inhumanity
to
the splendor
of restored
humanity.
Here is a book
of
unique
personal meaning
for
every living soul
on earth."
-- Leland Stowe
+++
[From
the
Foreword:]
The bombing
of Hiroshima
marked a new era
in man's
growing skill
in
the art
of
self-destruction.
During
the saturation bombing
of
Germany and Japan
in
World War II,
cities were destroyed,
but
the destruction
was segmental,
requiring days or weeks,
so that
city dwellers
had some chance
to
flee
or
find shelter.
Moreover,
those who were
killed or injured
had the comfort
of knowing
they
were being killed
by
more or less
familiar
and
acceptable
weapons.
But at Hiroshima,
on
the bright clear morning
of August 6, 1945,
thousands
were killed,
more
thousands
were fatally injured,
and the homes
of
a quarter million people
were destroyed,
within seconds
of
the falling
of
a single bomb.
Since that day,
terrifying progress
in the technology
of nuclear warfare
and
the appalling knowledge
that
indulgence
in atomic weapons
may
permanently impair
the
biological future
of
the human race
have combined
to emphasize the fact
that Hiroshima
presented mankind
with
a fateful choice.
Perhaps it was
some sense of this
that led me
in 1950
to accept an offer
to become
a surgical consultant
to
the
Atomic Bomb
Casualty Commission.
It was a position
that I held
for two and a half years.
The Commission,
operating
in Hiroshima
and
Nagasaki,
had been formed
to discover
if
there were delayed effects
of the atom bombs
dropped on these cities
in 1945.
Since most of my work
was
outside
the
Commission's headquarters,
in Japanese hospitals
and clinics,
I came to know
and admire
the Japanese
medical profession
and
became acquainted
with their patients.
It was only natural,
therefore,
to want to know
what the people,
as people
and
not as
medical case histories,
experienced
after
the atom bombs
were dropped.
By
a stroke of good fortune
I learned that
Dr. Hachiya,
Director
of
the Hiroshima
Communications Hospital,
had written
a diary
of
his experiences
as a patient
and
bed-ridden
hospital director.
I also learned that,
with
some misgivings
as to the likelihood
of
renewing
painful memories,
he had been persuaded
by friends
who saw its value
as
a historical document
to
publish
the diary.
It appeared serially
in the
Teishin Igaku,
a small medical journal
circulated
among
the medical employees
of
the Japanese
Communications Ministry.
On an overcast,
bone-chilling afternoon
in the early spring
of 1951
I met Dr. Hachiya
in
his hospital
reception room
and
over warming cups
of hot green tea
asked his permission
to examine his diary
with the view
of having it
translated
and
published
in English.
Dr. Hachiya
graciously consented
and
placed at my disposal
his manuscript copy
and
reprints
of the medical journal.
I do not know
at what point
I decided
to supervise
the translation
and
do the editing
myself.
I know
I felt it
as
a very
personal responsibility.
I cannot read Japanese
except
in
tedious
and
laborious fashion
with
complete dependence
on
dictionaries and grammars.
This
almost insurmountable
handicap
I was able to overcome
by the assistance
of
Dr. Neal Tsukifuji,
a brilliant young
Japanese doctor
born in Los Angeles
and educated
in America and Japan,
who worked with me
as assistant
and interpreter.
During
our spare time
for the next year,
on week-ends,
holidays,
and evenings,
we rendered the diary
into crude English.
When there was
any question
regarding
the meaning of a word,
phrase, or sentence,
we consulted
Dr. Hachiya,
so the translation
could be
as accurate as possible
and
preserve
the Japanese idiom.
We met and talked
with many of the people
mentioned in the diary,
and
with Dr. Hachiya
visited
all of the places
he describes.
Trying to relive
Dr. Hachiya's experience,
I succeeded
to the extent
that I came
to dream
of the bombing
and
on occasion
awakened in terror.
Japanese,
like
other oriental languages,
has a dignity,
a subtlety,
and a beauty
that make it
extremely difficult
to
render into English.
It can be done,
however,
as evidenced
by
the magnificent prose
of
Lafcadio Hearn.
Perhaps because
I chose him
as a model,
I have spent
the last three years
revising and editing
the
original rough translation,
in the hope
I could preserve
the balance,
simplicity,
and
quality of values
Dr. Hachiya
achieved
in his own tongue.
I have tried
to limit the apparatus
of the translation
to the essential.
I have used footnotes
to explain
some of
the technical medical terms,
to provide
background information
needed by the reader
for
an
understanding of the text,
and occasionally
to provide
an approximate meaning
for
an untranslatable
Japanese term.
It seemed helpful
to prepare
a
Cast of Characters,
preceding the text,
and
a
Glossary,
following the text.
I have retained
the metric system
used in Japan
for all measurement,
except that
I have changed
longer distances
into miles
and
centigrade
temperature readings
into
Fahrenheit.
[...]
I acknowledge
with gratitude
the help I was given
by many people
in
the Atomic Bomb
Casualty Commission
and
the
National Research Council
of
the
American Academy of Science ...
[...]
While working
on the manuscript,
I was fortunate
to be able to turn for help
to
a remarkably versatile person.
She
would spell a word,
construct a sentence,
or retype
a corrected manuscript.
She was never too busy
to give me
the benefit
of her insight and judgment,
or too tired
from looking after the house
and five children
to encourage me
or
see that I had
a pot of hot tea
at
one o'clock
in the morning.
To her,
words of thanks
are inadequate.
All of us
will be
repaid beyond measure
if this diary
helps
to
refresh
our memories,
stimulate
our imaginations,
and
temper
our thinking
about war,
and
especially
the horror
of atomic war.
For
if we
cannot
enliven
our
humanity,
we
are
doomed.
Warner Wells
March 15, 1955
+++
[From page ix:]
The Place and the People
Since
Dr. Hachiya
began his diary
with no thought
that it
might be published,
he saw no need
to describe
either the hospital
that was its setting
or
the members of the staff
who were
the principle characters.
The Hiroshima
Communications Hospital
served
the employees
in
the Hiroshima area
of
the
Ministry of Communications,
which
in Japan
controls
postal,
telegraph,
and
telephone service.
Since Hiroshima
was a city
of
half a million population,
and
the capital of
the Prefecture of Hiroshima,
with
over two million population,
the hospital
was an institution
of
considerable importance.
It has
approximately 20
on its staff
and 125 beds,
this latter figure
does not give
a proper sense
of the scale
of its operations
since
out-patient service
in Japan,
as
in America,
is frequently greater
than in-patient service.
The hospital
adjoined the main office
of
the
Communications Bureau,
and both
were
of strong,
reinforced
concrete construction.
After the bombing,
the Bureau
became an annex
to the hospital.
Both were located
about 1,500 meters
from
the hypocenter
of the bomb,
on the northeast border
of a large military area,
the
Hiroshima Military Barracks,
which
was totally destroyed.
Dr. Hachiya's
home
was
a few hundred meters
from
the hospital.
Hiroshima
had not been
bombed
during
the current war,
but in anticipation
of a raid
the military authorities,
a few months before,
had
demolished
thousands of houses
to make
fire lanes
and
had evacuated
much of its personnel.
Following this,
on his own authority,
Dr. Hachiya
had evacuated
his in-patients
to the interior,
so that
at the time
of the bombing
the hospital
was
practically empty.
[...]
+++
[Now joining
the
"Hiroshima Diary"
text
by
Dr. Michihiko Hachiya
again,
picking up
just BEFORE
where we left off,
on page 13:]
To my surprise
I discovered
that I was
completely naked.
How odd!
Where were
my drawers
and undershirt?
What
had
happened?
All over
the
right side
of my body
I was cut
and
bleeding.
A large splinter
was protruding
from
a mangled wound
in my thigh,
and
something warm
trickled
into my mouth.
My cheek was torn,
I discovered
as I felt it
gingerly,
with the lower lip
laid wide open.
Embedded
in my neck
was
a sizable fragment
of glass
which
I matter-of-factly
dislodged,
and
with
the detachment
of one
stunned and shocked
I studied it
and
my
blood-stained hand.
Where was
my wife?
Suddenly
thoroughly alarmed,
I began
to yell for her:
"Yaeko-san!
Yaeko-san!
Where are you?"
Blood
began to spurt.
Had
my carotid artery
been cut?
Would I
bleed to death?
Frightened
and irrational,
I called out again:
"It's
a five-hundred-ton
bomb!
Yaeko-san,
where are you?
A five-hundred-ton
bomb
has fallen!"
Yaeko-san,
pale and frightened,
her clothes torn
and blood-stained,
emerged
from the ruins
of our house
holding her elbow.
Seeing her,
I was reassured.
My own panic
assuaged,
I tried to reassure her.
"We'll be all right,"
I exclaimed.
"Only
let's get out of here
as fast as we can."
She nodded,
and I motioned
for her to follow me.
The shortest path
to the street
lay through
the house next door
so through
the house
we went --
running,
stumbling,
falling,
and then
running again
until
in headlong flight
we tripped
over something
and
fell sprawling
into the street.
Getting to my feet,
I discovered
that I had tripped
over a man's head.
"Excuse me!
Excuse me,
please!"
I cried hysterically.
There was
no answer.
The man
was dead.
The head
had belonged
to a young officer
whose body
was crushed
beneath
a massive gate.
We stood
in the street,
uncertain and afraid,
until
a house
across from us
began to sway
and then
with a rending motion
fell
almost at our feet.
Our own house
began to sway,
and
in a minute it,
too,
collapsed
in a cloud of dust.
Other buildings
caved in
or toppled.
Fires sprang up
and
whipped
by a vicious wind
began to spread.
It finally dawned on us
that we
could not stay there
in the street,
so
we turned our steps
towards the hospital.
Our home was gone;
we were wounded
and
needed treatment;
and after all,
it was my duty
to be
with my staff.
This latter
was
an
irrational thought --
what good could I be
to anyone,
hurt as I was?
We started out,
but after
twenty or thirty steps
I had to stop.
My breath
became short,
my heart pounded,
and my legs
gave way
under me.
An
overpowering thirst
seized me
and
I begged
Yaeko-san
to
find me some water.
But
there was no water
to be found.
After a little
my strength
somewhat returned
and
we were able
to go on.
I was still naked,
and
although
I did not feel
the least bit
of shame,
I was disturbed
to realize
that
modesty
had deserted me.
On
rounding a corner
we came upon
a soldier
standing idly
in the street.
He had a towel
draped
across his shoulder,
and I asked
if he would give it to me
to cover my nakedness.
The soldier
surrendered the towel
quite willingly
but said
not a word.
A little later
I lost the towel,
and Yaeko-san
took off her apron
and tied it
around my loins.
Our progress
towards the hospital
was interminably slow,
until finally,
my legs,
stiff from drying blood,
refused
to carry me farther.
The strength,
even the will,
to go on
deserted me,
so
I told my wife,
who was
almost
as badly hurt
as I,
to go on
alone.
This
she objected to,
but
there was
no choice.
She had to go ahead
and
try to find someone
to
come back for me.
Yaeko-san
looked into my face
for a moment,
and then,
without saying a word,
turned away
and began running
towards the hospital.
Once,
she looked back
and waved
and
in a moment
she
was swallowed up
in the gloom.
It was quite dark now,
and with my wife gone,
a feeling
of dreadful loneliness
overcame me.
I must have
gone out of my head
lying there in the road
because
the next thing
I recall
was discovering
that the clot
on my thigh
had been dislodged
and
blood
was again spurting
from the wound.
I pressed my hand
to the bleeding area
and
after a while
the bleeding stopped
and I felt better.
Could I go on?
I tried.
It was all
a nightmare --
my wounds,
the darkness,
the road ahead.
My movements
were
ever so slow;
only my mind
was running
at top speed.
In time
I came
to an open space
where
the houses
had been removed
to
make a fire lane.
Through the dim light
I could make out
ahead of me
the hazy outlines
of
the
Communications Bureau's
big concrete building,
and beyond it
the hospital.
My spirits rose
because I knew
that now
someone
would find me;
and
if I should die,
at least
my body
would be found.
I paused to rest.
Gradually
things around me
came into focus.
There were
the
shadowy forms
of people,
some of whom
looked like
walking ghosts.
Others moved
as though
in pain,
like scarecrows,
their arms held out
from their bodies
with
forearms and hands
dangling.
These people
puzzled me
until
I suddenly realized
that they
had been burned
and
were
holding
their arms out
to prevent
the painful friction
of raw surfaces
rubbing together.
A naked woman
carrying
a naked baby
came into view.
I averted my gaze.
Perhaps
they had been
in the bath.
But then
I saw a naked man,
and
it occurred to me
that,
like myself,
some
strange thing
had deprived them
of their clothes.
An old woman
lay near me
with
an expression
of suffering
on her face;
but
she made no sound.
Indeed,
one thing
was common
to
everyone I saw --
complete silence.
[The above section
was drawn
from pages 13 - 16]
+++
This concludes a series
of excerpts
from:
"Hiroshima Diary",
by
Michihiko Hachiya, M.D.,
translated
and
edited
by
Warner Wells, M.D.,
Avon Publications,
1955
+++
the
Diary
of
Dr. Michihiko
Hachiya
August 6, 1945
The hour
was early;
the morning
still, warm,
and
beautiful.
Shimmering leaves,
reflecting sunlight
from
a cloudless sky,
made
a pleasant contrast
with
the shadows
in my garden
as
I gazed absently
through
wide-flung doors
opening
to the south.
Clad in drawers
and undershirt,
I was sprawled
on
the living room floor
exhausted
because
I had just spent
a sleepless night
on duty
as an air warden
in my hospital.
Suddenly,
a strong flash of light
startled me --
and
then another.
So well
does one recall
little things
that I remember
vividly
how
a stone lantern
in the garden
became
brilliantly lit
and
I debated
whether
this light
was caused by
a magnesium flare
or
sparks
from a passing trolley.
Garden shadows
disappeared.
The view
where
a moment before
all had been
so bright and sunny
was now
dark and hazy.
Through swirling dust
I could barely discern
a wooden column
that
had supported
one corner of my house.
It was leaning
crazily
and the roof
sagged dangerously.
Moving instinctively,
I tried to escape,
but
rubble and fallen timbers
barred the way.
By picking my way
cautiously
I managed
to reach the roka
[a narrow outside hall
which skirts
the south and west sides
of a Japanese house]
and stepped down
into my garden.
A profound weakness
overcame me,
so I stopped
to regain my strength.
To my surprise
I discovered
that I was
completely naked.
How odd!
Where were
my drawers
and undershirt?
What
had
happened?
+++
[From the back cover:]
The time: 8:15 A.M.
The date: August 6, 1945
The place: HIROSHIMA
Hurtling earthward
with incredible speed
came the most
awesomely
destructive weapon
ever devised
by
the mind of man --
the atomic bomb!
Here
is the moving,
eye-witness story
of
the devastation
in Hiroshima
the day
the bomb fell --
and
the seven weeks
of terror
in its aftermath.
It is told
by
a Japanese physician
who survived
and
became a pillar
of strength
among the ruins.
New York Times --
"A unique
and
monumental account
of
one
of the great cataclysms
of all time ...
its publication
is
an extraordinary
literary event."
+++
[From
the front cover:]
The day-by-day,
eye-witness account
of
the atomic bombing
of
Hiroshima
and
the seven weeks
that followed!
HIROSHIMA DIARY
Michihiko Hachiya, M.D.
Translated
and
edited
by
Warner Wells, M.D.
+++
[From the fly page:]
Out of
the searing atomic flames
of Hiroshima
has come
a remarkable
and challenging book --
the unforgettable story
of the victims
and survivors
of the incredible bomb
which
ushered in
the atomic age.
"Hiroshima Diary
is a heart-lifting,
documented story
of amazing triumphs
of the human spirit.
In this hour-by-hour
and
day-by-day report
of a truly great
Japanese physician
you see survivors
of
the
first atomic bombing
rise
from horror
to grandeur,
from
the ashes
of inhumanity
to
the splendor
of restored
humanity.
Here is a book
of
unique
personal meaning
for
every living soul
on earth."
-- Leland Stowe
+++
[From
the
Foreword:]
The bombing
of Hiroshima
marked a new era
in man's
growing skill
in
the art
of
self-destruction.
During
the saturation bombing
of
Germany and Japan
in
World War II,
cities were destroyed,
but
the destruction
was segmental,
requiring days or weeks,
so that
city dwellers
had some chance
to
flee
or
find shelter.
Moreover,
those who were
killed or injured
had the comfort
of knowing
they
were being killed
by
more or less
familiar
and
acceptable
weapons.
But at Hiroshima,
on
the bright clear morning
of August 6, 1945,
thousands
were killed,
more
thousands
were fatally injured,
and the homes
of
a quarter million people
were destroyed,
within seconds
of
the falling
of
a single bomb.
Since that day,
terrifying progress
in the technology
of nuclear warfare
and
the appalling knowledge
that
indulgence
in atomic weapons
may
permanently impair
the
biological future
of
the human race
have combined
to emphasize the fact
that Hiroshima
presented mankind
with
a fateful choice.
Perhaps it was
some sense of this
that led me
in 1950
to accept an offer
to become
a surgical consultant
to
the
Atomic Bomb
Casualty Commission.
It was a position
that I held
for two and a half years.
The Commission,
operating
in Hiroshima
and
Nagasaki,
had been formed
to discover
if
there were delayed effects
of the atom bombs
dropped on these cities
in 1945.
Since most of my work
was
outside
the
Commission's headquarters,
in Japanese hospitals
and clinics,
I came to know
and admire
the Japanese
medical profession
and
became acquainted
with their patients.
It was only natural,
therefore,
to want to know
what the people,
as people
and
not as
medical case histories,
experienced
after
the atom bombs
were dropped.
By
a stroke of good fortune
I learned that
Dr. Hachiya,
Director
of
the Hiroshima
Communications Hospital,
had written
a diary
of
his experiences
as a patient
and
bed-ridden
hospital director.
I also learned that,
with
some misgivings
as to the likelihood
of
renewing
painful memories,
he had been persuaded
by friends
who saw its value
as
a historical document
to
publish
the diary.
It appeared serially
in the
Teishin Igaku,
a small medical journal
circulated
among
the medical employees
of
the Japanese
Communications Ministry.
On an overcast,
bone-chilling afternoon
in the early spring
of 1951
I met Dr. Hachiya
in
his hospital
reception room
and
over warming cups
of hot green tea
asked his permission
to examine his diary
with the view
of having it
translated
and
published
in English.
Dr. Hachiya
graciously consented
and
placed at my disposal
his manuscript copy
and
reprints
of the medical journal.
I do not know
at what point
I decided
to supervise
the translation
and
do the editing
myself.
I know
I felt it
as
a very
personal responsibility.
I cannot read Japanese
except
in
tedious
and
laborious fashion
with
complete dependence
on
dictionaries and grammars.
This
almost insurmountable
handicap
I was able to overcome
by the assistance
of
Dr. Neal Tsukifuji,
a brilliant young
Japanese doctor
born in Los Angeles
and educated
in America and Japan,
who worked with me
as assistant
and interpreter.
During
our spare time
for the next year,
on week-ends,
holidays,
and evenings,
we rendered the diary
into crude English.
When there was
any question
regarding
the meaning of a word,
phrase, or sentence,
we consulted
Dr. Hachiya,
so the translation
could be
as accurate as possible
and
preserve
the Japanese idiom.
We met and talked
with many of the people
mentioned in the diary,
and
with Dr. Hachiya
visited
all of the places
he describes.
Trying to relive
Dr. Hachiya's experience,
I succeeded
to the extent
that I came
to dream
of the bombing
and
on occasion
awakened in terror.
Japanese,
like
other oriental languages,
has a dignity,
a subtlety,
and a beauty
that make it
extremely difficult
to
render into English.
It can be done,
however,
as evidenced
by
the magnificent prose
of
Lafcadio Hearn.
Perhaps because
I chose him
as a model,
I have spent
the last three years
revising and editing
the
original rough translation,
in the hope
I could preserve
the balance,
simplicity,
and
quality of values
Dr. Hachiya
achieved
in his own tongue.
I have tried
to limit the apparatus
of the translation
to the essential.
I have used footnotes
to explain
some of
the technical medical terms,
to provide
background information
needed by the reader
for
an
understanding of the text,
and occasionally
to provide
an approximate meaning
for
an untranslatable
Japanese term.
It seemed helpful
to prepare
a
Cast of Characters,
preceding the text,
and
a
Glossary,
following the text.
I have retained
the metric system
used in Japan
for all measurement,
except that
I have changed
longer distances
into miles
and
centigrade
temperature readings
into
Fahrenheit.
[...]
I acknowledge
with gratitude
the help I was given
by many people
in
the Atomic Bomb
Casualty Commission
and
the
National Research Council
of
the
American Academy of Science ...
[...]
While working
on the manuscript,
I was fortunate
to be able to turn for help
to
a remarkably versatile person.
She
would spell a word,
construct a sentence,
or retype
a corrected manuscript.
She was never too busy
to give me
the benefit
of her insight and judgment,
or too tired
from looking after the house
and five children
to encourage me
or
see that I had
a pot of hot tea
at
one o'clock
in the morning.
To her,
words of thanks
are inadequate.
All of us
will be
repaid beyond measure
if this diary
helps
to
refresh
our memories,
stimulate
our imaginations,
and
temper
our thinking
about war,
and
especially
the horror
of atomic war.
For
if we
cannot
enliven
our
humanity,
we
are
doomed.
Warner Wells
March 15, 1955
+++
[From page ix:]
The Place and the People
Since
Dr. Hachiya
began his diary
with no thought
that it
might be published,
he saw no need
to describe
either the hospital
that was its setting
or
the members of the staff
who were
the principle characters.
The Hiroshima
Communications Hospital
served
the employees
in
the Hiroshima area
of
the
Ministry of Communications,
which
in Japan
controls
postal,
telegraph,
and
telephone service.
Since Hiroshima
was a city
of
half a million population,
and
the capital of
the Prefecture of Hiroshima,
with
over two million population,
the hospital
was an institution
of
considerable importance.
It has
approximately 20
on its staff
and 125 beds,
this latter figure
does not give
a proper sense
of the scale
of its operations
since
out-patient service
in Japan,
as
in America,
is frequently greater
than in-patient service.
The hospital
adjoined the main office
of
the
Communications Bureau,
and both
were
of strong,
reinforced
concrete construction.
After the bombing,
the Bureau
became an annex
to the hospital.
Both were located
about 1,500 meters
from
the hypocenter
of the bomb,
on the northeast border
of a large military area,
the
Hiroshima Military Barracks,
which
was totally destroyed.
Dr. Hachiya's
home
was
a few hundred meters
from
the hospital.
Hiroshima
had not been
bombed
during
the current war,
but in anticipation
of a raid
the military authorities,
a few months before,
had
demolished
thousands of houses
to make
fire lanes
and
had evacuated
much of its personnel.
Following this,
on his own authority,
Dr. Hachiya
had evacuated
his in-patients
to the interior,
so that
at the time
of the bombing
the hospital
was
practically empty.
[...]
+++
[Now joining
the
"Hiroshima Diary"
text
by
Dr. Michihiko Hachiya
again,
picking up
just BEFORE
where we left off,
on page 13:]
To my surprise
I discovered
that I was
completely naked.
How odd!
Where were
my drawers
and undershirt?
What
had
happened?
All over
the
right side
of my body
I was cut
and
bleeding.
A large splinter
was protruding
from
a mangled wound
in my thigh,
and
something warm
trickled
into my mouth.
My cheek was torn,
I discovered
as I felt it
gingerly,
with the lower lip
laid wide open.
Embedded
in my neck
was
a sizable fragment
of glass
which
I matter-of-factly
dislodged,
and
with
the detachment
of one
stunned and shocked
I studied it
and
my
blood-stained hand.
Where was
my wife?
Suddenly
thoroughly alarmed,
I began
to yell for her:
"Yaeko-san!
Yaeko-san!
Where are you?"
Blood
began to spurt.
Had
my carotid artery
been cut?
Would I
bleed to death?
Frightened
and irrational,
I called out again:
"It's
a five-hundred-ton
bomb!
Yaeko-san,
where are you?
A five-hundred-ton
bomb
has fallen!"
Yaeko-san,
pale and frightened,
her clothes torn
and blood-stained,
emerged
from the ruins
of our house
holding her elbow.
Seeing her,
I was reassured.
My own panic
assuaged,
I tried to reassure her.
"We'll be all right,"
I exclaimed.
"Only
let's get out of here
as fast as we can."
She nodded,
and I motioned
for her to follow me.
The shortest path
to the street
lay through
the house next door
so through
the house
we went --
running,
stumbling,
falling,
and then
running again
until
in headlong flight
we tripped
over something
and
fell sprawling
into the street.
Getting to my feet,
I discovered
that I had tripped
over a man's head.
"Excuse me!
Excuse me,
please!"
I cried hysterically.
There was
no answer.
The man
was dead.
The head
had belonged
to a young officer
whose body
was crushed
beneath
a massive gate.
We stood
in the street,
uncertain and afraid,
until
a house
across from us
began to sway
and then
with a rending motion
fell
almost at our feet.
Our own house
began to sway,
and
in a minute it,
too,
collapsed
in a cloud of dust.
Other buildings
caved in
or toppled.
Fires sprang up
and
whipped
by a vicious wind
began to spread.
It finally dawned on us
that we
could not stay there
in the street,
so
we turned our steps
towards the hospital.
Our home was gone;
we were wounded
and
needed treatment;
and after all,
it was my duty
to be
with my staff.
This latter
was
an
irrational thought --
what good could I be
to anyone,
hurt as I was?
We started out,
but after
twenty or thirty steps
I had to stop.
My breath
became short,
my heart pounded,
and my legs
gave way
under me.
An
overpowering thirst
seized me
and
I begged
Yaeko-san
to
find me some water.
But
there was no water
to be found.
After a little
my strength
somewhat returned
and
we were able
to go on.
I was still naked,
and
although
I did not feel
the least bit
of shame,
I was disturbed
to realize
that
modesty
had deserted me.
On
rounding a corner
we came upon
a soldier
standing idly
in the street.
He had a towel
draped
across his shoulder,
and I asked
if he would give it to me
to cover my nakedness.
The soldier
surrendered the towel
quite willingly
but said
not a word.
A little later
I lost the towel,
and Yaeko-san
took off her apron
and tied it
around my loins.
Our progress
towards the hospital
was interminably slow,
until finally,
my legs,
stiff from drying blood,
refused
to carry me farther.
The strength,
even the will,
to go on
deserted me,
so
I told my wife,
who was
almost
as badly hurt
as I,
to go on
alone.
This
she objected to,
but
there was
no choice.
She had to go ahead
and
try to find someone
to
come back for me.
Yaeko-san
looked into my face
for a moment,
and then,
without saying a word,
turned away
and began running
towards the hospital.
Once,
she looked back
and waved
and
in a moment
she
was swallowed up
in the gloom.
It was quite dark now,
and with my wife gone,
a feeling
of dreadful loneliness
overcame me.
I must have
gone out of my head
lying there in the road
because
the next thing
I recall
was discovering
that the clot
on my thigh
had been dislodged
and
blood
was again spurting
from the wound.
I pressed my hand
to the bleeding area
and
after a while
the bleeding stopped
and I felt better.
Could I go on?
I tried.
It was all
a nightmare --
my wounds,
the darkness,
the road ahead.
My movements
were
ever so slow;
only my mind
was running
at top speed.
In time
I came
to an open space
where
the houses
had been removed
to
make a fire lane.
Through the dim light
I could make out
ahead of me
the hazy outlines
of
the
Communications Bureau's
big concrete building,
and beyond it
the hospital.
My spirits rose
because I knew
that now
someone
would find me;
and
if I should die,
at least
my body
would be found.
I paused to rest.
Gradually
things around me
came into focus.
There were
the
shadowy forms
of people,
some of whom
looked like
walking ghosts.
Others moved
as though
in pain,
like scarecrows,
their arms held out
from their bodies
with
forearms and hands
dangling.
These people
puzzled me
until
I suddenly realized
that they
had been burned
and
were
holding
their arms out
to prevent
the painful friction
of raw surfaces
rubbing together.
A naked woman
carrying
a naked baby
came into view.
I averted my gaze.
Perhaps
they had been
in the bath.
But then
I saw a naked man,
and
it occurred to me
that,
like myself,
some
strange thing
had deprived them
of their clothes.
An old woman
lay near me
with
an expression
of suffering
on her face;
but
she made no sound.
Indeed,
one thing
was common
to
everyone I saw --
complete silence.
[The above section
was drawn
from pages 13 - 16]
+++
This concludes a series
of excerpts
from:
"Hiroshima Diary",
by
Michihiko Hachiya, M.D.,
translated
and
edited
by
Warner Wells, M.D.,
Avon Publications,
1955
+++
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