Satori in the Slipstream by Steve Howard

Author:Steve Howard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: short stories Bukowski Japan Dark Urban
Publisher: Steve Howard
Published: 2018-09-18T00:00:00+00:00

An Emperor's Request

On August 15th following the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6th and August 9th, the Emperor asked Japan to endure the unendurable. Ten minutes later, my commanding officer, Kenji Takagawa, assembled us in the main lecture hall. He openly wept as he announced that we had failed in our duty to protect Japan. “Japan’s shame is our shame. The defeat lays on our shoulders.” Then he recommended us all to return to our families and try to rebuild our shattered lives. All of us stood there, stunned, as he quietly returned to his office. From the lecture hall we watched through his office window as he drew his service revolver, put the short gray barrel in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. As chief medical officer on base, I was required to examine him, and fill out the death certificate.

Strangely, afterwards, I felt almost nothing. It was more than shock. I’d seen enough officers in the Philippines commit suicide during the retreat to recognize the draining numbness brought on by shock. I had not realized how quickly I could resign myself to a set of circumstances, no matter how difficult. I wondered if it was dishonorable to be more concerned about returning home to my family than the fate of my now dead commanding officer or my country.

After finishing my duties concerning my commanding officer, I returned to the barracks and hastily packed my rucksack with a couple of rice balls, a small blanket, and water for my canteen. Then I caught the first train I could out of Osaka south towards Hiroshima.

The train was packed well beyond capacity. Most of the passengers were standing in the aisles, pressed tightly together. The interior of the train was dark and hot. I could not see out the windows on either side of the train because of the packed bodies crowding the car. It seemed like all of Japan was on the move, either looking for displaced relatives, or relocating to safer cities. Because of my uniform, a small space was made for me on the wooden bench on the left side of the train. I felt guilty, knowing that I wasn’t truly worthy of this seat. The ghost voice of my dead commanding officer’s speech rang in my head. I gave up the seat to a tired old woman, who was held up by the dense crowd only because there was no room for her to fall. She thanked me and asked where I was heading.

“Hiroshima. My wife and two year old daughter have gone to live with my uncle. Our apartment complex in Tokyo was damaged in an air raid.”

She sucked in her breath loudly, and said, “Very bad.”

I wondered what she meant, exactly. I meant to ask her more, but her heavily lidded eyes soon closed as she drifted off to sleep. I’d heard on the radio that a new type of bomb had caused extensive damage to both Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but there were no other details given.

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