My Enemy, My Friend

Page 2

... pungent aroma of burning flesh and wood stung his nose and brought tears to his eyes.

With the break of dawn, the last of the B-29's began to depart. With anger still burning inside him, Yukio shook his fists at the sky. Then, with his head down, he walked slowly back to his home.

Daylight draped the smoldering city as the servants wearily returned to their quarters. Yukio's wife and daughter were visiting relatives in Kyoto. He picked up the phone to call them but found the line was dead. He closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer up to the gods, asking them to protect his family. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Hito had returned and was hovering anxiously, awaiting instructions.

"I will walk to the city," he barked at the old man. "I will return in a couple of hours. You check to see if any damage has been inflicted on my home."

Yukio returned to his room and quickly changed his clothes. With his jaw set and his eyes bleary and bloodshot, he began to walk toward the city. The scowl that had appeared earlier that morning, had not left his face.

All around him, the streets were filled with refugees streaming out of town. In carts, on bicycles or on foot, their meager belongings were strapped to their backs and held in their hands as they headed for the relative safety of the countryside. With each step Yukio took, the smell of the dead and the dying became more intense.

The roads were littered with bodies, charred black beyond recognition. It seemed that the closer he got to the center of town, the more corpses blocked his way, creating an obstacle course of death.

Bile rose in his throat as he stepped over remnants of disfigured humanity, trying hard not to look.

From what he could see, everything on both sides of the Sumida River had been incinerated. The land was as bare as an empty table, except for the few telephone and power poles still left standing. Gone was much of his beloved city. The Ginza, once teeming with life, was now filled with dazed, desperate people picking through the debris, carrying off anything they were able to salvage.

Walking on, Yukio came upon the site of the beautiful Asakusa Buddhist Temple. That, too, was gone. The sloping, deep-red roof, the beautiful, ornately carved walls, even the giant ginkgo trees surrounding it, were nothing but ashes.

Yukio continued on in shock and disbelief. He turned and began to head toward the river but an old man stopped him on his way. "There is nothing for you there," the man told him, his eyes glazed. "The river has almost stopped its flow. It is filled with bodies of those who jumped in to escape the flames."

By now Yukio's face wore an expression as dazed as that of the refugees he’d passed on his way into the city. Like a robot, he walked slowly, mechanically, aimlessly along.

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