Hiroshima

In Hiroshima, where more than 140,00 people died after the US dropped an atomic bomb, we met an elderly man who was probably a survivor’s son.

He was in his mid-80s. His demeanour was similar to my father’s. He held the light gently, as did my father Kel, and he wore a brown check-flannel shirt, much like the one my father wore. Buttoned close to the throat. He was, as Malcolm put it, Japanese Kel.

Where are you from, the man asked. We said Sydney, to keep things uncomplicated.

Do you know, he said, that the ‘hypocentre’ is not here?

We did. We’d stopped at the  hypocentre on our way to the Hiroshima Peace Park, although you’d easily walk past ground zero if it wasn’t pointed out. It’s only feature was a small plaque, about the size of an Apple tablet.

On the plaque was a black and white photograph showing the charred remains of an incinerated city. Not a soul in sight. Underneath the photo was a single paragraph of text which read:

The first atomic bomb used in the history of humankind exploded approximately 600 metres above this spot,  carried to Hiroshima from Tinian Island by the Enola Gay, a US army B-29 bomber. This area of the city was exposed to temperatures of approximately 3,000 to 4,000 degrees C., as well as a blast wind and radiation. Most people in the area lost their life instantly. The time was 8.15am, August 6, 1945.

The man we met in Hiroshima asked one more question before we shook hands and lost sight of him.

Are you going to Miyajima?

We told him we were, after we’d walked through the Peace Park and visited the museum.

The tide is rising, he said. You should go soon.

Without saying anything further, the gentle man vanished.

Ichigo ichie, a Japanese person might say. One time, one meeting. 一期一会