Luther followed his guide, Mitei, down through the lush,
green, gardens of Hiroshima, eager to reach the Dome.
‘We almost there yet?’
‘Almost, Sir.’
Luther scrutinized his rather short guard. His face had a peculiar expression on it, but
that was natural, after all, considering where they were going. Each and every
Japanese person who had been there had instantly felt the gravity of the sight.
If they did not feel it, then they could not possibly be normal. Luther was inclined to sympathize with these
people. They hadn’t deserved it.
Mitei stopped, and with a curious tremour in his voice, he
spoke.
‘…We’re here, Sir. ..I hope you enjoy your visit…to the
Hiroshima Atomic Bomb Dome’
Luther nodded at Mitei, and then surveyed the majesty of the
situation. What he saw seemed to be so little. An old, partially destroyed
house, with a large dome on its mostly annihilated upper floor. It really
wasn’t anything special. But then, all of a sudden, the history of the area
seemed to overwhelm him.
This is where it happened!...
It entranced and terrified him simultaneously. After all, he
had something to be proud of. It had been HIS country which had had the power
to do this. But then, his conscience seemed to whisper to him, had it really
been necessary?
As Luther stared at the large, mournful looking white dome
which jutted out unceremoniously from among the rubble of the house, he was
himself unaware that he was being watched. His sheer American-ness was
extremely noticeable. That arrogant stride, the jaws working on chewing some
gum, the horn-rimmed spectacles, the nasal voice with which he spoke to his
guide.
Mitei saw it though. It had been wrong of Luther to come. He didn't fit in here; he was an outsider, and an American to boot. To top it all
off, it was that day of the year again. The day when thousands of Japanese
people would congregate to the Dome to see, once again, the site where their
families had been ripped apart. It was
the anniversary. The Japanese people’s emotions were running high. Logic would
not be guiding them right now.
Only the raging torrent of dark flame under their flesh.
Mitei saw it all. He saw the first rock fly at Luther and
leave a gash on his forehead. He saw the crowd surge together as if in a wave,
towards the hated American. He saw the weaker people being trampled in the
desire to hurt the Enemy. He saw a child’s hand stick out of the crowd as his
mother was swept away from him.
Mitei saw all this, but did nothing. He stood and observed,
the silent watcher in the day, unable to bring himself to join the carnage, but
at the same time unable to find any desire to help, to forgive.
At last, he turned, and walked away.
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