ブックタイトルeigo13

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eigo13

couldn’t help her, since the beam of the house had fallen onto her back. Atthat time, a military police man came close and yelled at us, “hey, you mustrun away from here right now”. The three of us gave up helping her andwalked to the direction of Koujin Bridge. We were just thirteen years oldback in those days. Even now the memory remains stuck in my mind.When we reached Koujin Bridge, we found out that we couldn’t go inthe direction of our home because all of the houses in Matoba-cho wereengulfed by a ferocious fire. People, becoming confused, were walking awayin the direction from whence we came. There was a mother carrying her baby,a couple walking while holding each other’s shoulders, a person whoseclothes were torn apart, and a person with no clothes on at all. Such peoplewere passing by endlessly. It looked just like a picture of the hell. (Fromancient times a number of Japanese artists have painted images of hell.)I’m wondering how a painter painted his picture. Did he ever see thesame scenery? Did he paint using his imagination? The sight of this hell hasbeen stuck in my mind. A woman whose body was all white was comingcloser to us with both hands dangled in front of her chest. She looked like aghost with that form. Arm’s skin was peeled and dangling from the tip offingers. Leg’s skin was peeled toward ankle and people were walkingdragging their skin. Everyone had the same face. Their lips were peeled andtheir faces were swelled up like balloons. I assume it was because of the heatfrom the blast. I heard that people with that condition died in a few weeks.We walked away toward the Nakayama mountain path with those people.On our way, we met a female student who was walking with her eye stabbedby a wood stick. She said, “The edge of a column was hurled at me”. Hearingher account of the situation I didn’t have any emotions such as fear or misery,since all of my surroundings were in a similarly terrible condition.For now, it is scary to recall what had happened. I, myself, had both myankles burnt heavily and swelled up so badly that my friends had to help mego to Nishihara’s house. My classmates’ house was in Nakayama-cho. I couldmeet other classmates there. As time went by, the number of refugees wentup greatly. Ishitani and I left Nishihara’s house to find another evacuationcenter. On the road there was a tent to issue victim’s certificates and we gotours. There was a mother carrying a dead child and lining up to get thecertificate. The mother was talking to her dead child. Recalling that memory,I cannot stop my tears running down. I want to forget it.