Innocence in War

The last thing she would hear at night would be the sporadic pop of the American guns. Her husband was flying high on a barebacked metal dragon spitting fire at the enemy. Every explosion from the anti-aircraft guns would shock her into a shrug. Her husband failed to flinch. He rode the iron rails of his KI-61 and bore the rising sun against the falling brigade. Kamikaze pilots rushed themselves into the American rafts which proved no match for the speeding metallic wrecking balls. The crew members were subject to sudden explosions created by the honorable death of one Japanese martyr.

Setsumi , then, would ruffle her covers into a metal cocoon. She would bury herself in a bunker that protects her from all things, the raging guns and the falling incendiaries. The only thing that could penetrate such a secure structure was the descent of her husband. He tensed up as the altitude meter jammed to zero; she became taut in honor, nobility. The steel aims of war deterred her weakness. Setsumi fell asleep on contact and immediately dreamed of peace that comes after a hard fought battle. She was as much a soldier as he was.

When Setsumi would wake up in the morning, she'd imagine the medals on the walls of her wooden apartment next to the elderly faces of generations before. The floor would become smoother under her foot, and she would almost glide until she reached the small area reserved for cooking. The rations were low today as Setsumi looked on the counter, and she feared for the hunger of her little girl. Reimi would plead sometimes, and her mother could only break down in tears and carry her off to bed for a nap. The economy had left them with only a simple ration of rice with barely enough meat. The counter was empty except for the staples "supplied". Nevertheless, the lack of food became her war effort. Through her starvation and deprivation, she glorified the cause that her husband was to die for. The canons in the streets resounded the same way, through the wails of a collective stomach ache. Often times the children failed to realize why they were hungry and responded in an obnoxious remonstration.

"Mommy, I'm hungry."

As if to prove a point, Reimi had risen from her sleeping mat and wandered sleepily towards the 8 o'clock sun. It rose through a window to the east where one could observe the bustling streets of Hiroshima that rumbled like an Imperial engine.  The worker bees thrashed around to harvest the solar flares of the rising sun, channeling it towards the hate of the Americans. The propaganda that lost us Okinawa and Iwo Jima. In our hearts we were hopeful; in our guts we were ravaged.

"Mommy! I need to eat."

The Emperor says otherwise.

"Yes dear, I have the food right here," Setsumi calmed down Reimi as she began to rummage through the packaging as if she had plenty to serve. She would end up giving Reimi half of her own rations of rice, and saved the delicacy of noodles for later when Reimi would call the same hunger call.

Then she saw her husband sitting at the low table near the wall. An evanescence of war, he was eating his own rice, grilled fish, and vegetables. His military uniform protected the small hovel they called home in a country at war with the world. They might as well have lived in a tank, but the military caravan was too rigorous. The planes flew too fast, and the ships sailed too slow. Reimi took her bowl of rice and sat in the seat her father would sit in. For a second, her delicate body meshed with the dull, offensive gray of the uniform against the tan wood of the apartment walls. Two bayonets swished through the air, impaling the food she ate.

Her eyes shone like the smoking gun, a deep brown that ricocheted off the butt of an American gun. Black hair housed the ambushing soldiers. At Midway, he flew over the rushing waves of her blue dress. She was so tiny; he was so powerful.
Setsumi wore a traditional kimono that he had given to her on her birthday. She would never forget that night because it was the last night she had hope before he was sent off to war. It was black with white blossoms that spoke of candles. Accented with yellow streaks, the kimono gave the impression of a lightning storm. She imagined the thunder over the battlefield.
Constantly, Setsumi would wrap herself in the hope and desire that she would forget about the inevitability of his death. The Kamikazes rarely came out alive, and even then, they were considered shameful and treasonous. And so the enlistment transcended her husband. The duty of national protection was one Setsumi had taken upon herself. For she would bear the gifts and honor for her husband's bravery. The window only showed a setting sun now.



"Dear Jesus, thank you for the food. Thank you for today and my friends and for James and for Mommy and for Daddy. I love you so much. Amen."

The three pairs of eyes met over the dinner table.

"Was that good, Mommy?" Beverly's eyes deplored approval which was signaled by her mother's grin. James began the festivities as he rudely grabbed for the mashed potatoes. The whipped starch was then thrust onto his plate and smothered with gravy as he began to grab for the broccoli. His elbows claimed most of the table space on his side as he wrestled for the more food.

"James, slow down! And elbows off the table," the mother said in an effort to preserve what etiquette the boy had happened to learn.

Beverly then said with a toothy grin, "Yeah James, or I'll tell daddy again, and he'll come spank you."

Suddenly, James became very quiet and ate obediently. His elbows shot back towards the chair, and he bent his head over his food in submission of the two sticklers. The truth was he feared his father more. The reminder of the fleeting whip of his father was enough to conjure up his table manners. His mother flashed an amused smile at Beverly who had proven to be more effective than she had.

But the smile would soon fade, and the only pleasant facial expressions would be left for pictures. The day her husband, their father, had left for war, she vanished into the morass that every military spouse hibernated in. A constant state of worry, crying, and the occasional memory that trickle off tears of joy, or sadness. Often times she could remember the kiss before he got on the plane, headed to the West coast then to the Far East. The Japs took her husband, and she desperately wanted him back.

The young kids continued to eat their food at the small wooden table while she reminiscence in past romance. The wine reclining in a stand full of ice. The expensive steak that she was only allowed to order once a year all situated nicely on a second floor balcony. The breeze would blow the long table cloth against her knees while she watched the town drown itself in the dark laurel of twilight. Egregiously, she would show her constant satisfaction with a bat of the eye and a pleased smile directed at her man, something that was like Beverly's. The candle light would dip and dodge the breath of fall while whispering to the fresh reproach of the springtime. She loved him.

"Mom...mom..."

"Yes."

"May I have some milk, please?"

"Of course, honey," Katherine stood up from the table, then realized that the children had already finished their meals. Certainly, they wished to be excused, but if only they could find a way to snap mother from her hypnotic visions. As she got up, she opened a window to let a soft breeze refresh the image of their anniversary.

She walked through the threshold into the kitchen and resumed her maternal duties. She poured milk into a red glass with eight small indentations into; it was James' favorite glass. As Katherine walked back into the dining room, the kids remained fixated on her. Both pairs of green eyes (which was a paternal trait) searched their mother for the sanity they entrusted their safety to. The 6- and 11-year old enjoyed the auspices of summer as it shielded them from the poignant talk of war and the rest, but the summer constantly admonished their father's absence.

Soon after, Katherine cleaned the dishes and scooped the rest of the mashed potatoes into a bowl. They were left in the ice box where they might be good until tomorrow, but she still didn't want to waste food. The children now played in the living room, and she intended to join them. It was 6 o'clock, and the news was on the radio. As she entered the room, plastered with a beige wallpaper with a floral print, she retrieved her knitting materials. Her current project was a pair of gloves for Beverly. With the upcoming winter and less money, Katherine was forced to improvise, but that didn't make things any harder than they already were. She then switched on the large contraption that magically emitted current events. The radio stupefied her whole family, but only her husband appreciated the most. He would sit and listen to the audio all night and fall asleep to the slow beat of the newscaster's musings. Sometimes she would fall asleep next to him on the couch against the wall instead of separating herself in her love seat.  Sometimes after she put the kids to bed, she imagined the two of them swing stepping to "I Can't Get Started" by Vernon Duke. The classic song assuaged the tension between them while they fell into each other, almost through each other. Often times, they would leave the radio on all night.

Yet something a little more jolting was on tonight. As James read Rabbit Hill, a charming book by Robert Lawson, Beverly dreamed a glamorous world, an innocence that was only seen in her motions with her doll, although it looked quite like Katherine instead. Suddenly, an important news alert could be heard from the radio. Katherine could tell because of the urgency in his voice that sweats more sweat than a pig at the slaughterhouse. He mentioned the words "White House", and immediately caught Katherine's attention away from her knitting. President Harry Truman came on, and suddenly Katherine could see the fierce little man asserting the world through his glasses. He said,

"The world will note that the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, a military base. That was because we wished in this first attack to avoid, insofar as possible, the killing of civilians. But that attack is only a warning of things to come. If Japan does not surrender, bombs will have to be dropped on her war industries and, unfortunately, thousands of civilian lives will be lost. I urge Japanese civilians to leave industrial cities immediately, and save themselves from destruction."

She tuned the rest of the message out, and attempted to comprehend the potency of the atomic bomb. Truman said that thousands of civilian lives were lost and that could only mean an uncontrollable weapon. She cringed at the thought of a civilian attack, but mostly hoped her husband had not been near the death event. She had heard that the U.S. might have to invade Japan, but imagined that this stopped the soldiers short from that perilous mission. And she still didn't understand what "atomic" meant. As oblivious as her children were, Katherine felt even more segmented from knowledge she wished she would've known, but the war seemed to be over, and she just wanted her husband back.

He would come back on a ship, either vaporized or in person, and the end of the war would provide some clarity to the consternation the ending now became. The decision was a wispy integration of military efficiency and ethical brutality. Katherine wouldn't realize this because she only focused on the return of their father. She closed her eyes and prayed another prayer. This time, God answered with a slight breeze that whipped her loose black hair into its rightful spot. A life was saved while thousands were given away. Divine judgment had spoken through the hands of the government. Soon the sun would rise and the world would wait for the peoples to take sides. But all she wanted was her husband back.