The Hollow Needle (Young Learners Classic Readers Book 60)

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Isawa had been a not particularly prosperous tailor, and his only capital was a Sankoku sewing machine.

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After his death, when his allotments stopped coming, Mrs. Nakamura got out the machine and began to take in piecework herself, and since then had supported the children, but poorly, by sewing. As Mrs. Nakamura stood watching her neighbor, everything flashed whiter than any white she had ever seen. She did not notice what happened to the man next door; the reflex of a mother set her in motion toward her children.

She had taken a single step the house was 1, yards, or three-quarters of a mile, from the center of the explosion when something picked her up and she seemed to fly into the next room over the raised sleeping platform, pursued by parts of her house. Timbers fell around her as she landed, and a shower of tiles pommelled her; everything became dark, for she was buried. The debris did not cover her deeply. She rose up and freed herself.

Nakamura started frantically to claw her way toward the baby, she could see or hear nothing of her other children. In the days right before the bombing, Dr. Masakazu Fujii, being prosperous, hedonistic, and, at the time, not too busy, had been allowing himself the luxury of sleeping until nine or nine-thirty, but fortunately he had to get up early the morning the bomb was dropped to see a house guest off on a train.

He rose at six, and half an hour later walked with his friend to the station, not far away, across two of the rivers. He was back home by seven, just as the siren sounded its sustained warning. He ate breakfast and then, because the morning was already hot, undressed down to his underwear and went out on the porch to read the paper. This porch—in fact, the whole building—was curiously constructed. Fujii was the proprietor of a peculiarly Japanese institution, a private, single-doctor hospital. This building, perched beside and over the water of the Kyo River, and next to the bridge of the same name, contained thirty rooms for thirty patients and their kinfolk—for, according to Japanese custom, when a person falls sick and goes to a hospital, one or more members of his family go and live there with him, to cook for him, bathe, massage, and read to him, and to offer incessant familial sympathy, without which a Japanese patient would be miserable indeed.

Fujii had no beds—only straw mats—for his patients. He did, however, have all sorts of modern equipment: an X-ray machine, diathermy apparatus, and a fine tiled laboratory. The structure rested two-thirds on the land, one-third on piles over the tidal waters of the Kyo. This overhang, the part of the building where Dr. Fujii lived, was queer-looking, but it was cool in summer and from the porch, which faced away from the center of the city, the prospect of the river, with pleasure boats drifting up and down it, was always refreshing.

Fujii had occasionally had anxious moments when the Ota and its mouth branches rose to flood, but the piling was apparently firm enough and the house had always held. Fujii had been relatively idle for about a month because in July, as the number of untouched cities in Japan dwindled and as Hiroshima seemed more and more inevitably a target, he began turning patients away, on the ground that in case of a fire raid he would not be able to evacuate them. Now he had only two patients left—a woman from Yano, injured in the shoulder, and a young man of twenty-five recovering from burns he had suffered when the steel factory near Hiroshima in which he worked had been hit.

Fujii had six nurses to tend his patients. His wife and children were safe; his wife and one son were living outside Osaka, and another son and two daughters were in the country on Kyushu. A niece was living with him, and a maid and a manservant. He had little to do and did not mind, for he had saved some money.

At fifty, he was healthy, convivial, and calm, and he was pleased to pass the evenings drinking whiskey with friends, always sensibly and for the sake of conversation. Before the war, he had affected brands imported from Scotland and America; now he was perfectly satisfied with the best Japanese brand, Suntory. Fujii sat down cross-legged in his underwear on the spotless matting of the porch, put on his glasses, and started reading the Osaka Asahi.

He liked to read the Osaka news because his wife was there. He saw the flash. To him—faced away from the center and looking at his paper—it seemed a brilliant yellow. Startled, he began to rise to his feet. In that moment he was 1, yards from the center , the hospital leaned behind his rising and, with a terrible ripping noise, toppled into the river. The Doctor, still in the act of getting to his feet, was thrown forward and around and over; he was buffeted and gripped; he lost track of everything, because things were so speeded up; he felt the water.

Fujii hardly had time to think that he was dying before he realized that he was alive, squeezed tightly by two long timbers in a V across his chest, like a morsel suspended between two huge chopsticks—held upright, so that he could not move, with his head miraculously above water and his torso and legs in it. The remains of his hospital were all around him in a mad assortment of splintered lumber and materials for the relief of pain.

His left shoulder hurt terribly. His glasses were gone. Father Wilhelm Kleinsorge, of the Society of Jesus, was, on the morning of the explosion, in rather frail condition. The Japanese wartime diet had not sustained him, and he felt the strain of being a foreigner in an increasingly xenophobic Japan; even a German, since the defeat of the Fatherland, was unpopular. He walked clumsily, leaning forward a little. He was tired all the time.

To make matters worse, he had suffered for two days, along with Father Cieslik, a fellow-priest, from a rather painful and urgent diarrhea, which they blamed on the beans and black ration bread they were obliged to eat. Two other priests then living in the mission compound, which was in the Nobori-cho section—Father Superior LaSalle and Father Schiffer—had happily escaped this affliction. Father Kleinsorge woke up about six the morning the bomb was dropped, and half an hour later—he was a bit tardy because of his sickness—he began to read Mass in the mission chapel, a small Japanese-style wooden building which was without pews, since its worshippers knelt on the usual Japanese matted floor, facing an altar graced with splendid silks, brass, silver, and heavy embroideries.

This morning, a Monday, the only worshippers were Mr. Takemoto, a theological student living in the mission house; Mr. Fukai, the secretary of the diocese; Mrs. He stopped the service and the missionaries retired across the compound to the bigger building. There, in his room on the ground floor, to the right of the front door, Father Kleinsorge changed into a military uniform which he had acquired when he was teaching at the Rokko Middle School in Kobe and which he wore during air-raid alerts.

After an alarm, Father Kleinsorge always went out and scanned the sky, and this time, when he stepped outside, he was glad to see only the single weather plane that flew over Hiroshima each day about this time.

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Satisfied that nothing would happen, he went in and breakfasted with the other Fathers on substitute coffee and ration bread, which, under the circumstances, was especially repugnant to him. The Fathers sat and talked a while, until, at eight, they heard the all-clear. They went then to various parts of the building. Father Schiffer retired to his room to do some writing. Father Cieslik sat in his room in a straight chair with a pillow over his stomach to ease his pain, and read. Father Superior LaSalle stood at the window of his room, thinking.

Father Kleinsorge went up to a room on the third floor, took off all his clothes except his underwear, and stretched out on his right side on a cot and began reading his Stimmen der Zeit. After the terrible flash—which, Father Kleinsorge later realized, reminded him of something he had read as a boy about a large meteor colliding with the earth—he had time since he was 1, yards from the center for one thought: A bomb has fallen directly on us. Then, for a few seconds or minutes, he went out of his mind. Father Kleinsorge never knew how he got out of the house. Our Lord Jesus, have pity on us!

On the train on the way into Hiroshima from the country, where he lived with his mother, Dr. Terufumi Sasaki, the Red Cross Hospital surgeon, thought over an unpleasant nightmare he had had the night before. He had slept uneasily all night and had wakened an hour earlier than usual, and, feeling sluggish and slightly feverish, had debated whether to go to the hospital at all; his sense of duty finally forced him to go, and he had started out on an earlier train than he took most mornings. The dream had particularly frightened him because it was so closely associated, on the surface at least, with a disturbing actuality.

He was only twenty-five years old and had just completed his training at the Eastern Medical University, in Tsingtao, China. He was something of an idealist and was much distressed by the inadequacy of medical facilities in the country town where his mother lived. He had recently learned that the penalty for practicing without a permit was severe; a fellow-doctor whom he had asked about it had given him a serious scolding. Nevertheless, he had continued to practice.

In his dream, he had been at the bedside of a country patient when the police and the doctor he had consulted burst into the room, seized him, dragged him outside, and beat him up cruelly. On the train, he just about decided to give up the work in Mukaihara, since he felt it would be impossible to get a permit, because the authorities would hold that it would conflict with his duties at the Red Cross Hospital. At the terminus, he caught a streetcar at once.

He later calculated that if he had taken his customary train that morning, and if he had had to wait a few minutes for the streetcar, as often happened, he would have been close to the center at the time of the explosion and would surely have perished. He arrived at the hospital at seven-forty and reported to the chief surgeon. A few minutes later, he went to a room on the first floor and drew blood from the arm of a man in order to perform a Wassermann test.

The laboratory containing the incubators for the test was on the third floor. With the blood specimen in his left hand, walking in a kind of distraction he had felt all morning, probably because of the dream and his restless night, he started along the main corridor on his way toward the stairs. He was one step beyond an open window when the light of the bomb was reflected, like a gigantic photographic flash, in the corridor.

Be brave! The glasses he was wearing flew off his face; the bottle of blood crashed against one wall; his Japanese slippers zipped out from under his feet—but otherwise, thanks to where he stood, he was untouched. The hospital was in horrible confusion: heavy partitions and ceilings had fallen on patients, beds had overturned, windows had blown in and cut people, blood was spattered on the walls and floors, instruments were everywhere, many of the patients were running about screaming, many more lay dead.

A colleague working in the laboratory to which Dr. Sasaki had been walking was dead; Dr. Sasaki found himself the only doctor in the hospital who was unhurt. Sasaki, who believed that the enemy had hit only the building he was in, got bandages and began to bind the wounds of those inside the hospital; while outside, all over Hiroshima, maimed and dying citizens turned their unsteady steps toward the Red Cross Hospital to begin an invasion that was to make Dr.

Sasaki forget his private nightmare for a long, long time. There was extra housework to do. Her eleven-month-old brother, Akio, had come down the day before with a serious stomach upset; her mother had taken him to the Tamura Pediatric Hospital and was staying there with him. When she had finished and had cleaned and put away the cooking things, it was nearly seven. The family lived in Koi, and she had a forty-five-minute trip to the tin works, in the section of town called Kannon-machi. She was in charge of the personnel records in the factory.

She left Koi at seven, and as soon as she reached the plant, she went with some of the other girls from the personnel department to the factory auditorium. In the large hall, Miss Sasaki and the others made suitable preparations for the meeting. This work took about twenty minutes. Miss Sasaki went back to her office and sat down at her desk. She was quite far from the windows, which were off to her left, and behind her were a couple of tall bookcases containing all the books of the factory library, which the personnel department had organized.

She settled herself at her desk, put some things in a drawer, and shifted papers. She thought that before she began to make entries in her lists of new employees, discharges, and departures for the Army, she would chat for a moment with the girl at her right. Just as she turned her head away from the windows, the room was filled with a blinding light.

She was paralyzed by fear, fixed still in her chair for a long moment the plant was 1, yards from the center. Everything fell, and Miss Sasaki lost consciousness. The ceiling dropped suddenly and the wooden floor above collapsed in splinters and the people up there came down and the roof above them gave way; but principally and first of all, the bookcases right behind her swooped forward and the contents threw her down, with her left leg horribly twisted and breaking underneath her.

There, in the tin factory, in the first moment of the atomic age, a human being was crushed by books. Immediately after the explosion, the Reverend Mr. Tanimoto transferred the child to his own back and led the woman by the hand down the street, which was darkened by what seemed to be a local column of dust. He took the woman to a grammar school not far away that had previously been designated for use as a temporary hospital in case of emergency. By this solicitous behavior, Mr. Tanimoto at once got rid of his terror. At the school, he was much surprised to see glass all over the floor and fifty or sixty injured people already waiting to be treated.

He reflected that, although the all-clear had sounded and he had heard no planes, several bombs must have been dropped. From the mound, Mr. Tanimoto saw an astonishing panorama. Not just a patch of Koi, as he had expected, but as much of Hiroshima as he could see through the clouded air was giving off a thick, dreadful miasma. Clumps of smoke, near and far, had begun to push up through the general dust. He wondered how such extensive damage could have been dealt out of a silent sky; even a few planes, far up, would have been audible.

Houses nearby were burning, and when huge drops of water the size of marbles began to fall, he half thought that they must be coming from the hoses of firemen fighting the blazes. They were actually drops of condensed moisture falling from the turbulent tower of dust, heat, and fission fragments that had already risen miles into the sky above Hiroshima.

Tanimoto turned away from the sight when he heard Mr. Matsuo call out to ask whether he was all right.

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Matsuo had been safely cushioned within the falling house by the bedding stored in the front hall and had worked his way out. Tanimoto scarcely answered. He had thought of his wife and baby, his church, his home, his parishioners, all of them down in that awful murk. Once more he began to run in fear—toward the city. Nakamura abandoned Myeko, who at least could breathe, and in a frenzy made the wreckage fly above the crying voices. The children had been sleeping nearly ten feet apart, but now their voices seemed to come from the same place. Toshio, the boy, apparently had some freedom to move, because she could feel him undermining the pile of wood and tiles as she worked from above.

At last she saw his head, and she hastily pulled him out by it. A mosquito net was wound intricately, as if it had been carefully wrapped, around his feet. He said he had been blown right across the room and had been on top of his sister Yaeko under the wreckage. She now said, from underneath, that she could not move, because there was something on her legs. With a bit more digging, Mrs.

Nakamura cleared a hole above the child and began to pull her arm. It hurts! Then she freed Myeko. The children were filthy and bruised, but none of them had a single cut or scratch. Nakamura took the children out into the street. They had nothing on but underpants, and although the day was very hot, she worried rather confusedly about their being cold, so she went back into the wreckage and burrowed underneath and found a bundle of clothes she had packed for an emergency, and she dressed them in pants, blouses, shoes, padded-cotton air-raid helmets called bokuzuki , and even, irrationally, overcoats.

Why did our house fall down? What happened? Nakamura, who did not know what had happened had not the all-clear sounded? Nakamoto, wife of the head of the local air-raid-defense Neighborhood Association, came across the street with her head all bloody, and said that her baby was badly cut; did Mrs.

Nakamura have any bandage? Nakamura did not, but she crawled into the remains of her house again and pulled out some white cloth that she had been using in her work as a seamstress, ripped it into strips, and gave it to Mrs. While fetching the cloth, she noticed her sewing machine; she went back in for it and dragged it out. Obviously, she could not carry it with her, so she unthinkingly plunged her symbol of livelihood into the receptacle which for weeks had been her symbol of safety—the cement tank of water in front of her house, of the type every household had been ordered to construct against a possible fire raid.

A nervous neighbor, Mrs. Hataya, called to Mrs. Nakamura to run away with her to the woods in Asano Park—an estate, by the Kyo River not far off, belonging to the wealthy Asano family, who once owned the Toyo Kisen Kaisha steamship line. The park had been designated as an evacuation area for their neighborhood. Nakamura suggested going over to fight it.

What if planes come and drop more bombs? Nakamura started out for Asano Park with her children and Mrs. Hataya, and she carried her rucksack of emergency clothing, a blanket, an umbrella, and a suitcase of things she had cached in her air-raid shelter. Under many ruins, as they hurried along, they heard muffled screams for help. The only building they saw standing on their way to Asano Park was the Jesuit mission house, alongside the Catholic kindergarten to which Mrs.

Nakamura had sent Myeko for a time. As they passed it, she saw Father Kleinsorge, in bloody underwear, running out of the house with a small suitcase in his hand. Right after the explosion, while Father Wilhelm Kleinsorge, S. His body, especially his back, was bloody; the flash had made him twist away from his window, and tiny pieces of glass had flown at him.

Father Cieslik was rather pleased with himself, for after the flash he had dived into a doorway, which he had previously reckoned to be the safest place inside the building, and when the blast came, he was not injured. Kanda, who lived on the next corner, or Dr. Fujii, about six blocks away. The two men went out of the compound and up the street. The daughter of Mr. Hoshijima, the mission catechist, ran up to Father Kleinsorge and said that her mother and sister were buried under the ruins of their house, which was at the back of the Jesuit compound, and at the same time the priests noticed that the house of the Catholic-kindergarten teacher at the foot of the compound had collapsed on her.

While Father LaSalle and Mrs. There was not a sound underneath; he was sure the Hoshijima women had been killed. At last, under what had been a corner of the kitchen, he saw Mrs. He managed, too, to find her daughter in the rubble and free her. Neither was badly hurt. A public bath next door to the mission house had caught fire, but since there the wind was southerly, the priests thought their house would be spared.

Nevertheless, as a precaution, Father Kleinsorge went inside to fetch some things he wanted to save. He found his room in a state of weird and illogical confusion. A first-aid kit was hanging undisturbed on a hook on the wall, but his clothes, which had been on other hooks nearby, were nowhere to be seen. Father Kleinsorge later came to regard this as a bit of Providential interference, inasmuch as the suitcase contained his breviary, the account books for the whole diocese, and a considerable amount of paper money belonging to the mission, for which he was responsible.

He ran out of the house and deposited the suitcase in the mission air-raid shelter. At about this time, Father Cieslik and Father Schiffer, who was still spurting blood, came back and said that Dr. After the overturn, Dr. Fujii was so stupefied and so tightly squeezed by the beams gripping his chest that he was unable to move at first, and he hung there about twenty minutes in the darkened morning.

Then a thought which came to him—that soon the tide would be running in through the estuaries and his head would be submerged—inspired him to fearful activity; he wriggled and turned and exerted what strength he could though his left arm, because of the pain in his shoulder, was useless , and before long he had freed himself from the vise. Fujii, who was in his underwear, was now soaking and dirty. His undershirt was torn, and blood ran down it from bad cuts on his chin and back.

In this disarray, he walked out onto Kyo Bridge, beside which his hospital had stood. The bridge had not collapsed. He could see only fuzzily without his glasses, but he could see enough to be amazed at the number of houses that were down all around. At first, Dr. Fujii could see only two fires, one across the river from his hospital site and one quite far to the south.

But at the same time, he and his friend observed something that puzzled them, and which, as doctors, they discussed: although there were as yet very few fires, wounded people were hurrying across the bridge in an endless parade of misery, and many of them exhibited terrible burns on their faces and arms. Fujii asked. Even a theory was comforting that day, and Dr.

Machii stuck to his. There had been no breeze earlier in the morning when Dr. Fujii had walked to the railway station to see a friend off, but now brisk winds were blowing every which way; here on the bridge the wind was easterly. New fires were leaping up, and they spread quickly, and in a very short time terrible blasts of hot air and showers of cinders made it impossible to stand on the bridge any more.

Machii ran to the far side of the river and along a still unkindled street. Fujii went down into the water under the bridge, where a score of people had already taken refuge, among them his servants, who had extricated themselves from the wreckage. From there, Dr. Fujii saw a nurse hanging in the timbers of his hospital by her legs, and then another painfully pinned across the breast.

He enlisted the help of some of the others under the bridge and freed both of them. He thought he heard the voice of his niece for a moment, but he could not find her; he never saw her again. Four of his nurses and the two patients in the hospital died, too. Fujii went back into the water of the river and waited for the fire to subside. The lot of Drs. Fujii, Kanda, and Machii right after the explosion—and, as these three were typical, that of the majority of the physicians and surgeons of Hiroshima—with their offices and hospitals destroyed, their equipment scattered, their own bodies incapacitated in varying degrees, explained why so many citizens who were hurt went untended and why so many who might have lived died.

Of a hundred and fifty doctors in the city, sixty-five were already dead and most of the rest were wounded. Of 1, nurses, 1, were dead or too badly hurt to work. In the biggest hospital, that of the Red Cross, only six doctors out of thirty were able to function, and only ten nurses out of more than two hundred. The sole uninjured doctor on the Red Cross Hospital staff was Dr. After the explosion, he hurried to a storeroom to fetch bandages.

This room, like everything he had seen as he ran through the hospital, was chaotic—bottles of medicines thrown off shelves and broken, salves spattered on the walls, instruments strewn everywhere. He grabbed up some bandages and an unbroken bottle of mercurochrome, hurried back to the chief surgeon, and bandaged his cuts. Then he went out into the corridor and began patching up the wounded patients and the doctors and nurses there. He blundered so without his glasses that he took a pair off the face of a wounded nurse, and although they only approximately compensated for the errors of his vision, they were better than nothing.

He was to depend on them for more than a month. Sasaki worked without method, taking those who were nearest him first, and he noticed soon that the corridor seemed to be getting more and more crowded.

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Mixed in with the abrasions and lacerations which most people in the hospital had suffered, he began to find dreadful burns. He realized then that casualties were pouring in from outdoors. There were so many that he began to pass up the lightly wounded; he decided that all he could hope to do was to stop people from bleeding to death.

Wounded people supported maimed people; disfigured families leaned together. Many people were vomiting. A tremendous number of schoolgirls—some of those who had been taken from their classrooms to work outdoors, clearing fire lanes—crept into the hospital. In a city of two hundred and forty-five thousand, nearly a hundred thousand people had been killed or doomed at one blow; a hundred thousand more were hurt. At least ten thousand of the wounded made their way to the best hospital in town, which was altogether unequal to such a trampling, since it had only six hundred beds, and they had all been occupied.

The people in the suffocating crowd inside the hospital wept and cried, for Dr. Tugged here and there in his stockinged feet, bewildered by the numbers, staggered by so much raw flesh, Dr. Sasaki lost all sense of profession and stopped working as a skillful surgeon and a sympathetic man; he became an automaton, mechanically wiping, daubing, winding, wiping, daubing, winding.

Some of the wounded in Hiroshima were unable to enjoy the questionable luxury of hospitalization. In what had been the personnel office of the East Asia Tin Works, Miss Sasaki lay doubled over, unconscious, under the tremendous pile of books and plaster and wood and corrugated iron. She was wholly unconscious she later estimated for about three hours.

Her first sensation was of dreadful pain in her left leg. It was so black under the books and debris that the borderline between awareness and unconsciousness was fine; she apparently crossed it several times, for the pain seemed to come and go. At the moments when it was sharpest, she felt that her leg had been cut off somewhere below the knee.

Get us out! Fujii had given the priests a few days before. When he finished, he ran into the mission house again and found the jacket of his military uniform and an old pair of gray trousers. He put them on and went outside. A woman from next door ran up to him and shouted that her husband was buried under her house and the house was on fire; Father Kleinsorge must come and save him.

They went around to the house, the remains of which blazed violently, but when they got there, it turned out that the woman had no idea where her husband was. Just then, the kindergarten teacher pointed out to the priests Mr. Fukai, the secretary of the diocese, who was standing in his window on the second floor of the mission house, facing in the direction of the explosion, weeping. Father Cieslik, because he thought the stairs unusable, ran around to the back of the mission house to look for a ladder. There he heard people crying for help under a nearby fallen roof. He called to passersby running away in the street to help him lift it, but nobody paid any attention, and he had to leave the buried ones to die.

Father Kleinsorge ran inside the mission house and scrambled up the stairs, which were awry and piled with plaster and lathing, and called to Mr. Fukai from the doorway of his room. Father Kleinsorge went into the room and took Mr. Father Kleinsorge began to shove and haul Mr. Fukai out of the room. Then the theological student came up and grabbed Mr.

Fukai cried. The street was cluttered with parts of houses that had slid into it, and with fallen telephone poles and wires. Help, if you please! All the way, Mr. At Sakai Bridge, which would take them across to the East Parade Ground, they saw that the whole community on the opposite side of the river was a sheet of fire; they dared not cross and decided to take refuge in Asano Park, off to their left. Father Kleinsorge, who had been weakened for a couple of days by his bad case of diarrhea, began to stagger under his protesting burden, and as he tried to climb up over the wreckage of several houses that blocked their way to the park, he stumbled, dropped Mr.

Fukai, and plunged down, head over heels, to the edge of the river. When he picked himself up, he saw Mr. Fukai running away. Father Kleinsorge shouted to a dozen soldiers, who were standing by the bridge, to stop him. As Father Kleinsorge started back to get Mr. They said they would, but the little, broken man got away from them, and the last the priests could see of him, he was running back toward the fire.

Tanimoto, fearful for his family and church, at first ran toward them by the shortest route, along Koi Highway. He was the only person making his way into the city; he met hundreds and hundreds who were fleeing, and every one of them seemed to be hurt in some way. The eyebrows of some were burned off and skin hung from their faces and hands. Others, because of pain, held their arms up as if carrying something in both hands. Some were vomiting as they walked. Many were naked or in shreds of clothing. On some undressed bodies, the burns had made patterns—of undershirt straps and suspenders and, on the skin of some women since white repelled the heat from the bomb and dark clothes absorbed it and conducted it to the skin , the shapes of flowers they had had on their kimonos.

Many, although injured themselves, supported relatives who were worse off. Almost all had their heads bowed, looked straight ahead, were silent, and showed no expression whatever. Tanimoto saw, as he approached the center, that all the houses had been crushed and many were afire. Here the trees were bare and their trunks were charred. He tried at several points to penetrate the ruins, but the flames always stopped him. Under many houses, people screamed for help, but no one helped; in general, survivors that day assisted only their relatives or immediate neighbors, for they could not comprehend or tolerate a wider circle of misery.

The wounded limped past the screams, and Mr. Tanimoto ran past them. He thought he would skirt the fire, to the left. He ran back to Kannon Bridge and followed for a distance one of the rivers. He tried several cross streets, but all were blocked, so he turned far left and ran out to Yokogawa, a station on a railroad line that detoured the city in a wide semicircle, and he followed the rails until he came to a burning train. So impressed was he by this time by the extent of the damage that he ran north two miles to Gion, a suburb in the foothills. There is one who is not wounded.

There was no fire on the other side of the river, so he threw off his shirt and shoes and plunged into it. In midstream, where the current was fairly strong, exhaustion and fear finally caught up with him—he had run nearly seven miles—and he became limp and drifted in the water. It would be nonsense for me to be drowned when I am the only uninjured one. Tanimoto climbed up the bank and ran along it until, near a large Shinto shrine, he came to more fire, and as he turned left to get around it, he met, by incredible luck, his wife.

She was carrying their infant son. Tanimoto was now so emotionally worn out that nothing could surprise him. She told how the wreckage had pressed down on her, how the baby had cried. She saw a chink of light, and by reaching up with a hand, she worked the hole bigger, bit by bit. After about half an hour, she heard the crackling noise of wood burning.

At last the opening was big enough for her to push the baby out, and afterward she crawled out herself. She said she was now going out to Ushida again. Tanimoto said he wanted to see his church and take care of the people of his Neighborhood Association. They parted as casually—as bewildered—as they had met.

Water, water! Tanimoto found a basin in a nearby street and located a water tap that still worked in the crushed shell of a house, and he began carrying water to the suffering strangers. When he had given drink to about thirty of them, he realized he was taking too much time. He went to the river again, the basin in his hand, and jumped down onto a sandspit. There he saw hundreds of people so badly wounded that they could not get up to go farther from the burning city. Tanimoto could not resist them; he carried them water from the river—a mistake, since it was tidal and brackish.

Two or three small boats were ferrying hurt people across the river from Asano Park, and when one touched the spit, Mr. Tanimoto again made his loud, apologetic speech and jumped into the boat. It took him across to the park. There, in the underbrush, he found some of his charges of the Neighborhood Association, who had come there by his previous instructions, and saw many acquaintances, among them Father Kleinsorge and the other Catholics.

But he missed Fukai, who had been a close friend. When Miss Sasaki heard the voices of the people caught along with her in the dilapidation at the tin factory, she began speaking to them. Her nearest neighbor, she discovered, was a high-school girl who had been drafted for factory work, and who said her back was broken. My left leg is cut off. Some time later, she again heard somebody walk overhead and then move off to one side, and whoever it was began burrowing. The digger released several people, and when he had uncovered the high-school girl, she found that her back was not broken, after all, and she crawled out.

Miss Sasaki spoke to the rescuer, and he worked toward her. He pulled away a great number of books, until he had made a tunnel to her. The man excavated some more and told her to try with all her strength to get out. But books were heavy on her hips, and the man finally saw that a bookcase was leaning on the books and that a heavy beam pressed down on the bookcase. The man was gone a long time, and when he came back, he was ill-tempered, as if her plight were all her fault.

Much later, several men came and dragged Miss Sasaki out. Her left leg was not severed, but it was badly broken and cut and it hung askew below the knee. They took her out into a courtyard. It was raining. She sat on the ground in the rain. Then a man propped up a large sheet of corrugated iron as a kind of lean-to, and took her in his arms and carried her to it. She was grateful until he brought two horribly wounded people—a woman with a whole breast sheared off and a man whose face was all raw from a burn—to share the simple shed with her.

No one came back. The rain cleared and the cloudy afternoon was hot; before nightfall the three grotesques under the slanting piece of twisted iron began to smell quite bad. The former head of the Nobori-cho Neighborhood Association, to which the Catholic priests belonged, was an energetic man named Yoshida.

He had boasted, when he was in charge of the district air-raid defenses, that fire might eat away all of Hiroshima but it would never come to Nobori-cho. The bomb blew down his house, and a joist pinned him by the legs, in full view of the Jesuit mission house across the way and of the people hurrying along the street. In their confusion as they hurried past, Mrs.

Nakamura, with her children, and Father Kleinsorge, with Mr. Fukai on his back, hardly saw him; he was just part of the general blur of misery through which they moved. His cries for help brought no response from them; there were so many people shouting for help that they could not hear him separately.

They and all the others went along. Nobori-cho became absolutely deserted, and the fire swept through it. Yoshida saw the wooden mission house—the only erect building in the area—go up in a lick of flame, and the heat was terrific on his face. Then flames came along his side of the street and entered his house.

In a paroxysm of terrified strength, he freed himself and ran down the alleys of Nobori-cho, hemmed in by the fire he had said would never come. He began at once to behave like an old man; two months later his hair was white. As Dr. Fujii stood in the river up to his neck to avoid the heat of the fire, the wind grew stronger and stronger, and soon, even though the expanse of water was small, the waves grew so high that the people under the bridge could no longer keep their footing. Fujii went close to the shore, crouched down, and embraced a large stone with his usable arm.

Later it became possible to wade along the very edge of the river, and Dr. Fujii and his two surviving nurses moved about two hundred yards upstream, to a sandspit near Asano Park. Many wounded were lying on the sand. Machii was there with his family; his daughter, who had been outdoors when the bomb burst, was badly burned on her hands and legs but fortunately not on her face. Although Dr. Then he lay down. In spite of the misery all around, he was ashamed of his appearance, and he remarked to Dr.

Machii that he looked like a beggar, dressed as he was in nothing but torn and bloody underwear. Late in the afternoon, when the fire began to subside, he decided to go to his parental house, in the suburb of Nagatsuka. He asked Dr. Fujii, together with his nurses, walked first to Ushida, where, in the partially damaged house of some relatives, he found first-aid materials he had stored there. The two nurses bandaged him and he them.

They went on. Now not many people walked in the streets, but a great number sat and lay on the pavement, vomited, waited for death, and died. The number of corpses on the way to Nagatsuka was more and more puzzling. The Doctor wondered: Could a Molotov flower basket have done all this? It was five miles from the center of town, but its roof had fallen in and the windows were all broken. All day, people poured into Asano Park. Nakamura and her children were among the first to arrive, and they settled in the bamboo grove near the river.

They all felt terribly thirsty, and they drank from the river. At once they were nauseated and began vomiting, and they retched the whole day. When Father Kleinsorge and the other priests came into the park, nodding to their friends as they passed, the Nakamuras were all sick and prostrate. A woman named Iwasaki, who lived in the neighborhood of the mission and who was sitting near the Nakamuras, got up and asked the priests if she should stay where she was or go with them. The priests went farther along the river and settled down in some underbrush. Father LaSalle lay down and went right to sleep.

The theological student, who was wearing slippers, had carried with him a bundle of clothes, in which he had packed two pairs of leather shoes. When he sat down with the others, he found that the bundle had broken open and a couple of shoes had fallen out and now he had only two lefts. He retraced his steps and found one right. Yesterday, my shoes were my most important possessions. One pair is enough. When Mr. Tanimoto, with his basin still in his hand, reached the park, it was very crowded, and to distinguish the living from the dead was not easy, for most of the people lay still, with their eyes open.

To Father Kleinsorge, an Occidental, the silence in the grove by the river, where hundreds of gruesomely wounded suffered together, was one of the most dreadful and awesome phenomena of his whole experience. The hurt ones were quiet; no one wept, much less screamed in pain; no one complained; none of the many who died did so noisily; not even the children cried; very few people even spoke.

And when Father Kleinsorge gave water to some whose faces had been almost blotted out by flash burns, they took their share and then raised themselves a little and bowed to him, in thanks. Read classic New Yorker stories, curated by our archivists and editors. Tanimoto greeted the priests and then looked around for other friends. He saw Mrs.

Matsumoto, wife of the director of the Methodist School, and asked her if she was thirsty. Then he decided to try to get back to his church. He went into Nobori-cho by the way the priests had taken as they escaped, but he did not get far; the fire along the streets was so fierce that he had to turn back.

He walked to the riverbank and began to look for a boat in which he might carry some of the most severely injured across the river from Asano Park and away from the spreading fire. Soon he found a good-sized pleasure punt drawn up on the bank, but in and around it was an awful tableau—five dead men, nearly naked, badly burned, who must have expired more or less all at once, for they were in attitudes which suggested that they had been working together to push the boat down into the river. I must use it for others, who are alive.

There were no oars, and all he could find for propulsion was a thick bamboo pole. He worked the boat upstream to the most crowded part of the park and began to ferry the wounded. He could pack ten or twelve into the boat for each crossing, but as the river was too deep in the center to pole his way across, he had to paddle with the bamboo, and consequently each trip took a very long time. He worked several hours that way. Early in the afternoon, the fire swept into the woods of Asano Park.

The first Mr. Tanimoto knew of it was when, returning in his boat, he saw that a great number of people had moved toward the riverside. Tanimoto sent some to look for buckets and basins and told others to beat the burning underbrush with their clothes; when utensils were at hand, he formed a bucket chain from one of the pools in the rock gardens.

The team fought the fire for more than two hours, and gradually defeated the flames. As Mr. Among those driven into the river and drowned were Mrs. Matsumoto, of the Methodist School, and her daughter. When Father Kleinsorge got back after fighting the fire, he found Father Schiffer still bleeding and terribly pale. He had brought Dr. Kanda had seen his wife and daughter dead in the ruins of his hospital; he sat now with his head in his hands. The roar of approaching planes was heard about this time. Nakamura took the blouses off her children, and opened her umbrella and made them get under it.

A great number of people, even badly burned ones, crawled into bushes and stayed there until the hum, evidently of a reconnaissance or weather run, died away. It began to rain. Nakamura kept her children under the umbrella. But the drops were palpably water, and as they fell, the wind grew stronger and stronger, and suddenly—probably because of the tremendous convection set up by the blazing city—a whirlwind ripped through the park.

Huge trees crashed down; small ones were uprooted and flew into the air. Higher, a wild array of flat things revolved in the twisting funnel—pieces of iron roofing, papers, doors, strips of matting. The gale blew Mrs. Murata, the mission housekeeper, who was sitting close by the river, down the embankment at a shallow, rocky place, and she came out with her bare feet bloody. The vortex moved out onto the river, where it sucked up a waterspout and eventually spent itself. After the storm, Mr. Tanimoto began ferrying people again, and Father Kleinsorge asked the theological student to go across and make his way out to the Jesuit Novitiate at Nagatsuka, about three miles from the center of town, and to request the priests there to come with help for Fathers Schiffer and LaSalle.

The student got into Mr. Father Kleinsorge asked Mrs. Nakamura if she would like to go out to Nagatsuka with the priests when they came. She said she had some luggage and her children were sick—they were still vomiting from time to time, and so, for that matter, was she—and therefore she feared she could not. He said he thought the fathers from the Novitiate could come back the next day with a pushcart to get her.

Late in the afternoon, when he went ashore for a while, Mr. Tanimoto, upon whose energy and initiative many had come to depend, heard people begging for food. He consulted Father Kleinsorge, and they decided to go back into town to get some rice from Mr. Father Cieslik and two or three others went with them. At first, when they got among the rows of prostrate houses, they did not know where they were; the change was too sudden, from a busy city of two hundred and forty-five thousand that morning to a mere pattern of residue in the afternoon.

The asphalt of the streets was still so soft and hot from the fires that walking was uncomfortable. Tanimoto left the party, Father Kleinsorge was dismayed to see the building razed. In the garden, on the way to the shelter, he noticed a pumpkin roasted on the vine.

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He and Father Cieslik tasted it and it was good. They were surprised at their hunger, and they ate quite a bit. They got out several bags of rice and gathered up several other cooked pumpkins and dug up some potatoes that were nicely baked under the ground, and started back. Tanimoto rejoined them on the way. One of the people with him had some cooking utensils. In the park, Mr. Tanimoto organized the lightly wounded women of his neighborhood to cook. Father Kleinsorge offered the Nakamura family some pumpkin, and they tried it, but they could not keep it on their stomachs.

Altogether, the rice was enough to feed nearly a hundred people. Just before dark, Mr. Tanimoto came across a twenty-year-old girl, Mrs. She was crouching on the ground with the body of her infant daughter in her arms. The baby had evidently been dead all day. Kamai jumped up when she saw Mr. Tanimoto knew that her husband had been inducted into the Army just the day before; he and Mrs. Tanimoto had entertained Mrs.

Kamai in the afternoon, to make her forget. Kamai had reported to the Chugoku Regional Army Headquarters—near the ancient castle in the middle of town—where some four thousand troops were stationed. Judging by the many maimed soldiers Mr. Tanimoto had seen during the day, he surmised that the barracks had been badly damaged by whatever it was that had hit Hiroshima. I want him to see her once more. Early in the evening of the day the bomb exploded, a Japanese naval launch moved slowly up and down the seven rivers of Hiroshima.

It stopped here and there to make an announcement—alongside the crowded sandspits, on which hundreds of wounded lay; at the bridges, on which others were crowded; and eventually, as twilight fell, opposite Asano Park. A naval hospital ship is coming to take care of you! Nakamura settled her family for the night with the assurance that a doctor would come and stop their retching. Tanimoto resumed ferrying the wounded across the river. Did you remember to repeat your evening prayers?

This, apparently, was just what Mrs. Murata wanted. She began to chat with the exhausted priest. One of the questions she raised was when he thought the priests from the Novitiate, for whom he had sent a messenger in midafternoon, would arrive to evacuate Father Superior LaSalle and Father Schiffer. The messenger Father Kleinsorge had sent—the theological student who had been living at the mission house—had arrived at the Novitiate, in the hills about three miles out, at half past four.

The sixteen priests there had been doing rescue work in the outskirts; they had worried about their colleagues in the city but had not known how or where to look for them. Now they hastily made two litters out of poles and boards, and the student led half a dozen of them back into the devastated area.

They worked their way along the Ota above the city; twice the heat of the fire forced them into the river. At Misasa Bridge, they encountered a long line of soldiers making a bizarre forced march away from the Chugoku Regional Army Headquarters in the center of the town. All were grotesquely burned, and they supported themselves with staves or leaned on one another.

Sick, burned horses, hanging their heads, stood on the bridge. When the rescue party reached the park, it was after dark, and progress was made extremely difficult by the tangle of fallen trees of all sizes that had been knocked down by the whirlwind that afternoon. At last—not long after Mrs. Murata asked her question—they reached their friends, and gave them wine and strong tea. They were afraid that blundering through the park with them would jar them too much on the wooden litters, and that the wounded men would lose too much blood.

Father Kleinsorge thought of Mr. Star Trek: Deep Space Nine is based on the television series of the same name. The book line was relaunched with the publication of Lives of Dax , edited by Marco Palmieri. Based on select episodes from the television series. Call to Arms and Sacrifice of Angels are based on seven interlinked episodes from Deep Space Nine 's Seasons 5 and 6 , beginning with the episode " Call to Arms ".

Emissary was published as Deep Space Nine , Book 1. The novellas were published in children's chapter book format. Written by Dafydd ab Hugh. Written by Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens. Interlinked novels set after the episode " What You Leave Behind ". Not to be confused with the Gamma miniseries, which has a similar premise. These Haunted Seas is a collection of Books 1 and 2. Created by Marco Palmieri. Only one novel has been published. Not to be confused with the Mission Gamma miniseries which has a similar premise.

Star Trek: Spock vs. Q is a pair of audio dramatizations produced by Alien Voices, starring Leonard Nimoy and John de Lancie as the titular characters. Crossover novels and series contain characters and settings from the various television series and films:. Star Trek: Invasion! The novels were thematically linked. An omnibus edition was published in containing additional material. The series was conceived and edited by John J.

The series was conceived by Paula M. Block and John J. Star Trek: The Captain's Table crossover miniseries is narrated by various starship captains during their visits to a trans-dimensional bar called The Captain's Table. An anthology of related stories was published in The novels contain additional characters and situations created by the authors. Star Trek: Section 31 crossover miniseries was inspired by the autonomous, clandestine, paramilitary organization introduced in the Deep Space Nine episode " Inquisition ".

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Cloak does not include The Original Series subtitle. The series concluded with the anthology What Lay Beyond An omnibus edition was announced at the Shore Leave convention in , but was never published. Star Trek: Voyager is based on the television series of the same name. The book line was relaunched with the publication of Homecoming , by Christie Golden.

Caretaker was published as Voyager , Book 1. Written by Christie Golden. Interlinked novels set after the episode " Endgame ". Star Trek: Voyager: String Theory miniseries follows the crew during a violent encounter with the Nacene. Published on the tenth-anniversary of the television series. The novels were intended to be the seminal work of the series. Created by William Shatner , and co-written by Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens , the series explores events following James Kirk 's resurrection by agents of the Romulan Star Empire after the character's death in Generations.

Shatner outlined the first novel while filming Kirk's final scene in The colloquial name, The Shatnerverse , has been adopted by Memory Alpha and others. Characters from other films and television series appear in the novels. However, continuity within the series is independent of other book lines.

The series is organized into three trilogies by fans: Odyssey , Mirror Universe , and Totality. Novelizations of the popular Star Trek video games. Klingon was also dramatized as an audiobook. A novelization of the interactive movie Star Trek: Borg was announced, but was never published.

Created by John J. Written by Peter David. Numbering of the novels is inconsistent among primary sources. Voyages of Imagination does not number novels published after Star Trek: New Frontier: Excalibur miniseries follows the crew after the destruction of the Excalibur , and the apparent death of Calhoun. Published as ebook exclusives on various platforms, and were later collected into print bind-ups with similar titles, but a different numbering scheme.

Novellas were numbered 1 through Many were also published as part of multipart series, such as Foundations , Wildfire , and What's Past All novellas were later collected in omnibus editions with a different numbering scheme. The series name was abbreviated as S. Each edition is a bind-up of three or four novellas, numbered as Book 1 through 7, published in mass-market paperback format. Books 8 through 13 were published in trade paperback format to accommodate five or six novellas each. Star Trek: S. An omnibus edition was published as part of the Corps of Engineers relaunch, in The novellas were published as S.

Star Trek: Challenger is flagship concept series similar to New Frontier. Star Trek: Enterprise is based on the television series of the same name. Originally published as Enterprise , without the Star Trek prefix. Interlinked novels set after the episode " These Are the Voyages Reunion and The Valiant , also by Friedman, are linked with the series. A new novel was published in The novels are not numbered. The Buried Age , Christopher L.

The editions include amplifying material, such as author's notes, essays, and interviews. Published in trade paperback format.

Star Trek: I. Gorkon follows the exploits of a Qang -class destroyer ordered into unexplored space to find new planets to conquer in the name of the Klingon Empire. Written by Keith DeCandido. Relaunched as Klingon Empire The ship was introduced in Nemesis Glass Empires and Obsidian Alliances are collections of three novellas each. Shards and Shadows is a short story anthology. The Sorrows of Empire was expanded from a novella collected in Glass Empires. Trial Run , the second in the series, was announced but was never published.

Star Trek: Klingon Empire is a relaunch and continuation of I. Gorkon — No additional novels have been published. The series is linked to The Lost Era — Star Trek: Myriad Universes explores alternate realties and their analogues of characters from the various television series and films. Star Trek: Destiny explores the origin of the Borg , and Federation's response to an invasion by them. Followed by Typhon Pact — Based on Star Trek and its sequels. Original novels set in the Kelvin Timeline were announced, but were withdrawn.

The series depicts the timeline of events from the rebooted films, and differs greatly from a similarly named series published in The Needs of the Many , by Michael A. Martin , expanded on the timeline of the events explored by players of the game. It is unclear if additional novels will be published. Star Trek: Typhon Pact is a continuation of the Destiny Many storylines conclude in The Fall — Only four novels are numbered. Events in the novels take place over a two-month period. Star Trek: Seekers is a continuation of Vanguard — Star Trek: Prey follows the exploits of a company of thieves.

Written by John Jackson Miller. Star Trek: Discovery is based on the television series of the same name. The novels follow the continuity of the television series closely. Star Trek: Academy: Trial Run was to be the second novel of a new flagship series. Novels based on the Reboot Kelvin Timeline film series that were withdrawn from publication for unknown reasons.

Little is known of the novels. They were listed as forthcoming in and in Song of Experience is the only novel to be listed in Books In Print , however the record is incomplete. The series remains unpublished. Written by David A. First Titan Books was edition published in The Autobiography of… is a series of fictional autobiographies written by the title characters. David A. Goodman is credited as the editor of each book by its fictional author.

Star Trek: Mission to Horatius, a young adult novel written by Mack Reynolds , was the first original novel to be based on the television series , and the only novel to be published while the series aired on NBC. Published by Whitman Books, an imprint of Western Publishing , as part of a book line based on popular television properties. The editions were published by E. Variants were made available to the Science Fiction Book Club. Originally published as a limited edition by the Klingon Language Institute in The Science Fiction Book Club has published numerous omnibus editions exclusively for club members.

Below is an incomplete list. A hardback edition was published by Titan Books in From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. The Captain's Oath by Christopher L. Main article: Star Trek Bantam Books. Main article: Star Trek Log book series. Main article: Star Trek: Rihannsu. Main article: Star Trek: New Earth. Main article: Star Trek: Section Main article: List of Star Trek: Voyager novels. Main article: Star Trek: New Frontier. Main article: List of Star Trek: Enterprise novels.

Main article: Star Trek: Stargazer. Main article: Star Trek: Klingon Empire. Main article: Star Trek: Titan. Main article: Star Trek: Vanguard. Main article: Mission to Horatius. Retitled Star Trek 1 in Martin and Andy Mangels. Approximated to the nearest month. Gallagher, and I. Robinson, was published as Deep Space Nine , Book The cover art is identical to other novels in the Day of Honor crossover miniseries. Memory Alpha , and other fan resources, list the publication date as January 2, The novel's verso reads January Barr, Christopher L.

Graf, and Dafydd ab Hugh. Steven York and Christina F. Bennett, Loren L. Coleman and Randall N. Bills, Robert Greenberger, Michael A. Martin and Andy Mangels, and Aaron Rosenberg. Weldon, and Robert T. Uncredited rewrite completed by J. Uncredited rewrite by Gene DeWeese. Kirk and Hikaru Sulu, told in their own words, as recorded by L. New York: Pocket Books.

Retrieved The Fate of the Phoenix. Star Trek. New York: Bantam Books. Archived from the original on Too Many Tribbles! Little Golden Books.