|  Back  |  Next  |

 

Hiroshima Day Observance 2001
a haibun

M. Nickels-Wisdom   

 

Since the day is what it is, I thought I'd try to convey some things that have happened to me earlier this year and a few years ago. I was born in 1957, and so feel more remote from the events of the Pacific War than those who have it in living memory. Those memories are slowly leaving us. What do we have in the broad sea of ordinary, contemporary life that is as vivid as memory? Perhaps, if we search our lives, we may discover some little things.

Earlier this year, we had an electrician out to our house to reinstall a faulty attic fan. For safety reasons, I had to station myself in the cellar to turn circuit switches off and on. Some furnace maintenance men had been there recently and had moved aside a large wrought iron shelving unit in order to have room to work. Imagine my surprise when, flashlight in hand, I looked down to where these shelves once stood, only to see what looked very much like an artillery shell!  There it stood, not three feet from the furnace! I know I should probably not have touched it, but I couldn't leave it where it was. So I gently picked it up and placed it in our backyard, then took photos and measurements in an attempt to identify what kind of munitions I had on my hands. It stood one foot high by almost three inches in diameter, with a metal notch running around its base about two inches up from its bottom. Most of its bulk looked to be made of iron, quite rusted from being in a damp cellar for who knows how many years. But the nose of the object was brass, with a horizontal slot about 1 1/2 inches long sawn into it. If I could keep it, it might be an interesting piece of history to show people on Memorial Day. 

these old men, still able to stand at attention

That weekend, I called the local authorities, who ultimately advised I consult a gun shop to find out whether it still presented a danger. They'd indicated that it probably wasn't armed and could be safely moved, though, as a precaution, I shouldn't jostle it too much. I had never visited a gun shop before. The building looked unassuming, but it contained weapons from around the globe, most of them of military or police issue. For example, an AK-47 fresh from Yugoslavia stood in a rack above a display case containing a Croatian police pistol.

firearms in an air conditioned room point at each other

The proprietor indicated that I did indeed have a WWII artillery shell. He offered to disassemble, disarm (if needed), clean, and polish it for me for thirty dollars.  So that is what I am letting him do with it. I feel slightly embarrassed in wanting to keep it around, since I am a professed pacifist. But its mute presence seems so powerful, and I felt I ought not to shy away from such things. I am just a middle-aged American who has never seen military service, much less a war.  I have paid nothing for the peace I enjoy.

toy soldier, his right leg chewed off

Later in the year, I had the opportunity to attend the Haiku North America conference (HNA), held every other year, each in a different city. This June, it would take place in Boston, Massachusetts. My wife Beth accompanied me and, while I'd been busy listening to lectures and attending workshops, she'd followed sections of the Freedom Trail. I rejoined her after the conference and we explored the city together, visiting the New England Holocaust Memorial, the relief sculpture of Col. Shaw and his "colored" 54th Civil War Regiment, the USS Constitution, and the USS Cassin Young. A very long line of tourists waited to board the Constitution, but to me the Young was more impressive. The Young is a Fletcher class WWII destroyer which saw action around Okinawa at the time Japan was sending kamikaze against US warships. Several such planes were shot down by the Young, but two reached their target. We were allowed to board her to tour the bridge, the areas where the guns were loaded, the ward room, radio room, galley, crew's quarters, etc. There I was, wearing my HNA cap while several Japanese tourists also explored the ship. One father was involved in showing his son the glass chart on which ship and plane movements were recorded. It was a hot, sunny day.

on the roof of the explosives depot, grasses sprout

We here, in the US, have our own blast center; it's in New Mexico, the site of the first atomic bomb detonation. As most people know, New Mexico is dotted with many military facilities dedicated to the testing and development of missiles and to space exploration. Several years ago, Beth and I took a trip through the state. Sweeping down through the mountains and passing Alamogordo, we were suddenly stopped adjacent to the White Sands Missile Range by military police. Next, a line of school buses turned in through the gates of this mysterious place.  With a dramatic yet businesslike flourish, the MPs closed the gates after this procession, and we were on our way again. That evening, while relaxing in our motel room in Las Cruces, we learned from local TV news that the Delta Clipper, a reusable single-stage rocket that was considered as a possible replacement for the space shuttles, was to be tested the following day. The buses we'd seen had been filled with scientists and technicians.

days later, fire ants cross a sea of glass

As we travel into the future, distance grows from the Hiroshima of 1945. What we have with us is what we have to keep as a marker of that place on the horizon, a bearing from which to set a course.

across the water, August's white light: another day

 

 

Next:  Hiroshima Day 2001 an observance in haiku and shortverse

 

 

|  Back  |  Next  |