Someone Else's Fault

A Story by Anor

Story about an American visiting the Hiroshima Atomic Bomb Dome not too long after the bombing.

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.