January 2 (Mon.) - December 29 (Sat.), 2012
On August 6, 1945, the city of Hiroshima was instantly destroyed by a single atomic bomb. The bombing indiscriminately claimed many precious lives. Survivors also had the bitter experience of parting from their families.
My child, whose life I couldn't save because the flames were drawing near
My elder sister, who briskly left home that morning saying "See you," is still missing.
A father's remains found in burned and collapsed store wreckage with the buckle of the belt given to him by his son
My mother just endured the pain and died with no proper treatment available.
Remembrances of their families in A-bomb survivors' memoirs can strongly touch the heartstrings of those of us who live for the moment.
In this Special Exhibition, we introduce disastrous scenes after the A-bombing, and survivors' remembrances of their families and wishes for peace through their A-bomb memoirs.
Please listen to their hearts and words.
12 related materials
A program on the three-screen theater(3 memoirs, about 12 minutes)
From the memoir (extract)
"I met someone from the Mitsubishi Heavy Industries housing complex where we lived. He told me my whole family had died. However, I had previously heard that my mother had been badly injured and was carried away on a stretcher.
That person from our housing complex somehow produced a large urn. Lifting up the light tiles as if they were piled on pure cotton, I ignored the smoldering and the odor to pick up the ashes of my sisters and put them into the urn. I picked up some bones that still had shape, and others that collapsed into dust when I touched them. As I did, the faces of my little sisters floated before me. I called their names and could do nothing to stop the endless tears. Then, when the urn was filled with bone and ash, I held it and sat there for a long time."
written by Katsumi Nishioka (link to Global Network)
"He made a small hole, got me out first and then pulled our daughter out. I couldn't stand up for long due to dizziness caused by being hit on the head. But blazing fires were approaching.
After escaping for a while, I suddenly realized that our eldest daughter wasn't with us and asked my husband where she was. He responded, "It was useless. She wouldn't move any more. I'm so sorry."
"Kazuko, I am sorry. I am sorry. Please forgive us," I kept on walking, apologizing to her in my mind."
written by Makie Fujii (link to Global Network)