Daddy was drafted to North China in the late fall of 1944. Following Japan’s defeat, he would be held in a Siberian prison camp before being sent home to the Kitasenzoku house where Totto and the family waited at the end of 1949. Many more of Totto’s favorite people were also shipped off to serve, including Uncle Taguchi who’d told her stories of America.
Some soldiers came home after the war, but others did not. Though Totto didn’t fully understand at the time, she later learned that raising her arms and yelling “Banzai!” in exchange for dried squid was something she should never have done.
Totto wondered how many of the soldiers she had feted at Jiyugaoka Station made it safely back to Japan.
She had only waved and whooped because she was desperate for dried squid. But the soldiers might have seen Totto and told themselves they were fighting for the sake of young children like her. If any of them had gone to war and died believing so, then Totto bore part of the blame for their deaths. In cheering them on out of hunger for squid, she had betrayed them.
As an adult, Totto came to realize the significance of what she had done and felt deep remorse for waving the small Japanese flags. Under no circumstances should she have sent people off to battle with cheers of “Banzai!” Regardless of how hungry she was, it was irresponsible—and made her culpable. She would have to bear that guilt for the rest of her life.
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“Draft Notice Has Arrived.”
In the spring of 1944, two and a half years after the start of the Pacific War, happy and sad events occurred in quick succession for Totto’s family.
The happy event was the birth of Totto’s younger sister Mari-chan in April. Totto now had two brothers and a sister. In May, however, her younger brother Meiji-chan passed away from sepsis. Up until shortly before his death, he had been perfectly healthy, happily attending school and bringing home excellent grades. He played the violin well, and he and Totto were inseparable. Totto later learned that a single vial of penicillin could have saved him.
Strangely enough, no memories of Meiji-chan’s death stayed with Totto. In fact, she couldn’t seem to recall her brother at all. Mother would say, “Don’t you remember? You two used to walk to school with your arms around each other’s shoulders.” But Totto simply couldn’t, even though they had apparently been very close. Photographs didn’t spark anything for her, either, other than an “Oh, so this is what he looked like.” It may very well be that Totto, unable to accept Meiji-chan’s death, had chased all memories of him out of her mind—including any recollections of Mother and Daddy mourning the loss of their son.
Mother later told her that before taking his last breath, Meiji-chan had prayed in a clear voice, “Dear God, I am going to heaven now, but please make sure my family lives in peace and happiness.”
✦ ✦ ✦
That summer, Mother made the decision to evacuate the family out of the city. But she first needed to find a place for them to go. Daddy was born and raised in Tokyo and had no relatives in the countryside, and Mother’s hometown in Hokkaido was much too far. So she left Daddy in Tokyo temporarily and took her three small children on a journey to find a rural town in which to wait out the war.
The first option she considered was the city of Sendai in Miyagi Prefecture. Mother’s father, Totto’s grandfather, had graduated from the Tohoku University School of Medicine located there and become a doctor, giving them some degree of connection to the city. Mother stepped off the train at Sendai Station with Totto and her siblings in tow and circled it once.
But she knew right away. “This place won’t do. There will be air strikes here.”
She was right. The following July, B-29 bombers launched an air raid on Sendai that burned the whole city to the ground. Perhaps growing up surrounded by nature in Hokkaido had helped Mother develop a sort of animal instinct when it came to danger.
Crossing Sendai off the list, Mother next took the family to Fukushima, the capital of Fukushima Prefecture. Upon arrival at the city’s station, she asked several passersby if they knew of any places around the area where they might be able to find long-term lodgings.
“How ’bout Iizaka Hot Springs?” someone suggested. So Mother and the children took a lengthy and bumpy bus ride to the hot springs district of Iizaka.
There was not a single visitor there. Totto remembered her stay at the hot springs in Yugawara to rehabilitate her leg. Hot steam had risen from the ground all about the town, and adults and children had strolled around, flushed and happy. The place had brimmed with energy. She was taken aback by how different it felt here. Upon reflection, however, it only made sense; the war was escalating, and no one could afford to take a leisurely trip to the hot springs.
Mother and children walked from one establishment to another, hoping to find a place that could accommodate them, until finally one inn owner offered to rent them a room. “Isn’t that wonderful?” Mother said as she squeezed Totto’s hand, relieved. But Totto was too busy staring to notice.
What were the baggy, burgundy bottoms this kind man before her was wearing? They were neither trousers nor underwear, and looked more like a longer version of the bloomers Totto and her classmates wore to school. The owner seemed to be taking a break to enjoy the evening cool when Totto and her family arrived. Standing there in his droopy bloomers and fanning himself with a paper fan, he reminded Totto of a zoo animal on its two hind legs.
Unable to contain her curiosity, she asked, “Mother, what are those bottoms that he’s wearing?”
“Those are called sarumata,” she whispered back.
Totto nearly laughed out loud. Saru, in Japanese, means monkey. “You’re right! His legs look like monkey legs!” Thinking back now, the man’s clothing may have been on the slovenly side for an adult, but Totto loved the ring sa-ru-ma-ta had to it. She also felt that if they stayed here, she might encounter a world much different from Tokyo, with its own fun and quirky people, beautiful nature, and animals she’d never seen before.
The room the innkeeper offered them was spacious and splendid. It seemed food would also be much easier to obtain here than in the city. Deciding that this would be their new temporary home, Mother sent a telegram to Daddy in Tokyo.
Daddy’s reply came right away. Mother’s face paled as she scanned the telegram. They packed up their belongings and returned to Tokyo immediately. Mother wore a serious expression the entire ride home. Totto learned later that the telegram read: Draft notice has arrived.