Kayoko's Cherry Trees: A Testament Of Why The A-Bomb should Never Be Dropped Again.

Tsue: During the war I made an air-raid hood for Kayoko out of my cotton Kimono. I heard cotton did not burn easily. I sewed a small notebook into the top part of the hood. In the notebook I had written my last will and testament. I told Kayoko: If I die, you should live in such-and-such a way. I have left your belongings under my parents' place in the country. When the war is over, get them. Your home's economical condition is such-and-such. Learn this condition and live according to it. You should never commit suicide, even if I die and you become very sad. Keep living firmly. You were born with the ability to survive.

When I went upstairs this time at the Shiroyama Primary School, I noticed a piece of that air-raid hood. I said, "What's that?" and ran over to it. There I found the upper part of my child's body. It was half burned. There was no lower part remaining. Everything else on the third floor had been burned completely. Other people's bones were burned and had become like pieces of small gravel. But my child's bones remained intact, even though there was no meat on them. And the shape of my child's open mouth formed an "ah" sound, as if she was saying "Ka-a-a-a."When I saw that, I thought my child must have been calling "O-Ka-cha-ma" (Mommy) before she died.

Tredici: Was the notebook still in the cotton hood?

Tsue: Yes, it hadn't been burned. I was very sad to pick up my last will and testament again in this place. I wrapped up my child's bones in cloth. To get down to the ground floor I had to slide down on my bottom, pulling the cloth bundle behind me. On the ground, I cremated my child. When I got home I came down with a very high fever, and I had to stay in bed.

Tredici: What happened with the remains of the other child?

Tsue: I buried her in the same grave as Kayoko's. So the unknown girl was enshrined as one of my family's deceased. When the festival of the dead comes I have a priest pray for the unknown girl, too. Do you know what Ta-mu-ke is? It means to offer something to dead people, like flowers or cookies. I still offer cooked rice and tea every day.

Tredici: For Kayoko?

Tsue: Yes, but for many dead people everywhere, I walked through them, crying. When the war was over, I eagerly wanted to make some kind of offering. I thought about it over and over. I decided I'd like to plant cherry trees to go around the school. I wanted to do this for their souls.

Tredici: For the souls of. . .

Tsue: For the souls of everyone. If it were only for Kayoko I wouldn't have dared to ask for permission to plant the trees. Thousands of people died -- there were so many corpses it was hard not to step on them. I wanted to offer something to all those people. The trees were for everybody. Do you understand?

The Shiroyama teacher said, "All right, you may plant cherry trees." But there were no young cherry trees in Nagasaki at that time. A gardener told me, "There's not even food here, not to mention young cherry trees!" I asked the gardener and his son to go to Kurume to buy them. They planted the cheery trees around the school. Those trees were beautiful when they bloomed.

Tredici: Thank you for telling your story. I learned today that Kayoko's cherry trees were not only for Kayoko, but for everyone.

Tsue: Do you know something? I never named them "Kayoko's Cherry Trees." The school named them that. I would have called them something like "Ta-mu-ke no sakura" ("Cherry Tree Offering For The Dead"). I didn't build the monument either. The school put it in. This whole thing has become more and more famous, and I am somewhat embarrassed by it.

Aside from my father's own life experience, he had this to say in the aftermath of nuclear madness:

"You can walk away from these stories today, but if you choose to follow them they will become a profound part of you and will deeply affect your life."