Hiroshima is built on 7 intertidal rivers. The rivers once had trees and sloping embankments. Children would swim there in the sweltering heat, a blessed reprieve, particularly on sweltering summer days. On August 6th, 1945, the rivers were transformed into a scene from hell. The Ōta and its tributaries became the River Styx of Greek mythos, filled with damned souls. The burned victims filled the river and banks, desperate for water and relief. Many of them drank their last from the brackish, intertidal water. Survivors recall the final words of thousands to be “mizu”- water.
No one swims in the rivers of Hiroshima anymore.
At night, I stared into the dark currents for a long time, thinking of all the people that died there. Concrete embankments flank these rivers. At high tide, fish from the ocean filter into the city. They alone rule the waters.
Few people seem to know what the natural bank looked like, or how a naturally reforested river bank would help clean and shade the river. Or what native trees and wildlife would reside in such a riparian forest. In a formerly imperialistic atomic-bombed city frequented by Typhoons, these kinds of things get lost.
A tour offered by the World Friendship Center focuses on the trees that survived the atomic bomb. This includes some native Camphor trees, which are among the largest, and non-native trees including a large eucalyptus. In the 100 degree Fahrenheit weather in this city of stone and steel, the shade provided by these trees is life-preserving (and far too sparse for my Pacific Northwest constitution).
My hope for Hiroshima is that they can heal the river, restoring both native species and their relationship with its waters. Someday, I hope, the kids will swim in the rivers again.