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The frequency of the warnings and the continued abstinence of Mr.

B with respect to Hiroshima had made its citizens jittery; a rumor was going around that the Americans were saving something special for the city. Tanimoto is a small man, quick to talk, laugh, and cry.

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A friend of his named Matsuo had, the day before, helped him get the piano out to Koi; in return, he had promised this day to assist Mr. Tanimoto had taken on the chairmanship of his local , or Neighborhood Association, and to his other duties and concerns this position had added the business of organizing air-raid defense for about twenty families. The two men pulled and pushed the handcart through the city streets.

He had slept badly the night before, because there had been several air-raid warnings.

Hiroshima had been getting such warnings almost every night for weeks, for at that time the B-29s were using Lake Biwa, northeast of Hiroshima, as a rendez-vous point, and no matter what city the Americans planned to hit, the Super-fortresses streamed in over the coast near Hiroshima.

There she unrolled some mats and the children lay down on them. They reached home a little after two-thirty and she immediately turned on the radio, which, to her distress, was just then broadcasting a fresh warning.

They slept until about two, when they were awakened by the roar of the planes going over Hiroshima. When she looked at the children and saw how tired they were, and when she thought of the number of trips they had made in past weeks, all to no purpose, to the East Parade Ground, she decided that in spite of the instructions on the radio, she simply could not face starting out all over again.

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