This Scorching Earth by Donald Richie

counter, for the stock was small and consisted almost entirely of the war-time synthetics—and arranged to have it delivered to their home on the following day.
    Then he went to see a movie. It was a war movie. Afterwards he walked past the Imperial Palace and took off his cap. Inside the outer moat it was cool under the pine trees, and he stood stiffly at the base of one, hoping a girl would sit nearby and think him handsome and soldierly in his cap and boots. But none did. Everyone was so busy. He'd never seen Tokyo so busy, and was pleased with the war which had given everyone his own higher duty.
    After that he ate supper—he forgot where—and drank saké. Eventually he did find a woman, fashionably dressed but none the less available. They drank at a private table, and it was not until he heard the watchman making his rounds near Shimbashi Station that he realized it was ten o'clock and that he should have been home hours before.
    But even then he did not leave. He could be home before eleven, and his uncle would be there at least until midnight. His father would be at one of the joro houses in the Susaki district and probably wouldn't be home until morning. So he decided to stay half an hour more, talking with the woman and enjoying her interest.
    Later he was to think of the woman, whose name he could not remember having heard and whose face he had forgotten. She was dressed Western style, a rare thing during the war years, and was beautiful. And, had it not been for her, he would have been home, where he should have been and where, for many years afterward, he wished he had remained.
    Some of Tokyo had already been bombed, but those few districts were far away, and the people in the rest of the city were not afraid. The radio said that the Americans dropped bombs indiscriminately and that there was no need to fear a mass attack, as the radar would detect the intruders and give ample time for escape. Just a year before, Fukagawa had been bombed, but the damage had been negligible. The bombs fell mostly into the country, and most people decided that the Americans were not very skilled in this important matter of bomb dropping. Fukagawa, near the country, had seemed as safe as Shimbashi, in the center of town.
    Tadashi heard the watchman at eleven and was regretfully taking leave of the woman when the call of the watch was interrupted by the air-raid sirens. Earlier in the afternoon, while he had been in the movie, there had been an alert, but the all-clear had sounded immediately after.
    Now Tadashi walked swiftly through the exit stiles of Shimbashi Station—secretly rejoicing that his uniform allowed it—and ran through the standing passengers, past the halted trains, to the top level of the building. He didn't really expect to see anything; he only wanted to be soldierly. This would impress the lovely lady.
    He arrived at the top level just in time to see the sudden flair of massed incendiary bombs. It was Fukagawa. The planes were apparently traveling in a great circle. It was impossible to say how many there were, but it seemed hundreds. A great ring of fire was spreading. The planes were so low he couldn't see them and could tell where they had been only by the fires that sprang from the earth behind them. There was an enormous explosion, like August fireworks on the Sumida River, and a great ball of fire fell back on the district. A chemical plant had been hit. Minutes later, Tadashi felt the warm gust of air from the blast, miles away.
    Later he heard that the planes had come in so low that they escaped the radar. The anti-aircraft could do nothing against planes that near and that swift. The stiff March wind helped spread the flames. Tadashi remembered thinking, at the time, of the canals that cut through the section, and he realized that the people could at least find safety in the water. There would be water enough for all.
    He didn't know how long he stood on the top platform of