It started raining in the morning and didn't let up all clay.

I felt uneasy when I left the house. The people boarding the train from Shin¬juku Station and beyond looked like victims. I couldn't bear to look at them. It was painful to see children with bare feet exposed to the winter rains.

Bombs have fallen on Kanda, Kōtō, and Shiba. Apparently incendiary bombs fell just thirty houses away from O's house. They say the bombs looked like fall¬ing wind chimes. The explosions shattered the windows at Kanda Station. The destruction was considerable in Mitoshirochō, Nishikimachi, Kandabashi, the Kamakura shoreline, Tamachi, and Tsukasachō. For no particular reason I pitied those searching for random things in the burned-out ruins. Their harsh voices were offensive, and there were many sightseers. My head started to ache.

I was much relieved that the railway lines were not damaged.

It made me think about "happiness." Perhaps because I live in the midst of this uncertainty that persists day after day, my own life has been greatly simplified. When I examine my own life, I find that the household goods I'm using now are those of a peaceful age. When I think of the clothes boxes and wicker trunks of warrior times, it's clear that things like present-clay dressers were invented to arrange and separate one's belongings in a peaceful age not riven by conflict. I think it's wonderful that we've been given a chance to reflect on the complexity of these lives in which we've grown accustomed to using these sorts of goods. November is already over.

On Sunday, we had clear skies for the first time in a while. I spent the morning tidying up my dresser. I packed kimonos and other things into trunks and made emergency moving boxes and emergency food packets.

Just before two o'clock, an air-raid warning sounded, and a bombing raid followed. The sky was beautiful today, and I could see the American planes clearly. They were at too high an altitude for me to hear their engines and flew along at a leisurely pace in single- or multiple-plane formations. For nearly two hours they came, more and more of them. I pulled out something that needed mending, and since there was no take-cover signal, I just kept sewing. Bombs appeared to be falling nearby because fire trucks sped by. Glass was breaking. I could hear the sound of things falling- just like in the newsreels. The American planes were directly overhead, but nothing fell. I was entranced by their glittering, white, and beautiful bodies. All we could do was to look at the advancing American planes, which seemed to be pulling the moving patterns of flying clouds. I wasn't troubled at all. I just thought this was war. The radio said that five planes were shot down and two airmen bailed out. It seemed strange to me that the enemy, flying over the skies of the main island, would entrust their lives to parachutes. Was this national character? Or was it differences in the instilled ways of thinking about life and the nation? At this time I reflected on the fact that my attitude toward life and death had become frivolous.

Around the time the sun began to set, the air-raid alert was called off, and the setting sun shone on the areas that had burned so furiously, as though nothing at all had happened. When I think of how the sun will continue to shine for several thousand, or several tens of thousands, of years, I can't help feeling that humans are rather pathetic creatures. No doubt the sun is unimpressed by all the great things achieved in Tokyo. After all, the people in the planes were trying to exterminate those of us on the ground as we entered and exited air-raid shelters. And the sun probably will continue to shine in this way without changing.

Recently, I have been anticipating nighttime air raids and have been going to sleep earlier than usual. It's a shame that I'm spending the long winter nights unproductively, but it can't be helped.

There was a report that at about three o'clock this morning, a few American planes circled Edogawa Ward, dropping incendiary bombs.

Recently we have been making preparations based on the direction of the American planes' attack. If there is an air raid, I'm terrified, and I can't help complaining.

It can't be helped, can it, that I always think first about my own well-being. Nor can it be helped that I get angry at those who maintain their own daily lives and complain only about the reality in front of them.

Was it because the cold suddenly appeared? This morning we had a heavy frost, which made the leaves on all the trees in the garden droop. Because their blooming seasons are close at hand, the camellias and daphne have red, swelling buds.

It made me acutely aware of how naturally perfect the vitality of living things is. Yet when I compare the vitality of the grasses and trees, which never forget the seasons, with the vicissitudes of human life, the grasses and trees seem more reliable than humans, which makes me realize that I may not be feeling what I Should be. We had air raids again today, and I was quite moved by the thought that the newly formed buds might drop and just stared at them.

Things have taken a turn for the worse at Leyte, and Luzon will become the next decisive battlefield, which makes me wonder what will happen militarily after that. I haven't been very pessimistic, but after reading the newspapers every day, my views have gradually changed bit by bit. There now are full-scale attacks on Taiwan and Kyushu, and some say the day is approaching when both places will become battlefields. This is definitely no longer just idle speculation.

Although we're now told at work to give everything we have, I worry every day about whether this will be enough. The factories don't have enough raw materials. Factory owners have to use the workers sent to them as mobilized labor, but poor management has caused problems—all this is very depressing.

The fatigue brought on by the sleep deprivation caused by the air raids is leading to a brittle sort of self-interest that makes boarding and getting off trains frightening. Try as I might to remain calm, my nerves are on edge.

Today, a friend who recently joined my company reported that her aunt doesn't clean house much because she said, "If [the house] catches fire during an air raid, it won't matter." Recently, life in the capital has been "day-to-day," as they say, which sums up what we city folks are feeling.

Last night again, we had three nighttime air raids.

Recently, we've been getting up so many times during the night that our bodies are showing signs of abnormality. Recently I've gotten used to sleeping with my monpe and everything else on so I'm able to sleep soundly. At two o'clock and then at four, my eyes suddenly opened, and I waited for an air-raid signal. How will the war turn out?

Most people no longer believe in victory. My only thought is that it will be pa¬thetic i f we're defeated. Even rural folk believe that if we're as deadlocked as this and still fall short of our goals, there's no reason to think we can win. Listening to the conversations of people at the company, I gather that we Japanese have obediently done what the army and the government have instructed us to do. So if we're defeated, the authorities will not say that it's because the Japanese were bad. When things go well, they say, "Leave the war to the soldiers." When things don't go well, it's an all-out war for every Japanese. People say this just won't do.

What should we do about the ambivalence that people have about the war? Of course, our rulers are depressed, but they have done nothing to clarify the progress of the war. Is this because of conflict at the top of our government?

Recently, I haven't been able to stop being irritated not just at stupid people but also at those who just don't get it. When I become a little more important, I'll resolve this, but ... my lack of sleep and the fatigue resulting from having to go out and deal with people have all come together and are getting to me. Recently what has been most perplexing is my being criticized for complaining about [what is happening] to the country and for my words of concern about the present; I am criticized for making judgments based on my own limited knowledge. My critics ask whether I am really Japanese. I feel that things are out of control. I think it's a shame and realize that it can't be helped.

T visited. I asked how everyone viewed the war. She said no one will talk about it. They seem only to talk about it. Apparently everyone thinks this way, and some say that when we acknowledge that Japan will be defeated, we will deal on the black market.

S's wife came over at about ten o'clock to return charcoal she had borrowed.

She said she was going off to stand in line for udon scraps. With a ten-person household to support, she stands in line to buy udon scraps to supplement their rations. When I calculated the time and energy she expends doing this, I thought I must do something. It bothered me that I felt powerless, and I was troubled by this.

I recently made an interesting discovery.

When there's an air-raid warning, I feel like singing a song. I thought it was just me, but when I inquired at the company and elsewhere, it seems everyone has these feelings. Is it because we're excited? Or is this to distract ourselves?

Today I heard that the radish we grate for one meal now will be our vegetable allotment for three days. I've been thinking a lot lately about food. Doesn't having a lot of just one thing reduce our dissatisfaction? With staples, for example, there are no complaints when we have something or other instead of rice and when there is enough salt as a soy sauce substitute. No matter what the commodity, if it's available, all is well. But at present, with the fish we get every eighth day and the vegetables every fourth day in short supply, what are we to do?

For those of us who must work to defend the cities, self-sufficiency is impos¬sible, and besides, there's no land. The control laws keep down the salaries of those of us who have to stay in the cities to work, and there are taxes to pay as well. There are distributions of bonds, but when taxes are raised even on the goods available, we have absolutely no way to buy things on the black market, although it looks as if the black market is prospering. Articles about the eighty-sixth session of the Diet will appear in the newspaper beginning today. Things are bad. I have the feeling there's nothing Japan can do at the moment. These days, everywhere I look, young, rosy-cheeked youths are being appointed execu¬tives of companies. It would be fine if Japanese politics, too, were entrusted to young, dangerously young, people.

Apparently there was quite a lot of damage from yesterday's air raid. Today is really windy, and I worry about would happen if there were an air raid.

An air-raid warning sounded. It appears to be one plane. It's probably surveying the damage from yesterday's air raid.

From ten in the evening until dawn there were three air raids, and five from noon. I'm gradually getting depressed. The words "I don't have any idea what my life will be like tomorrow" are hitting home. I have no desire for money or material things.

It's strange to think that I am more troubled by things caused by my fellow humans. I have no problems with the effects of what I do myself, and when I think about dying, humans seem pathetic. Aren't these the creatures who are the lords of the earth and the most advanced animals? Some other animals may be willing to die for their offspring. I regard with sadness this thing called war. If this much energy were expended for humanity and human culture, think of the wonderful things that would be possible. Sad thoughts filled my heart.

Although people may feel they don't need money or clothes, don't they still hate to lose what they do have?

Doesn't saying that all this is due to the war make people more and more dissatisfied? I find the current sort of exhaustion unbearable.

Today was a day of peace. I feel lucky to have survived for another day, but I have absolutely no hope.

It was clear. An air-raid siren wailed as I awoke at about seven o'clock. I won¬dered whether these were carrier-based planes again and tensed up. Then there was a report that the warning was issued because vigilance was required in the south, and I breathed a sigh of relief and left the house. The alert was called off. Today was mercifully quiet, which was fine.

Teacher Y's wife asked, "In the current situation, is it best to marshal what extra strength we have left and do something, or should we simply persevere with what spiritual reserves we have?" Teacher Y replied, "Each option has merits and demerits, and our persevering reveals the exceptional spiritual power of the Japanese. The complete exhaustion of the nation's strength is extraordinary. Al¬though it's exceedingly rational to do something, it's not a good idea in terms of spiritual power." My concern is that having completely expended our physical strength, shouldn't we, for the time being, treasure our spiritual reserves? I am a Japanese, and I hope my country will flourish forever. After exhausting all our strength and throwing ourselves completely into the conflict, if we can't prevail, we must not think we've lost the strength to rise again.

Looking at the newspapers recently, the words "the way the emperor exists within me" and "a way of humans exists within humans" recur, but one must not regard these as words directed at an opponent who can't be opposed. These sorts of conceptions are familiar to my fellow Japanese, but against an enemy who doesn't see things in this way, shouldn't Japanese hold views like those of our enemy? In Japan, there are Japanese reasons, and war is something one does with strength, and more strength. Although we might appeal to spirituality, it's already too late.

During air raids, I always think about the destruction of what humans believed would enhance their own lives and took many tens or hundreds of years to cre¬ate. Why do humans exist? Creatures of the same species kill one another, and we lose our lives because of the machines that our fellow humans have made. I no longer understand wiry human beings and living things have been born.

However, when I think of the entire cosmos, human existence is an earthly achievement of the smallest magnitude.

I can no longer understand this.

The wind was strong. In the morning the Ministry of Transportation broadcast an emergency statement that the national railroads were not running in two places. They said the Tokaido Line was running from Ōfuna and the Jōban Line from Matsudo. I left for work with a certain resolve: I took the city trolley to Shinjuku. Then, because the trolley ran only as far as Yotsuya-mitsuke, I went to the national railway station there, but it was closed. Soldiers were standing guard there, and only people with passes were allowed to enter.

I waited and waited and finally took the national railway to Iidabashi, and between Ichigaya and Iidabashi I glimpsed the remnants of last night's fire. Ku¬dan was still burning, and the Kokugikan was slowly being shrouded in smoke. Yaesu Avenue was burning from Nihonbashi toward Kyōbashi, and they were still hosing down the fires in Ōtemachi. Shirokiya had burned down. One of the waitresses at the company was unaccounted for. They say the dead in Honjo and Ryōgoku are piled up in the streets.

I wondered how many dead and wounded there were. How extensive was the damage? I can't bear to think about it any more. You use your wits to protect yourself as well as you can, and it can't be helped if you burn to death. My feel¬ing now is that neither life nor death is an issue. When the whole country is reduced to ashes, I believe an unimaginable strength will emerge. When I lose everything, I'll probably have a new strength.

We're already way beyond not believing in our rulers or being dissatisfied with them. Now that these feelings are widely held by my countrymen, I must be ready for the next thing and I must survive.

Cloudy. I went to the regular community council meeting. It was held to introduce the newly appointed officers, but we discussed one or two other matters as well.

If the evacuations increase, it appears that the community council's revenue will shrink, and the authorities are now saying we have to prepay the community council's expenses for a half or a whole year. Opposing opinions were expressed, and a lot of time was wasted. While I was getting irritated at the stupidity of those bickering over details, the doctor who heads F clinic and who also was a new group head, said he couldn't bear to discuss old issues. He asked whether these sorts of issues couldn't be left to the community council, and as he said this, there was applause, and I knew what everyone was feeling. When you think about that response, you understand how our countrymen feel about the government and their dissatisfaction with useless debate and temporizing. I keep wishing for someone who has the power to carry us along. I want someone who will do this without empty rhetoric. I've been reading about Komura Jūtarō and Miyazaki Tōten, who gave everything—heart and body—to the nation, suppressed their own feelings, and did their jobs. Their power made me work. There is the feeling that politicians just want people.

It was clear.

Now with the end of the war in Europe, what might Japanese be forced to consider? Won't the yearning for peace intensify? My outlook brightened. It was my sense that our ties with Germany had been resolved beautifully and Japan now could take a freer course of action. Mentally, we Japanese have the narrowness of an island people and so although we're honest, our thinking is too limited. I sincerely hoped our diplomats would be broad-minded. No, more than that, it made me sad that there were no politicians willing to take real risks.

Clear, hot. There was a letter from Sensei from his unit in Kochi and it included a poem:

Nothing extraordinary happens in the mornings and evenings in a barracks full of men waiting for American troops to land: everyone makes minute obser¬vations about this and that and calmly takes everything in. Looking at my own daily life, there is so much to reflect on.

This got me thinking. Recently I've felt a lot of confidence about my own life.

As a Japanese who never experienced defeat up to now and who lived through the China incident, which was a complete victory, my feelings about the current war seemed to have matured.

The letdown after Guadalcanal continued, and I was depressed at the time of the fighting on Luzon. Victory and defeat in war are pursued when opportunities suddenly appear, and I heard that the vanquished are those who can't stand in the end, and this is what I thought. Looking at the example of Germany in the last great war and the current one, what is described as being carried along by the forces of the times might, to a surprising degree, be unconnected to decisive power. Especially when it comes to power, different situations make this sort of thing conceivable. The feeling that I had to do something now makes me impatient, and yet I find it sad that I can't do anything. The war situation gets worse by the day: most cities have been completely destroyed, starting with the imperial cities and extending to the middle-size and small ones, and before too long American troops will come ashore, landing in a Japan that has not been attacked by a foreign enemy in three thousand years. Yet when I think about this, why am I so calm? It was a strange calmness.

Living in Tokyo as it is now, I'm full of hope. In last night's air raid, there were no accidents on the line that burned all the way to Makuragi, and the trains were still running. In the smoldering ruins, people built semi-subterranean huts with tin roofing to protect themselves against the elements. The next day, net¬ting was stretched across frames, and laundry flapped in the wind. Immediately after some areas were razed, bright green garden plots appeared and extended as far as the eye could see. Children who had slept until yesterday on tatami were now sleeping on a single straw mat. They were not the least bit unhappy and made their own toys and played contentedly. Trains had fewer cars, and you waited longer. I saw three girls who looked like underclassmen sitting on the train platform and playing to kill time, and I admired them. While the waiting irritated me, the children were having a lot of fun. The truth is, I thought, I'm unimaginative and small-minded.

No matter what happened to me, I was confident that my fellow Japanese would be able to get up the next day and carry on. I wouldn't be so sure of this if I hadn't seen what I had seen with my own eyes.

It made me think of how the intellectual class has been criticized since the war started. Of course, I'm not denying that some think it's terrible for anyone to have these thoughts, but I can't be stupidly patriotic and insist that simply believing in Japan's victory is good. The intellectual class has gone through a lot, and when they begin to think confidently about the country, I believe that Japan's victory truly will come.

Although we've worked our way up to the point in this war where we can say we have not been completely defeated, everyone now realizes there will be no "victory." I realize that nothing can be done about this, but I do believe that all Japanese will do what is asked of them. Then I can work with all my body and soul. I am completely convinced that more than the confidence and joy of a so-called victory, my fellow Japanese will grasp something at that moment that is more valuable and more stable.

Clear. Today was a historical day both for us and the country.

I was ready for the Soviet Union's declaration of war, and the long-expected day finally has arrived. I was speechless as I listened to the news.

O returned close to midnight. He reeked of alcohol and blathered, "Wake up every body!"

It turned out to be as I thought. We expect a statement from the imperial government tomorrow. We have two choices-we can accept the Allies' July 26 offer or continue to fight until the country is reduced to ashes-and we have to pick one. Apparently the new bomb used on Hiroshima was an experiment.

If we receive that sort of bombing for several days, they say that little Japan, all of it, will be reduced to ashes, and the gyokusai of the people will occur on more than just an emotional level. Will we be able to accept the Allies' whole offer?

I can't even decide what I should be feeling. For the last several years I've had various experiences, but haven't my personal discoveries become completely meaningless? I absolutely refuse to lose the will to work myself to the bone for the recovery, but I'm uneasy about how much I actually can do.

I must prepare myself physically and mentally. I can't wait for tomorrow's announcement.

Clear. At 5:20 a.m. there was an air-raid warning announcing the attack of carrier-based planes.

At 7:21 a.m. we were told that the emperor would make a special broadcast at noon. At long last His Majesty himself will offer, in his own words, a solution for the current situation. I thought of what he must be feeling and teared up.

As I walked down the street, I could hear whispered conversations, every one of them about what would happen if the war ended. I remembered a conversa¬tion I overheard this morning: the grandmother next door announced to her grandchildren, "If the war ends, I'll make you bean-covered rice cakes with real, sweet sugar."

In the morning, various rumors circulated in the neighborhood. People were saying that the banks probably would stop giving out money.

At fifteen minutes before noon I went outside to listen to the broadcast on the neighborhood public address system. I went out because I wanted to hear the emperor's broadcast in the streets. Half the crowd seemed to understand what was about to happen, [and] half had puzzled looks on their faces, looks that said they expected the worst.

Five minutes before the broadcast, then four, and as the noon hour approached, people gathered. They paid their respects to the emperor, removed their hats, and said "Please let us hear...."

A siren went off, and we heard the emperor's voice. People silently bowed their heads, and in an instant the streets were dead quiet, and various thoughts ran through my head.

Word by word, the emperor's voice reached us, and tears ran down our cheeks. My only thought was that from now on we would have to work as hard as we could so our fellow Japanese would not fight among themselves. Let's get to work.

The streets were quiet.

People's faces had no particular expression. Perhaps they were exhausted. As to how they felt about the war ending, an unmistakable brightness in their faces told the story. Wasn't this what I was feeling? It wasn't that I didn't trust my own eyes.

I had a slight headache in the afternoon.

Because of the change in the military situation, there was a meeting at my company at around 3:00 p.m. We were a company that didn't need to burn and destroy documents, so we didn't know what to do next. The emperor's announcement meant that the military units would be disbanded and that we, too, would be discharged. We burned all incriminating materials.

I couldn't imagine the coining hardships, but I thought I would survive on my good health and willpower.

The expressions on people's faces haven't changed much at all. When one meets people, instead of uttering the usual greetings, they blurt out, "What's happened is terrible."

This morning there was an air-raid warning and alert.

At the company, we were told that female employees would be on vacation until there was a better sense of what would happen next. Whether I'm in the mountains or wherever, I just want to stay in touch. Apparently, government offices will tell us what procedures to follow. What in the world are they think¬ing of doing? I expect there is a mountain of serious problems, but what are the officials managing the country getting so excited about?

Haven't they lost their power and been defeated?

The military is calling for complete resistance and appealing to all citizens. This is a very difficult problem. The true nature of a people is apparent when they lose a war, rather than when they win, and the day has arrived when we should reveal Japan's greatness.

Now that we've been defeated in war, I'm eager that our national identity as a people not be completely ruined.

Clear. Beginning today and for some time, it was OK to stay home from the company, but because I was the only one who knew how to handle mail transfers, I went to work. There were reports that the young military men haven't accepted the peace and were still active, and wild rumors circulated. We were fearful of what couldn't be foreseen, perhaps because we were hearing that everything was in chaos and that people were uneasy about the evacuation of women and girls and because as a people we had never experienced defeat.

Today leaflets were dropped from friendly aircraft.

At Kanda Station I saw a flier plastered on a wall that read, "Both the army and navy are fine and believe that the people will endure," and people had signed their names. As far as the feelings of military people were concerned, I thought this was not unexpected, but we already had had a statement from the emperor. If we are to build the future, don't we have to begin clearing a path today? Dying is cheap. In the long history of the state, this defeat probably will not amount to very much, whereas the reconstruction that was about to begin could end up as a great achievement.

What was there to say? We did our best and were defeated. Only those who did not work as hard as they might have would feel any regret.

Take C, for example. While he was in the city, he was angry about everything and said he wanted to go off, even to the mountains, and I was surprised by the narrowness of his perspective. That may be a purist position to take vis-à-vis the country, but it was only his own personal philosophy, one that was too beautiful, and it really hadn't taken root or spread. C's philosophy made me feel the need to broaden my vision.

Clear. There was a distribution of kanpan. Mrs. A and I went to get some.

Clear. A letter arrived from Sensei, who is in Kochi. This probably will be the last I'll receive from the military. Sensei's worried about my going off to work and providing for the two men while the house was empty, and lie wondered whether I was taking care of myself His letter made me realize that recently I've had virtually no chance just to sit on tatami for a whole day. As a result, when I crawl into my futon at night, my feet are hot, and I feel that it can't be helped and probably is just exhaustion. But if I were to get sick, it would be terrible, and I simply haven't given this much thought. The time for me to help Sensei and to work hard had arrived, and thus, I had to take care not to catch cold.

G visited and was completely pessimistic about postwar life, especially the food situation. Hearing this, I thought I would do my best to make a garden for the family, even if only a small one.

O's return was late because of an announcement from imperial headquarters. At long last, on the twenty-sixth, Allied advance units will be airlifted in, and naval units will enter Japanese ports the day after that. The word is that the army will be airlifted in, coming first, they say, to Atsugi.

According to the story of someone who went to accept the conditions of sur¬render, the American side was actually gentlemanly. When our side explained the Japanese situation and said that what the Americans were asking was impos¬sible, they immediately made changes. The Japanese side's excuses were pretty lame.

American newspapers described the meeting as follows: "Thick steaks were prepared, and they waited for the seven or eight people they expected. Because seventeen came, they quickly killed some turkeys and showered the delegates with real hospitality before sending them home." When I heard this, my thought was that the Japanese way of doing things was pompous and inefficient. They say the American way of doing things at the time of the interviews was to ex¬press misgivings about the issue at hand for thirty seconds and then to move on quickly and deal with that issue. They say that the U.S. attitude toward Japan will be exceedingly generous as long as the Japanese don't oppose them, and if they do, the Americans will strictly prohibit any deviation.

As for the Japanese administration, it's nothing more than an administration of chairs and chops. For example, if an office wants to have an outside group do a particular task, it needs twenty or thirty stamps, and because of this, even though we should regret this situation and fight it, old habits die hard, and in the end it makes no sense not to avoid responsibility.

To be sure, the harsh reality of "defeat" is not an easy thing to stomach, but the day probably will come when we see that because what we thought to be true spread among the people, the results were not completely bad.

Yamashita, Samuel Hideo. Chapter Six: Yoshizawa Hisako, "Until the War Ended," Leaves from and Autumn of Emergencies: Selections from Wartime Diaries of Ordinary Japanese. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2005; 191-220.