Mayuyama Junkichi heard about Japan’s surrender while in Suzhou. His battalion was moved to Shanghai in January 1946. While previously he had only ridden in supply trucks, that time Junkichi was seated in the assistant’s seat next to the company commander. This was thanks to the fact that he spoke Chinese and had a smattering of English. Those involved in the war that had received their repatriation orders had begun to assemble in Shanghai. Junkichi knew Shanghai well from his pre-war work as a “China kayoi,” a Japanese term for a Japanese art dealer’s staff member who shuttled between their gallery in Tokyo and their merchandise sources in Beijing and Shanghai. In 1946, I heard that he visited the place where he usually stayed in Shanghai, the Fusang Guan Residence, joyously reunited with the proprietress, who let him use her sewing machine and was a great help. His ship left Shanghai and he landed in Kagoshima on January 27, 1946. Junkichi recorded that day, “Landed in Kagoshima, demobilized.”
 

 
Caption: Luggage seals from the Fusang Guan (pre-war samples)
  

On January 31, 1946, five and a half months after the war had ended, Junkichi finally returned to Tokyo. Our home in Kyōbashi was very close to Tokyo Station. And yet, our gallery Mayuyama Ryūsendō and our home had been reduced to ashes, the site strewn with rubble. The knife sharpener in the neighborhood, Mr. Yamamoto, was camping out in the ruins, and told Junkichi that the Mayuyama family was at the house in Nakano. So he set out on foot toward Nakano. When he reached the house in Nakano, he went into the entrance hall and said, “Private Mayuyama Junkichi has returned!” His mother Miyo is said to have been overwhelmed. It was a year and seven months since they had received the last communication from him in June 1944. The eldest son she depended on had returned.

Caption: The area around Tokyo station after the firebombing of May 25, 1945. The damaged Mayuyama house can be seen in the lower left.　

Thus began Junkichi’s post-war years. As he worked to restore his company, he reported on his current situation in a postcard addressed to one of his customers, Aizu Yaichi. Junkichi reported that he could only look forward. He thought it was good that he think only about his work as an art dealer.

　　　　
  Caption: Postcard from Mayuyama Junkichi addressed to Aizu Yaichi (Aizu Yaichi Memorial Museum)
  　

　
“March 6

It has been a long time since I saw you, I hope you are well.
I have recently been demobilized. I am well, but embarrassed by all the things where our efforts were not enough. Yesterday I saw Koyama Fujio and heard news of you. My heart grieved when I heard that your home and beloved possessions had all been reduced to ashes.  

I presume that like me, you must be discouraged. Returning to my homeland I was dumbstruck by how much was destroyed. And yet, we have our health, and I have wholeheartedly determined that we must be brave and strong and not be overcome. I am striving hard; we must build a barrack on the ruins. I hope that you will come visit us for tea again. My mother, wife and children are all well. We are doing our best.”
 

In April 1945, the poet-calligrapher Aizu Yaichi composed a waka verse* about how his heart ached after the firebombing of Tokyo. To paraphrase, standing in the burnt ruins, unbearable suffering. Shards of my beloved celadon amidst the dirt and rubble.

*The waka verse is in Aizu Yaichi’s Kantōshū anthology, “Shōdo” section. 

  
The End
 

* As I write this I think of all soldiers at war, forced to experience the unimaginable for ages on, and those who never make it back. I have published this text here with prayers for peace in my heart.

  
Image Sources:
 
Machi no naka no Aizu Yaichi, Higashi Nihon hen [Aizu Yaichi in Town, East Japan volume], Aizu Yaichi Memorial Museum, Niigata-shi, 2013, p.60/P.58 

TBC Tokyo Shimbun or Sankei Shinbun, separate print edition, between 1994-1995