The Last Chrysanthemum

As Osaka Maru cleared the Bungo Strait and the Seto Inland Sea opened up before him, the excited young man at the bow of Osaka Maru missed nothing. But, to his growing disappointment, he recognised nothing either. After all, he’d been just five years old when he’d last seen all this, and then he’d been with his parents on the way to a new life in Brazil. Now, his parents had both entered the white jade shrine, and he was returning, sad and alone. As the ship neared the port, he was surprised to see any grey warships making steam. There was nothing he recognised in the streets of Kure, but as the road rose on the slopes of Mount Egezan, he found the Japan he knew. He paused on the mountain a while, watched the great aircraft carriers leaving port and wondered where they were bound.

With his heart beating rapidly, he rang the little brass bell and bowed as the door opened. As he straightened, his pre-prepared smile died, the hand holding his gift of Brazilian coffee fell to his side and the words he’d rehearsed were forgotten.

‘A thousand apologies’, he mumbled, bowing deeply. ‘I was expecting Mrs Matsuoka.