SANJI-GAN: Hello Mr Scott. I’m surprised. I’m very happy to see you, Won’t you please come in? Come in. My beaming smile is my answer. Sanji understands everything without words.
I wonder about his past. I’ve a million questions. I never ask. He tells me bits and pieces as he sees fit. He gives me what I am ready for. He is Buddha-like that way. “Whatever needs no ears to hear is what I need to know.” I sometimes think he is Buddha. I would never tell him that. He might think I am crazy or I know too much.
Sanji-gan lost his entire family to Enola Gay. That was the name of the B-52 bomber which the USA used to attack Japan. Enola Gay dropped the first, but not the last, atomic bomb used with absent minded malice upon another nation.
The bulls-eye was a gorgeous pedestrian bridge at the center of an equally gorgeous Japanese city called Hiroshima.
Sanji-gan was ill the morning of the blast. He survived that endless summer of “Walking Ants” made zombie-like by the “false sunrise & great wind” because he was at his grandmothers home recuperating from a stomach bloated by a “premonition”, he said.
His grandmother’s home was far enough from the epicenter of the giant mushroom stem with its power to evaporate souls within the blink of an eye.
Sanji-gan once told me of a young man who lurched forward many steps trying to flee the bomb but his feet were amputated. He was running on the stubs of his knees until he died right where he fell. Seventy-three years later, Sanji-gan remembers every detail as if it happened just yesterday.
The “Walking Ants” couldn’t do anything for anyone. They were funded without power to do much more than die themselves; an eternal agony. For those of you who believe in the devil, this must be the hell where he lives.
Sanji remains a happy man. He is a little old man who does nothing but smile and laugh. He loves life. He is a gentle man. His name is a mantra which may open the hearts of the most heartless among us.