"Do away with all pomp; reject all delusion. The green of the trees—it too burned that day, not one leaf spared. Over there—is it a dead horse, bloated? An air-raid shelter made of sandbags? A mock-up of the lonely huts of burned tin roofing erected in the atomic desert? A haniwa mound dedicated to the dead in the manner of our distant ancestors? No: cenotaph with saddle roof, flowing and close to the ground. When was it that the ceremonial pole was raised, almost hidden among the trees just behind? One day I saw the flag fluttering atop it. Can the dead rest in peace beneath a flag pregnant with unfulfilled ambition? Through the museum arcade, the navy march that resounds through the city is audible even here. Do away with all pomp; reject all delusion. This is the garden of the dead to which, over the five bridges, come the people of the world. This is the world’s darkest abyss. People stand at its edge but can’t see it."