Without exchanging a single word with each other, we set off for our lodgings.

On the way, we discovered the source of that noise. Just a few miles from Edinburgh lies a port called Firth of Forth. All the warships tasked with guarding the Scottish coast were stationed there, poised for battle. Somehow, the Germans managed to discover this, and—without alerting the authorities—slipped in with their submarines. With a weapon called a torpedo, they struck the warships three times, sinking them before anyone could react, and then escaped fearlessly. News of this spread everywhere, sending waves of terror through the city. There was nothing we could do, so each of us simply returned to our lodgings.

Gradually, everyone became accustomed to the routines of wartime life. Even though fear never truly left us, and even though we knew that death was always near—closer than ever before—in these times, with this new style of warfare, death could appear not just on the battlefield, but anywhere, at any moment. Everyone understood this truth. Yet, with a kind of stubborn courage, with a certain resignation, the thought that we must destroy the enemy and protect our country, even if it costs our lives, took root in every heart. Some people did raise questions: Who is the enemy? Why do we consider them our enemy? But the officials who ought to answer these questions maintained a stony silence, declaring that our sole duty was to destroy the enemy. That was our dharma; all other debates and arguments were pointless, and none of our concern.

As we grew used to steering daily life along whatever path we could find, one night, around three in the morning, a signal was heard that enemy planes were approaching. The entire population, deep in sleep, young and old, men and women, jolted awake in terror. Before anyone could decide whether to change clothes or stay as they were, the planes arrived. Here and there, bombs were dropped, and before our own planes could even take off in response, the enemy aircraft had already fled. Many men and women, still in their nightclothes, rushed out into the streets in panic. They ran in all directions, searching for air-raid shelters.

An old man and an old woman were running in the middle of the road. Whether they were husband and wife or not, I couldn’t say, but just as they were dashing along, they suddenly stopped, as if struck by a memory, and in the very center of the road, they both collapsed with a thud, sprawling flat on the ground. People running this way and that paused in alarm—what happened, why have these two fallen like this, let’s hope they haven’t died of fright!—and hurried over to help them up. Within moments, hundreds of people had gathered around. Soon, with the support of those who had come to their aid, the old couple shakily got to their feet. As the crowd cheered “Hip hip hooray!” in delight, a siren wailed