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Hiroshima was nothing. Nine years later on March 1, 1954, there occurred at Bikini atoll in the Marshall Islands an atomic blast equivalent to 1,000 Hiroshimas.

Matashichi Oishi, on a fishing boat 150 or so km away, saw, to his astonishment, “flaming sunset colors.” A fellow crewman, equally bewildered, burst out, “The sun rose in the West.” The ensuing silence must have been eerie, for the roar of the blast sounded only much later. Then came the “death ash.” But they only called it that in retrospect. At the time it was merely ash, oddly like snow. “We had no sense that it was dangerous. It wasn’t hot, it had no odor. I took a lick; it was gritty but had no taste.”

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