Friday, March 11, 2011, 1:50 p.m.
Kumiko, Sachie, and Yukino sat silently eating lunch.
“Did I miss something?” asked Kumiko, glancing from one girl to the other.
Both girls glared at each other and shook their heads.
“Life is too short to hold grudges,” she said, staring at both girls.
“She’s always calling me an idiot. She even called Yuta an idiot,” blurted
Yukino.
Kumiko’s eyes bore into Sachie. “Yuta-kun is a good young man. He helped me
get Mrs. Yagi to the evacuation area during the tsunami warning.”
Sachie met her mother’s stare. “He’s a no-brai–”
“Hello,” someone called from the shop.
“Just a moment!” Kumiko called back.
Sachie glared at Yukino.
“You two make up before I get back,” she said, getting up and going into the
shop.
A boy stood at the counter holding a rice ball and a can of coffee, his eyes cast
down as if he was trying to avoid her eyes. Ryota was fifteen years old and in third grade
of junior high school— Jukensei, student of the final examination. The third year junior
high school examination was probably the most important exam a Japanese person would
take in his or her life. This exam, at the age of fifteen, would establish their future. The
examination determined into what high school one would attend, and this in turn would
determine what university one would be accepted into. High schools where ranked
according to their academic levels. In a nutshell, the academic achievers were put in
education’s upper-class society, while the underachievers were thrown into education’s
lower-class society. There was a social stigma attached to this, and parents, especially
Japanese mothers, were obsessed with making sure their children got into a respectable
high school to avoid such social stigma. Children from as early as preschool were sent to
cram-schools (schools for extra studies after normal school hours). This was in a bid to
gain the upper hand against their classmates. It is quite common for Japanese junior high
school students, who generally return home around six thirty, to then go to a cram-school
and study until ten o’clock.
Ryota was one of the increasing numbers of young Japanese who, under the
extreme pressure exerted by society and his parents, had cracked and now rarely attended
school. His grades had begun to fall in the latter half of his first year at junior high. His
classmates started calling him an idiot, loser, and even a turd. The bullying increased in
the second year. At baseball practice, balls were regularly thrown into his back; he was
kicked and punched as runners passed his base. He hid the bruises and mental abuse from
his parents and slowly became introverted, but in the end, the violence became too much,
and eventually he refused to go to school. His parents retaliated by confiscating his mobile
phone, computer, and PlayStation, but this hadn’t solved anything.
“How are you?” asked Kumiko.
“Fine,” muttered Ryota without looking up from the counter. He was lean and
good-looking, his hair cut fashionably with a long fringe nearly covering his eyes. He
wore a denim jacket, a white T-shirt, and black jeans.
“Where are you off to?” she asked, trying to make small talk. She knew his
situation and felt sympathy for him.
“Fishing,” he muttered again, eyes still downcast.
“That sounds like a good idea,” she replied. “Where are you going?”
“To the end of the harbor breakwater wall,” he said, putting a thousand yen note
on the counter.
Kumiko walked around the counter and took a packet of beef jerky and a bottle
of Coke from the shelves and put them on the counter next to the rice ball and coffee.
“Your money’s no good here,” she said, handing the note back to him.
Ryota took the money hesitantly and without raising his head muttered, “Thank
you…I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. Have a nice day fishing,” said Kumiko, smiling at
him.
Ryota gathered up the goods without saying anything and got on his bicycle and
rode off.
Kumiko returned to the kitchen where Yukino sat eating by herself.
“Where’s Sachie?” asked Kumiko.
“She has gone upstairs to fix her father’s bed,” she said, resting her chopsticks
on her rice bowl.
Kumiko looked at the time—five until two.
“He’ll be here soon,” said Kumiko. We’d better clear the lunch things away.
“I’ll do that,” said Yukino.
A car pulled up outside.
“Must be him,” Yukino said.
Kumiko went out the back door. Her husband sat in the front seat next to her
father. Her husband smiled and gave her a salute; she waved back and then called,
“Sachie, father’s back!”
Sachie was readying her father’s bed when she heard the call. Her heart skipped
a beat and her thoughts swept back to the day of her father’s accident. Yukino had gone
into the barn without asking and knocked over a cupboard, trapping herself under it.
Hearing Yukino’s screams everyone rushed from the house; the men lifted the cupboard
off her, while the women dragged her from under. Her leg was broken and she had a gash
in her back that required stitching. The New Year festivities were instantly replaced by an
ambulance ride and a five-hour wait in Kamaishi General Hospital’s waiting room. Her
father was furious and blamed Sachie for not taking care of her younger cousin.
“Sachie, we need your help.” Her mother’s voice brought her back to reality.
Sachie wiped back the tears that were brimming in her eyes and went downstairs.
“Welcome home, father,” said Sachie.
He smiled and saluted; she jumped to attention and saluted back. He was tall in
his mid-fifties, still handsome, but rather thin because of the long periods he stayed in
bed. He had been in the Japanese Defense Force in his earlier years, and after the accident
he seemed to think he was back in it. His speech had all but disappeared, except for a
grunting laugh or deep growl; and the right side of his body was partially paralyzed.
“You take his things. Your mother and I will help him up the stairs,” said her
grandfather. He handed the bag to her.
They carried him up the stairs and put him to bed.
“Would you like some water?” asked Sachie.
He saluted, which she knew meant yes, and she went over to the sink. It was
difficult for her to hold back the tears knowing she was the one responsible for his
accident. She wiped a tear from her cheek. If only I could turn the clock back, she thought.
If only I had stayed at university and not come back for the New Year.
Yukino heard someone enter and went into the shop.
“Yukino-chan!” exclaimed the young girl.
“Seko-chan!” Yukino returned.
They gave each other a warm hug.
“Long time no see. How have you been?” asked Seko.
“Fine,” replied Yukino. “Like your fashion.”
Seko was twenty-two, cute, with soft round features and shoulder-length hair
tied in a ponytail. She was wearing a long pink sweater that hung down to just above her
knees with cream-colored leggings and brown Ugg boots.
Seko laughed and put one hand on her hip and the other behind her head in the
classic model pose. “Boys like it too!”
Yukino laughed and asked, “What have you been up to?”
“I was doing some office work at the elementary school, but I quit last month.”
“Why did you quit?”
Seko sighed. “I’m bored here. I want to move to Tokyo. I want a more exciting
life. It’s dreary here.”
“You can come and stay with us,” she said excitedly. Seko was a distant relative
of the family and Yukino had spent many days swimming and sunbathing with her—not
to mention the innumerable sleepovers at her house, which had a beautiful view of the
harbor.
“I was going to ring and ask you if that would be OK—just until I find a place of
my own.”
“I’m sure my parents would love to have you.”
“Yata! Great!” said Seko, throwing her arms around Yukino.
“When are you planning to move?”
Seko’s face took on a sullen look. “I wanted to come this summer, but my
grandmother isn’t very well. She’s in the hospital and I should stay and help my parents
until she is better.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Just old age; she’ll be ninety-three next month.”
“Really? Is she that old?”
“Yes.”
“What hospital is she staying in?”
“The one by the fishing harbor.”
“I know,” said Yukino. “I’ll drop by and see her when I am down there.”
“How long are you here for?” asked Seko.
“Just until Monday. I’ve got end-of-term exams the week after next.”
“Well, we’d better get together soon. What are you doing tonight?”
A playful grin brushed Yukino’s lips. “I’ve got a date.”
Seko’s eyes lit up. “Who with?”
“Yuta-kun.”
“Really? He’s so cool. He’s a surfer, you know?”
Yukino blushed with excitement. “I know, I know! How about you? Do you
have a boyfriend?”
“Broke up a month ago.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“How about tomorrow?” she said, changing the subject, not wanting to probe
back into the romantic disaster.
“That’d be fine.” She paused. “As long as you know who isn’t coming.”
Seko scanned the room and then said. “Does she know?”
“Not yet.”
“Better she doesn’t,” whispered Seko.
“Just you and me tomorrow?” asked Yukino.
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Good. I’ll pick you up around four.”
“OK,” said Yukino.
“I have to go now. I borrowed this car from my friend and have to return it by
two thirty.”
“Where’s your car?”
“It broke down. I just came back from Kamaishi where I was looking for a new
one.”
Yukino followed Seko out the door to the car.
“Cool car,” said Yukino, looking at the pink boxcar. The dashboard and rear
window were cluttered with Disney dolls, and it looked like a toy store on wheels, as do
many young girls’ cars in Japan.
“I’m getting the same model,” she said, getting into the car and starting the
engine. “See you tomorrow.”
Yukino waved good-bye as Seko drove off down the lane.
“Yukino,” called her aunt.
Yukino turned to see her aunt at the shop door holding some money in her hand.
“Yes, Aunt?”
“Would you mind going to the fishing harbor and buying some tuna for sashimi?
It’s your uncle’s favorite.”
“Sure,” replied Yukino. “I want to visit Seko’s grandmother at the hospital
anyway.”
“You can use that bicycle,” said her aunt, pointing to the bike leaning against the
vending machine.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t be long,” she said, handing Yukino the money. “Get 800 grams.”
Yukino took the money and headed off toward the harbor.
**
Mr. Suzuki parked his car at Futaba train station. He had left Kenichi in charge of the
plant and had told him he had some urgent business with the mayor. His hands were
sweating and his heart pounded as he opened the door. He knew he wanted Risa and was
sure he would betray his wife’s loyalty. Did he care? No, he didn’t. He was sick to death
of the mundane life he lived; he wanted to live again, feel young again. He took off his
wedding ring and slipped it into his pocket and any remaining guilt vanished.
“Konichiwa. Good afternoon,” came a husky voice from behind him.
Suzuki turned slowly around, a smile stretching from one cheek to the other .
“Konichiwa,” he said, bowing slightly.
Risa returned his bow. She was perhaps twenty-two, maybe older. She had a
petite body with long, black, silky hair and a face straight out of a fashion magazine. She
was gorgeous and a real treat compared to his wife. Who could blame the poor man for
the momentary lapse of loyalty? “Suzuki-san, I’m so glad to see you,” she said, smiling at
him.
“Me too,” replied Suzuki, smirking like an adolescent boy.
There was an interlude of awkward silence and then Suzuki asked, “Shall we
have lunch?”
“Yes,” she said. But then she stepped forward and whispered into his ear.
Suzuki blushed and nodded. He then opened the door for her and they drove off.
**
Yukino rode along the side of the river, the cement floodwalls just above her. She went
up a small ramp across the bridge and down the other side, passing Kozuchi shrine on her
left. She continued a few more minutes down the main road that led into central Otsuchi.
The road was lined by the usual stores that one would find in any Japanese town: hair
salons, restaurants; and hardware, book, and clothes stores. She rode past the junior high
school into the town center. The center was made up of several taller concrete structures, a
few apartment blocks and office buildings, the town office, and the main hospital.
Yukino looked at the hospital and then stopped and ran over to the entrance.
“Grandmother,” she called up to the second floor.
The old lady standing on the balcony looked down and immediately recognized
her. “Yukino-chan,” she called.
“How are you, Grandmother?”
“Fine,” she said, grinning down at Yukino.
“Can I come up and see you?”
“Not now. The doctor is doing his rounds. Come back after three.”
“All right, I’m going to the fishing harbor. I’ll call in on my way back.”
“I’ll be waiting.” She waved good-bye.
Yukino waved good-bye, got on her bike, and continued riding. She rode past
the city hall, where she noticed the mayor, on the third floor, peering out the window
across the harbor, looking as if he was searching for something. She rode across the river;
to her left residential houses stretched back about two kilometers to the hills, and on the
right a narrow line of shops stood between the road and the tsunami breakwater wall. She
parked her bicycle next to the tsunami wall and climbed the stairs to the top. The
breakwater wall was huge—five meters high—running along the water’s edge from one
side of the harbor to the other, about two kilometers long in length; at the southern end
were huge floodgates set in the mouth of the river to stop a tsunami from going upriver.
The view was fantastic from the top; she could see the red gate of Kozuchi Shrine on
Hyokkori Hyoutan Island in the center of the bay. A few fishing boats were heading back
in. A sudden gust of wind blew a chill through her and she wished she had brought her
sweater. She looked up and noticed the clouds moving in from the mountains— snow, she
thought. She continued along the wall until she came to the fishing harbor. The entrance to
the harbor was protected by two tsunami breakwater walls; they overlapped in the center
to defend the harbor from tsunamis but allowed the boats to enter and exit by running
between the two walls and then out to sea. Inside the harbor, fishing boats sat moored to a
line of cement jetties. On the jetty nearest her, fishing nets lay unfolded; young fishermen
sat repairing them while the older ones sat cross-legged around a bottle of sake drinking,
smoking, and chatting.
Yukino climbed down the stairs and headed for the group of old men.
“Konichiwa. Good afternoon,” said one of the young fishermen.
Yukino blushed. “Konichiwa. Good afternoon,” she replied.
Yukino-chan,” called one of the old men, getting to his feet.
Yukino hurried over to the men. “Long time no see, Kamata-san,” said Yukino.
He was one of her grandfather’s friends and often visited the shop to drink sake. He was
thin, but muscular, and in his late seventies; his face was tanned and well-weathered from
years at sea.
“It’s been almost a year,” he said.
“Yes, it has been.”
“Come and sit with us,” he said, gesturing.
Yukino sat on the ground.
“Sake?” said one of the men, holding up an empty sake cup.
“She’s still in high school,” said Kamata. “She’s too young.”
Yukino ignored Kamata’s remarks and took the cup. Yes, please,” she said,
holding the cup out in both hands.
The man filled the cup and then Yukino held the cup up in front of her head and
said, “Kampai. Cheers.” She knocked it back in one gulp and put the cup on the ground.
The fishermen clapped their hands and Yukino bowed her head solemnly.
Kamata and Yukino sat talking while the other fishermen chatted amongst themselves.
“Would you like to live in Otsuchi?” asked Kamata.
“In spring and summer,” replied Yukino.
A smile creased Kamata’s leathery face. “Those are the best times, you know.”
Yukino laughed. “I’d like to live in Tokyo and Otsuchi if I could.”
“That’s a good idea. How are you going to do that?”
“I’m going to become rich!” she said, eyeing Kamata hard.
The old man laughed. “I hope your dream comes true.”
“You can achieve anything if you really want to,” Yukino said, her voice full of
confidence.
“I agree,” replied Kamata. “My father often used to say: ‘ Don’t look for the
opportunity; the one you have in hand is the opportunity.’”
“That’s a great saying,” said Yukino. “My father always says, ‘ If you never try,
you’ll never know.’”
Kamata chuckled. “My mother used to say, ‘ If you have time to complain about
something, then you have time to do something about it.’”
“And my mother says, ‘ Don’t seek praise, seek criticism.’”
They both laughed.
Kamata looked at his watch. “It’s two twenty-five. I have to get going.”
“My auntie asked me to buy some tuna for sashimi,” said Yukino, getting to her
feet.
“Come with me,” said Kamata. They walked over to the warehouse where some
ladies were putting the last of the day’s fish on ice.
**
Sachie ran up the steps to the top of the hill. She had received a call from her boyfriend to
meet him in five minutes.
Most coastal towns on the northeast coast were built on a narrow strip of land
between the hills and the sea and had an elaborate network of emergency staircases built
into hills for quick evacuation in the case of tsunamis.
She saw him standing by a tree. He was dressed in denim jeans and a grey
trainer. “Hi!” she called.
“Hi!” he called back.
“What’s up?” she asked, stopping in front of him.
“Nothing. Just had to see you.”
A warm smile came to her lips and she took a step forward and nuzzled her face
into his chest.
He put his arms around her and hugged her tight. “I love you, Sachie,” he
whispered.
She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Me too,” she whispered.
Their lips met and she felt his warmth run through her. She hugged him tighter,
enjoying the touch of his muscular body, feeling his beating heart against her breast.
“Sa-chan,” he said, holding her shoulders and gently pushing her back. “Has
your cousin said anything about me?”
Sachie looked at him in surprise. “Yes—well not exactly. She just said she
wanted to talk to me about my boyfriend. How do you two know each other?”
He avoided her gaze and looked out over the harbor. “We met at Seko’s house
last summer.”
There was a long pause.
“And what happened?” she asked, stepping in front of him to block the view of
the harbor.
“Nothing, but–”
Sachie’s phone rang and she answered it. “Hello”
Pause.
“Yes, I’ll be right there.”
She flipped the phone shut and put it in her pocket. “I have to go. My mother
needs me to help her give my father a bath.” She looked him in the eyes. “Nothing
happened?”
“Nothing,” replied Tomo, but she could sense something in his tone.
“We’ll talk later. I’ll give you a this evening.”
“I have to go back to Kamaishi,” said Tomo. “I won’t be back until late tonight.”
“Give me a call when you’re finished,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
“Maybe I’ll visit you.”
**
Risa lay on a bed of artificial green vines. She was barely clothed in a skimpy leopard
skin rag and surrounded by a thick jungle in the Tarzan Room at the Happy Castle Love
Hotel. It had been Suzuki’s choice of rooms and she guessed he was hoping that it would
bring out his primeval instincts so he could show her how macho he was.
“Ri-chan, I’m coming,” shouted Suzuki from somewhere inside the artificial
jungle.
“Hurry,” she said giggling.
Suzuki hollered something ridiculous from beyond the jungle.
Risa exhaled in anticipation.
Suzuki swung out of the jungle on a vine and let go, landing, legs splayed apart,
atop of her. He beat his fists against his chest and hollered something even more stupid.
“Come to me,” she whispered.
He dropped to his knees.
She grabbed his neck and forced his lips to hers. He tore off her leopard skin and
kissed her firm nipples—her body shuddered with pleasure.
**
The mayor sat at his desk stamping some papers his secretary had put in front of him. But
he was anxious and his stomach had knotted. Something didn’t feel quite right. He got up
and walked over to the window and stared out over the harbor. “Something’s wrong,” he
muttered to himself.
And he was right, but little did he know he had just over thirty minutes before he
would be dead.
He looked at clock on the wall that read two thirty-five.
**
Kumiko set the tray down next her husband’s bed, picked up the remote control, and
switched the TV on to CD. The theme song for the cartoon Doraemon played, and her
husband let out a grunting laugh and saluted the TV. Kumiko poured some green tea into
two cups, opened a packet of rice crackers, and settled back to watch the same episode,
her husband’s favorite, for the umpteenth time. She took a sip of tea and looked at her
husband; he had been a great husband and father, had never gotten angry, and had always
worn a smile on his face. She put the cup down and ran her fingers through his hair; he
looked up at her, smiled, and then went back to watching the cartoon. She wiped the tears
from her eyes and forced a smile.
**
Kenichi sat facing an array of monitors in the control room of the Fukushima Number
One power plant. He finished checking the status of the reactors and turned his attention
to the laptop next to him. He shook his head in disbelief as he finished reading the report
on an American website. How can the atomic energy agency be so irresponsible, he
thought. Not only did the atomic energy agency downplay the possibility of a nuclear
accident, but they were licensing more defective power stations, extending old stations
beyond their life expectancy, and now giving the go-ahead to construct a new reactor, the
AP 1000, which had at least three design flaws. They had even given the go-ahead to
resume construction of a power plant that was half-constructed and then abandoned
twenty years earlier.
He pulled up an empty Word document and began typing a new repor