Facing the Wave (9 page)

The seawall in Miyako, one of the large northern fishing ports affected by the tsunami, failed completely. Firemen tried to close the massive steel water gates by hand as the wave topped the seawall. Metal was bent like tinfoil. Water broke through, and the firemen were swept away.

At the main port we see only a few boats. Any fisherman close enough to the harbor jumped on his boat and went out full throttle toward the wall of water that advanced toward them. “Every boat you see on the water now is one that was saved by its captain,” a worker in the temporary harbormaster’s office tells us. He offers us the use of the fishing co-op’s rubber boots, and says we are welcome to wander around.

He shows us where the wave washed over the tops of the warehouses, and is proud of the rebuilding they have accomplished already. Luckily, they had recently stored hundreds of tons of ice farther inland so they would have enough for the hot summer season. “All the ice factories were destroyed up and
down the coast. But because we have this reserve, we’re open for business today. We had one of the biggest waves here because of the shape of the harbor. We lost most of our 950 trawlers. But if you want to talk to someone who got his boat out in time, wait here. He’s coming in today.”

A fifty-foot trawler slides up to the loading dock, manned by a father-son team, its entire aft deck stacked with plastic baskets of giant Pacific octopus, throbbing and writhing, confined and confused. They are the smartest of all invertebrates, and their half-billion neurons must be firing now. What did they know of the earthquake? How did their behavior change? What are they thinking now?

“Like the rest of us, they have one thing only on their minds: escape,” Abyss-san quips. When the bins have been unloaded and taken under the roof of what was once the fish factory to be iced, the father leans over the rail and offers his story.

“When the quake came I knew there would be a tsunami so I drove to the harbor, got on my boat, pulled anchor, and started out. My boat is about fifty feet long. Suddenly it lifted up into the air. It was the wave coming in. It felt as if we were being lifted up from beneath—we were eighty meters up above the bottom of the ocean, and stayed there for about three minutes.

“The water was rough and confused, moving every which way. It was hard to steer. I kept going. Another ten minutes out I thought I’d be safe. There’s a little island out there. I thought it would be far enough. Then I saw the horizon was all white again. This was the big wave coming. It came in fast and submerged the island’s lighthouse. It came under my boat and lifted it 120 meters above the ocean bottom, and still, I could see more waves coming. I turned and looked: waves were crashing over the seawall, through the harbor, pouring through town.

“I stayed out for two days. I was afraid to come back in. There were about ten boats out there. No one had any warm clothes, much less water or food.

“I was cold and hungry. The water was moving in strange ways and it was covered with debris. My house was at the foot of the mountain. I looked with binoculars trying to find it. Only the roof was left. I saw the house poles being carried away by small waves. I couldn’t call my wife. Our cell phones didn’t work; there was no reception. But another fisherman came alongside and told me the entire coast had been destroyed.

“It was snowing. A navy ship came by and gave us emergency food—water and a few biscuits. When I finally went back in, there was no harbor. It was hard to find a place to tie up the boat. After finding a secure mooring, I walked up above town and found my wife. She was fine. We know about tsunamis here. We know to go to high ground.”

His family was taken to an evacuation center and has been there for three months. “At first we hardly had any food. They gave us one rice ball and one liter of water a day for the first twenty days! My wife lost a lot of weight. It was a good diet!” he says, laughing.

“Now temporary housing is completed and we move in this weekend. I didn’t want to stay in the communal center. It’s better being with our neighbors rather than outsiders—people from other towns. Here, we are all fishermen and we understand and worry about each other.”

Blue bins of octopus are stacked by female fish market workers in blue aprons and rubber pants and boots. Suddenly the dock and the boat begin to rock. The father stops talking and a terrified look comes over his face. The boat pulls at its mooring lines.

The women are vigilant, waiting for the shaking to stop. The fisherman peers over the rail at the water: “I felt a bit of a shake. Maybe I’m paranoid now. Since the tsunami, I’m always getting ready to go back out. The ocean is different now. It looks and moves in a strange way. There can always be another tsunami.”

Before March 11 there were three strong earthquakes and the fishermen and their families who live close to the water were evacuated each time. The father says he had noticed signs of something different for two or three months before. The tide started coming from north to south, and it moved faster than usual. It had done that the year before too.

“But the March 11 earthquake was outsized. Now the bottom of the ocean is filled with houses and cars. We’ll never be able to go back to normal ways of trolling.” He shakes his head, gives a slight shrug, and signals to his son that it’s time to go. Stepping up to the bridge, he revs the engines.

“We’re still fishing, though,” he yells over the roar. “We went out one month after the quake. In December, the catch is crabs; from April on, it’s all
tako
—octopus. You should talk to my son,” he says, looking over his shoulder proudly at the tall young man whom he calls Masayuki. “He’s got his own boat, and he writes a blog. You can read it every day.”

The young man says nothing, but smiles shyly. He secures the lines with an agile ease. Maybe if you have seen seawater rush back, baring the ocean floor, then return to take everything you know, you’ve seen the world.

Three women untie the mooring lines and flip the thick ropes to Masayuki. He catches and coils them on the deck as the trawler slides away.

March 9

Just had an earthquake as we were heading home after unloading our catch. My truck started shaking the moment I got in. I thought at first the wind was shaking it. If a tsunami comes … We went back out anyway and waited for the emergency tsunami warning to be cleared. We could see no changes, so we sailed back to port, but there was a vortex on the wave surface as we came in … Whoaaaa … A rare sight.

March 10

We’re going out to check the floating equipment. There’s a chance that some of it got washed away or a chance that a load of crabs have scuttled into our cages! If the waves get rough, it might be a difficult journey home …

We plan to go out tomorrow too, but I wonder what’s going to happen. It seems there have been a lot of earthquakes today, not to mention the one yesterday, a 7.2.

March 11

3:00 p.m.: A huge earthquake has hit. Getting the boat out as fast as we can and heading toward the ocean.

3:04 p.m.: The tide is pulling out fast at Miyako Port. This is the biggest earthquake ever.

3:09 p.m.: We’re going at maximum speed out to the ocean. Here comes the tsunami.

3:20 p.m.: The tsunami is coming toward Heizaki! Oh my god! …

3:23 p.m.: The waves are pushing at the cliffs. They’re really high.

3:26 p.m.: Tsunami approaching Sakiyama to Anegasaki.

3:44 p.m.: Big trouble in Miyako Port. According to the radio, the port is flooded and stuff is washing out everywhere. I can see smoke, maybe fire? Power has gone out on land.

March 12

4:56 p.m.: Kuwagasaki (where we live on the north end of Miyako Port) is destroyed.

March 14

I couldn’t bring anything with me as I had to rush out with my boat as soon as the earthquake hit. There just wasn’t time. No time even to think if I wanted to save my own life, to escape. Because I have no food, the hunger is hitting me hard. The other boats are in the same situation. We saw a Navy vessel in the north. I heard on the radio they are distributing food, so we are going toward them.

They have given us two rice balls, a tin of mackerel, a bottle of tea, and a packet of cookies. Now we’re saved. I thanked them over and over again. They seemed like gods to me.

March 18

The shock of losing my house, losing everything is immeasurable. Beyond shock. I have no tears. The old lady living next door in the B&B was washed away, and the grandmother across the street from us is also missing.

March 19

This morning we received a rice ball, miso soup, and mineral water. The hotel where we have been evacuated gives us three
meals a day. Mainly rice balls and water. But to eat food is simply wonderful.

March 22

After breakfast I went to the shore. We tried to clean around the fishing warehouse. There were boats and nets and buoys and clothes swept away to unbelievable places. There’s a ridiculous amount of theft going on here. They’re coming in from out of town and looting. Security is zero. The safety of our small town has been destroyed.

March 28

The tsunami collapsed the main bridge. There have been more suicides. It’s irresponsible to say “
ganbatte
”—“do your best.” If anything, it has the opposite effect.

March 30

I have to go to a lot of temporary offices to do my paperwork. I’m not at the evacuation center much. I grab my food and go out and come home before evening. This is what we had tonight: one rice ball, two slices of apple, and a bottle of juice. This is our usual evening meal. Early start tomorrow so going to bed. I’m worried about our nutrition, but can’t complain. Good night.

To the north of the main harbor—what’s left of it—three older fishermen are repairing their skiffs. One man leans against the bow of his small boat as we approach. “I need to get back out quickly,” he says after sizing us up and deciding he’ll talk to us. “I have only this small boat, so I catch only small fish—sea urchins and shellfish, mostly. My skiff was washed ashore and I found it. There was a big hole in the hull. Now I’ve fixed it. The government is busy. There’s no use waiting for them. We’re fixing things up as best we can.

“We’ve been told to move to higher ground, but we’re men of the sea and you can’t tell us to grow vegetables. We have traditions and techniques that have been passed on to us, and we can’t change over to farming just like that.

“I saw the tsunami and still, I’m not afraid. We’re just like animals. It’s our instinct to survive. Not because of fear, but just because that’s what we know to do. Most of us around here believe we must live on the ocean. We can’t live in a city apartment. It isn’t fun to live without facing challenges. I’ve faced death three or four times already. That’s why I’m not afraid now. Or maybe I’m just stupid!” He laughs, lights another cigarette, and keeps talking.

“When I’m out on the ocean, there’s only this one piece of wood that separates me from death.” He touches the bow of his boat and gazes at it affectionately. “As soon as the quake hit I watched the birds. They all flew away. The announcements on the loudspeakers mean nothing. I always watch the birds. They
told me to run. I was here at the waterfront when the Wave came in. I saw the tide push back and the seaweed twist on the ground, so I tied up my boat and hurried up the hill. People who forget Nature, forget how it works, they are doomed.

“I’ve been fishing since birth. I catch whatever is out there and sell it at the market alongside the big boats. We need only to live according to our instincts and needs. My boat’s name is
Honfukumaru
—
‘A long breath of Wind.’
 ”

* * *

We’re on the road again and Abyss-san plays that song. I roll down the window. What I thought would be fresh air is instead full of the stink of decadent refuse. Nikki sits cross-legged on the plywood platform in back, translating when she has to, checking emails and Tweets when she doesn’t. When the road straightens out, she gives a rough translation of a piece written by a Japanese journalist, Shin’ya Hagio, who is dedicating a year to collecting stories from Tohoku for his newspaper, the
Mainichi News
. He writes:

“Not far from here a father and his two sons were found living in the hills in a tiny hut built from scraps: a piece of boat is the living room, and it’s lashed under a makeshift roof made of building scraps. A long house beam juts out and is covered with tin roofing to make a veranda. The family survives on canned goods found in the rubble. They have only the clothes they were wearing when the wave came. On washdays they melt snow for wash water and stand naked, waiting for the sun to dry their clothes. (Why they live this way is puzzling. They could have gone into town and joined the other refugees in an evacuation center.) The father said only that he can’t face people right now. He’d watched his wife, his pregnant daughter, her four-year-old, a second daughter, and his own mother drown.

“The boys walk to a school up on the hill. Now the classes are mixed with people from nearby towns. The older boy plays baseball and likes it. His position is shortstop. But his younger
brother has refused to play since he lost his glove in the tsunami. He only says this: ‘I miss my mother’s cooking.’ ”

Down from the mountains we come to the town of Kamaishi. Our way is blocked by a ship that has come on shore. The
Asia Symphony
is not a musical group, but a 4,724-ton cargo ship pushed by the Wave into the middle of what was once a busy street. Its red bow sliced through a concrete wall until it rested on the white dividing line. At one hundred meters in length, it’s too massive to move until the rest of the debris is taken out of the harbor. We follow the bicycles and cars that pass around it as if it were just another building in the way.