Iwaki

Iwaki Coast

From the beach where Eriko and I stood, long, wide arcs of water playfully reached for our feet, retreated, and returned as we looked out at the sea. The sky hung grey over our heads and a lighthouse sat on a cliff in the distance. Behind us, a few skeletons of houses crouched over themselves, as if aching, ready to collapse. There were only a few of these dying structures left; the rest was a field of concrete foundations marking where homes once made up a small coastal village. All that remained now was a pile of rubble that overflowed from the junior high school pool.

“Tsunami”, Eriko said, now facing the grave of concrete.

We walked along the remaining road that followed the beach. It was broken and covered in sand. The few buildings left were in shambles, waiting to be torn down by tractors and wrecking balls. There were only a few people walking amongst the wreckage, people who once belonged to the village, but who now seemed as lost as we did.

“This looks like my village,” Eriko commented. “Only in mine there aren’t even a few houses standing anymore. It’s all gone.”

I was quiet, angry at myself for inviting her to the coast with me. I didn’t realize that the tsunami damage would still be so fresh.

“I’m sorry, Eriko. We can leave if you’d like.”

“No. It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine, Joshua. Don’t worry.”

The rubble in the junior high school swimming pool sat like a decaying carcass. Men in business suits and yellow hard hats had come by and told the weathered fishermen that it was all saturated with radiation and it couldn’t be moved. Surveying its height and breadth, I could make out mattresses, tables, kitchen stoves and desktop computers. There were dolls and plastic playground slides for toddlers, car tires and street signs. The items absorbed into one another and smelled of mildew.

“In my town, the tsunami came up twenty meters,” Eriko told me.

I looked out at a lifeguard’s perch on the beach. The railing was twisted and uprooted from the concrete. Rust had already covered the exposed metal. The tsunami must have been just as tall as the top of the structure.

Holding my gaze at the same height as the lifeguard perch, I turned toward the village, envisioning the tsunami’s path. Maybe I could conjure the sounds of wood buckling and cars being turned over, of ships being lifted over the wave breakers and smashed into the cliff behind the town. Maybe I could see faces of people watching their houses drown in the angry sea. Maybe I could feel a fraction of their pain.



I couldn’t.



I looked at Eriko who was lost in thought, likely about her own village. It was clear that she had already grieved, in her Japanese way, and was ready to move on. There were new challenges to face that the tsunami left in its wake. Her parents were still living in a family shelter provided by the government, and needed to find a new place to rebuild their home. She was still getting used to the new town she had been relocated to. And there were daily broadcasts of radiation levels that had us all wondering just how safe Fukushima was. The aftermath had forced her wounds to heal quickly.

I admired Eriko. I wanted to console her, to share some profound advice on life and say how it’ll all be okay. But the sight of the leveled village choked my thoughts and kept me silent. There was nothing to say. 

We walked off together, back towards my car. The silence remained as we drove away, leaving the sad remains of the village behind us. We didn't speak again until my car passed over a hill and the sea disappeared from our view.