By Kirsten Phillips (Niigata-ken, 2005-08)
Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered…
A newly arrived ingénue sits on the 2nd floor of a local coffee dive in her adopted 田舎 dwelling. Birds are chirping. Squid is drying. All seems right with the universe.
Without warning, the earth trembles.
Delicately ejecting the coffee just inhaled a mere moment ago, our ingénue dives Bruce Willis style under the nearest table, taking out an entire shelf of neatly-stacked, carefully-categorized dog-earedまんが.
Her Japanese companion raises an eyebrow. She hasn’t even put down her cup.
“Uh…大丈夫?”
“No!” Ingenue blurts, biting down on a freshly polished nail to stay the hysteria. “This is it! Doomsday! The roof’s gonna cave, we’re all gonna perish-”
“ええじゃん? A little one like this?…” The owner, a puckish man named Kurochan, laughs as his establishment sways to and fro.
That was my first earthquake ever.
Had I hailed from L.A. or Alaska, I might not have earned an Emmy for my reaction. After all, the 西海岸 gets their share of the jitters. But of all the problems and unpleasantness the Big Rotten Apple has to dish, earthquakes (thankfully) are not one. The hiccup in the coffee shop, I was to learn, was only that. A modest rumbling, a seismic belch if you will. A few cracked dishes and some relieved muttering. It was being polite, you see. Nothing caved.
If some towns along the coast of the Nihonkai seem perpetually in a state of halfway done, it is for a reason. One never knows when or if they will have to pick through the rubble and start from scratch.
Again.
But earthquakes are just one of the reminders you may be living in Niigata.
When I first researched my assigned prefecture like a good JET scout cookie, the first thing that predominated my findings was snow. An assload of it. Though winters in Niigata were severe, in comparison to what Nueva York had to dish, they didn’t offer me too many dire woes. I wasn’t in the mountains so the danger of being stranded by snow walls, eaten by Sassquatch or starving to death were minimal.
Kashiwazaki enjoyed bloody brilliant thunderstorms, the kind Pixar has yet to reproduce. There was lightening and thunder about the mountains that made my floors vibrate. Winds that made my shoji quake and groan like they’d been forced to watch The Bachelor.
Once I got caught in a typhoon while waiting for a bus that never showed. I chuckle fondly over this now but, friends, I was literally clinging to the pathetic unguarded post that was my sole marker of being the sorry fuck that needed a ride, praying I would not be blown into oncoming highway traffic by the violent gusts. Oh yeah, and hail. Mmmm. Delicious, delicious hail. When I finally gave up on the bus and clawed my way back to base school, I looked like I had just lost a fight with a Fudgesicle. Kyoto sensei #14 had the grace to offer me a ride home due to the particularly unpleasant bout of weather we seemed to be experiencing currently. I smiled through my bluish, trembling lips and thanked him.
Kashiwazaki’s other claim to fame was the 原子力発電所 . Largest nookyueller plant in thee world, thankyeverramuch. So completely the reason 六本木 never stops to gasp. Had I had but one オタク bone in my body, I would have been thrilled. After all, if there is a better place in all of Japan to believe that Godzilla, slumbering in the fathomless eddies between Japan and scary North Korea and nourished on eons of radioactive waste, exists I don’t know where that is. At the very least, you can get no finer three-eyed sashimi.
Sadly, the mystical fooktard never budged. Rumors of nuclear events and local teeth gnashing abounded but, to my relief, there came never a peep from the massive structure located just on the fringe of my town. In fact, it was a rather pleasant place with a visitor’s center, cafeteria, mini museum, unnecessary soft cream, etc. The worst thing that came out of the plant were the big noisy American contract workers who haunted the local bars and liked to start big noisy brawls.
But back to earthquakes.
Fast forward a year and a half later…
I’m getting ready to go home for the summer. My bags are unpacked and I have a megaton of laundry to do. Monday is a national holiday and I am happy to enjoy a rare three-day weekend. Morning rolls in and I am awakened by my bedroom fluttering, then roaring, then rocking out of control. It was as if a giant baby had picked up my house and shook it.
At the start, I actually rolled over and went back to sleep.
By then I had already been rudely awakened by more than one pushy earthquake/big truck passing by. But this was no dry cough. It lasted 20 eternal seconds. By the time it was over, the streets outside looked like pulled taffy and my water pipe/gas pipes were demolished.
“危ないよ!” My neighbors warned me as I stepped outside to peruse the damage.
Most of the original homes in Kashiwazaki had been constructed in the late fifties and early sixties. Wooden structures with multiple floors and heavy tiles roofs. Very few of these older buildings were left standing, many of them already protesting from the last quake. My own home was fairly new with wooden floors and strong foundations. All that happened to my apartment was a bottle of spilled milk when my fridge door was forced open. Not even a broken dish.
I am so. SO fortunate.
I called my family, who was in the middle of yesterday evening, to tell them a pretty big quake had struck but that I was fine, no need for panic or undue alarm. At 2 AM, they called me back in a tizzy to check if I was OK as a major quake had just struck my area!!!! OMG!!!
Ahhh…latitude.
My supervisor called me as well.
“Kirsten, are you alive?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Don’t die, ok?”
“Gotcha.”
I don’t know how I would have made it without her.
My friend, a scientist in Niigata-shi, immediately texted my keitai to inform me that he’d heard we’d just had an earthquake and that a tsunami was definitely coming our way!!! OMG!!!
I thanked him.
Note to the wise? If you text someone to tell them to expect a tsunami, please please PLEASE have an actual tsunami to back that up. ^^
No tsunami came. The army did. Then the media. Then the Prime Minister. Many families were left homeless, entire lives uprooted. The quake came in the middle of summer which I suppose is better than winter to leave so many (especially elderly and children) stranded. The kids seemed the least disturbed by sleeping in the garage and the gymnasiums of their schools. Although seeing the listless stares of the elderly, dying of heat and discomfort on ratty tatami in the middle of Daini Chuu’s genkan was something I had to look away from. There was very little I could do or say to them.
Naturally, I worried for my students but reports from my schools indicated no serious injuries. However one of my favorite second graders had to change schools due to his home being destroyed. I never got to say goodbye to him but I saw pictures of his smiling bruised little face at his farewell party. Poor Ibuki kun.
Meanwhile, the wing of student classrooms at 第二中 had been deemed unsafe and needed relocating. Desks and chairs had to be delivered from three flights down, across a gym and then three flights back up. It had rained a little the day before and would undoubtedly do so again but in the meantime, the air stayed thick and hot.
“アイス食べたい！” The two male gym teachers were both drenched. Since we’d assembled that morning, Yuzawa sensei and Ozaki sensei had been like pack horses, moving and cleaning, hefting and sweating up and down the stairs. Yoshida sensei advised me not to help them when I tugged on my work gloves and knotted my hair back in readiness for sherpa duty. When I asked him why, he gave me this stellar response:
“It is not recommended for women to do such a work.”
“Okay.” I said and went up to the third floor to heft desks and chairs.
Yuzawa and Ozaki were grateful for the assistance. When Yuzawa saw me struggle with two desks at once, he offered to take them on top of the five chairs already piled on his shoulders.
“大丈夫?” He asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I grunted. “Just gotta redefine balance.”
All day we lifted, set down and repeated. When finally the task of relocating chairs and desks up and down multiple staircases was through, Yuzawa was wringing out his tenugui and panting at his desk.
“アイス食べたい！” He whined like a kid.
It was drizzling and vaguely cool when I dashed outside. The roads were blocked and I had to gape a moment at the rows of condemned houses. One of their comrades had already bought it, reduced to nothing but a pile of splinters, personal belongings and wires topped by a shattered tile roof. Even Enma-dou, the famous temple along the main drag, had been destroyed. Nothing but holy scraps.
The 7-11 was freezing with the AC on full blast and swarming with servicemen from the Japanese and American military. I scored three boxes of ice pops and headed back to Niichuu. Yuzawa and Ozaki were beside themselves with joy. After handing out ices to the staff, I realized I had bought one box too many.
It was sad to see the evacuees. Most of them had been moved into the gymnasiums of various elementary or junior high schools but Niichuu’s gym was too old and considered dangerous so their shelter was constructed in the students’ entrance. The kids were parked happily in front of a huge television. Their parents stood around talking. Their grandparents sat staring listlessly on the floor. I approached the children, two of whom were my students from Hisumi Elementary and their baby sister who could have been about three.
“アイス好き?” I offered the box of lemon pops, looking up at their mum chatting to her neighbor. “Mama, OK?”
“ありがとうございました。” The young mother in the yellow T-shirt smiled as her kids pounced on the box.
“Saaaan-kyu!” The boys said. Their baby sister even mouthed a gummy 3-9. After ensuring all the kids had received popsicles, I handed whatever was left over to the army men and excused myself. It was too hot to linger in one place anywhere.
Went to the supermarket to get some food ration and water and have a look about town. The government had set up distribution of non-drinkable water at the schools for bathing, washing and the toilets. The huge plastic drums were impossible for me to carry so one of the teachers said he would drop by later with his car and get me some.
I now respect just how much fucking water it takes to flush a toilet.
I also stopped by Rakudaya, my favorite izakaya, to check on the owners, Hiro and Yuuka. The interior of Rakudaya, to my relief, looked only slightly worse for wear. Even their vast CD collection hanging on the wall shelves had not budged. Hiro was exhausted, passed out on a futon spread across the floor of his restaurant. It was hot and their power was down. A large silver grey velvety dog was chained to one of the tables and barked to alert Hiro of my presence before I could even squeak out “Daijobu?” Bebe-chan immediately forgave my intrusion and trotted over to be patted.
Every plate, glass and bottle of liquor they’d owned had been destroyed. Hiro told me it would be maybe a week until the water and gas were back. But he’d stressed the maybe. He had a business to run so his establishment was given priority. In actuality, my water service would return about a month later, my gas two months later. On the small plus side, those without water (東本町) were permitted to use the local onsen free of charge.
I took the long way home to get a good look at town. As I’d seen in the AP photos, the ancient corner house on Suwa-cho which I’d always found charming had been reduced to splinters. The streets were a mess. Distorted, fractured, misaligned. I bypassed my house to take a look behind it. As I rounded the corner by the tennis courts, I saw level with the ground the unmistakable shape of a roof. Walking further, I got a better look. Three large houses had completely caved in.
The fireworks were canceled that year. No dancing. No festivities. No tourists. Just a lot of hard work and stiff upper-lipping. My town gritted its collective teeth, rolled up its sleeves and put itself back together with dizzying swiftness. Banners of “柏崎頑張ろう！” were seen everywhere. Splintered houses were cleared away and made into vacant lots. By the time I left Japan, a majority of the streets had been repaved. The dated and crumbling mom and pop shops were turned into a shiny new bank, ramen-ya, bakery, etc. Enma-dou was rebuilt and the matsuri were back in business. The yosa-koi festival, Don-Gala, would be held in 2008 and dedicated to the families left homeless. Last I heard, the trailer parks were still in use. No homes yet for some.
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