Japan Sinks

by Sakyo Komatsu

  “I don’t know for certain how it could,” said Nakata, shaking his head. “But that’s the pattern as indicated by the computer data.”

  “It’s begun,” said the Weather Service man, a taut edge to his voice. “The Archipelago is breaking apart.”

  In the Central Region of the Japan Archipelago, beginning at a point east of Toyama Bay, a brilliant line of red light ran north and south. At the same time, innumberable thin red lines appeared all over the luminescent form of the Archipelago, distorting it. The waving green light mass on the Pacific side spread out to the east and, at the same time, began to sink, while the lateral movement of the stripes below grew frenzied. The pink light mass on the Japan Sea side grew still more immense and began to pulsate like a living thing. The eastern portion of the luminescent image of the Archipelago shifted slowly eastward, and the western portion southward, the whole mass now beginning to tip slightly. As the echoing ping of the seconds and the agitated buzz of the camera shutters continued, the pale image of the Japan Archipelago, still slightly tilted, slid down within the plastic block, a motion like the heaving of a sigh, and finally came to rest.

  The pink on the Japan Sea side, the green on the Pacific side both faded. The points of red light forming the red lines began to decrease rapidly, and those that persisted changed from red to orange and then to yellow, flickering as their colors grew dimmer. .

  “What’s the time?”

  “Sixty-two seconds from the second start.”

  “Putting that into days, it amounts to about thirty-two.”

  “A change of this order taking place within one month?” Mashita gave an irritated sigh.

  “How about the movement of the Archipelago?” asked Yukinaga.

  “The lateral movement—twenty-seven miles at most. The vertical movement is minus one and a half miles. The eastern portion moves east-southeast on a line that forms an acute angle of almost thirteen degrees with the geodesic line, while the western section slides south at an angle of six degrees. As for Kyushu, the entire island revolves to the left, sliding its south side around to face east.”

  “The vertical movement is minus one and a half miles,” muttered the geologist from the institute. “In that case, the mountain regions will remain.”

  “Even if they do, it will do precious little good,” said Nakata. “Don’t forget the landslides and the eruptions. Nor is this the end of things. The sinking will go on.”

  “That’s right,” said the young man from the Weather Service, studying the CRT figures. “Even after the radical movement is over, both the sinking and the lateral movement will continue at an average rate of several inches a day.”

  “And when is this going to happen?” asked Yukinaga hoarsely.

  “According to our model, at the 302nd second,” said the meteorologist, his voice quavering. “In terms of days, 312.54.”

  “Less than a year,” said the geologist, with an anguished sigh. “Ten months . . . about . . .”

  The group stood about the plastic block as though numbed. A mere ten months was all that was left.

  The blood seemed to be draining from Yukinaga,, He felt as though he were about to vomit. The floor seemed to be dissolving beneath his feet. In a mere ten months it would begin. What could possibly be done within so short a period?

  Nakata, his eyes raised to the bulletin board, folded his arms and stood rigid as a statue. But then, abruptly making his decision, he picked up the phone.

  “Are you calling the secretary general?” asked Yukinaga.

  “No, the Prime Minister,” said Nakata brusquely as he pressed the call button.

  “When will you disclose to us your evacuation program?” asked the leader of one of the independent parties. “You must have it fairly well in hand by now. At the time of the public announcement in two weeks, you’ll have to give out some sort of outline at least. Otherwise there’d be an uproar, wouldn’t there?”

  “Since the obvious course would have been to set up a nonpartisan committee to deal with this crisis,” said the leader of the major opposition party with a frown, “forgive me if I seem ungracious at hearing the news. The government of the administration party, while keeping this from us, has for some time now been secretly pouring it into the ears of the business world. And what’s happened already is that our industrial assets are beginning the flight abroad without anyone knowing about it. The government has the obligation to administer equal justice to all, and what kind of behavior is this partiality shown finance and industry but the grossest sort of inequity? I think that it is but another instance showing the perverse character of the administration party. And with regard to plans for evacuation, what I want to know is this: is the saving of the life of every citizen of Japan the thing that is given priority above all else, or isn’t it? Mr. Prime Minister, before a non-partisan group looks into the matter, I would like to hear from you with regard to this point.”

  “Let this be understood: our overriding intent is to save the lives of the entire Japanese people, making no exceptions whatsoever,” answered the Prime Minister. “To accomplish this we are making use of every means at our disposal. However, what about after the disaster? How are 110 million people going to live from then on? The government is obliged to face up to this problem also.”

  “Well and good,” said another party head. “But, judging from the conduct of your party, it seems to me that you gentlemen, while giving lip service to the worth of human life, have in fact been most concerned with planning for the continuance of the financial and industrial life of this nation and, more than that even, for the continuance of the nation itself and its structure. Rather than the people, rather than individual men and women, it’s the nation and its structure that are more precious to you—the kind of bureaucratic thinking that goes back to prewar days, and it looks as though it’s never going to be rooted out. The kind of spirit that in the past has thought nothing of sacrificing fifty thousand or a hundred thousand lives for the sake of the prestige of the nation and the structure behind that prestige doesn’t fade so easily. But, at any rate, here’s what I wish to know: leaving the future to take care of itself, throwing aside prestige and formalities and hypocritical bureaucratic posturing about equal justice and everything of that ilk, is it your intention or is it not, Mr. Prime Minister, to throw yourself headlong into the task of saving the Japanese people, and to hell with structures?”

  “Ogata . . .”

  All at once the leader of the third largest of the opposition parties spoke up in his heavy, deep voice, which was like the lowing of a bull. It was a voice of crushing force, forged in the fierce debates and speeches of a long political career.

  “You said a short time ago that politics was a backstage affair. But this way of thinking that all political matters can be settled backstage is where your party, with its bureaucratic way of running the government, has most gone astray since the war. And I think that this is the reason why most Japanese think of politics as a crafty, sinister business. Certain backstage activity is necessary in politics. But, at the same time, it is absolutely essential to go onstage, too. Especially in this crisis that brings us to the brink of national disaster. I feel that all is lost unless there emerges a ‘nation-saving hero’—a man of stalwart determination, a man who will give light to a fearful people, who will point the way, who will stiffen our resolve, a man with the strength to act forcefully, the strength to snatch the nation from the jaws of ruin. . . . Now, Ogata ... is there anybody in your party, not excluding yourself, fit to perform this vital onstage role? Do you think that you have strength and popular favor enough to turn yourself into the furious devil himself, Ashura, to take hold of the people and slash your way through the danger? Calling on a friendship that goes far back to when we were in school together, I beg your leave to speak frankly. Your political conduct has been a model of bureaucratic prudence, but—pardon me for saying so—I can’t see you as having anything like the resolution necessary to see the cou
ntry through this crisis.”

  “It’s a role, in other words, that you yourself will have to take, then?” said the Prime Minister, a somewhat stiff half-smile forming on his face. “Mr. Atsumi, as yet I have no idea whether or not you will be nominated to head the coalition Cabinet. As for myself, I don’t necessarily think that I have the ability that’s needed to see this crisis through. However, until such time as your ‘nation-saving hero’ makes his appearance, I have no choice but to put every ounce of strength into the task of somehow fulfilling the duties now entrusted to me. And then, too ... in present-day Japan the memories of the War are still vivid, and I have the feeling that there are very many Japanese who have had their fill of ‘nation-saving heroes.’ They feel in their bones, you see, that heroes and the cult of heroes have had a disastrous effect upon Japan and the lives of the Japanese people.”

  “Well, at any rate,” said the head of the major opposition party, breaking in, “we would like you to give to our representatives just as quickly as you can a thorough explanation of Plan D and of the evacuation program insofar as it’s drawn up to date. We can’t very well wait two weeks until the Diet session.”

  “Of course. We have the preparations all in order,” said the secretary general of the Cabinet. “Once you’ve had a conference of your chief secretaries and pick your representatives, we’ll be ready at any time to do as you direct.”

  “You’ll have your conference in two days, I believe?” said the Prime Minister. “Two weeks is the time we’re aiming for, but the situation is such that the news might leak out at any time, from some source or other. Our foreign ties present a special risk. In that case, we’d have to make an immediate public declaration. So, gentlemen, I’ll be depending upon your good will. ...”

  “It looks as though European financial circles have gotten on to something,” said the head of the International Monetary Bureau of the Treasury. “This morning large-scale selling of Japanese bonds began. We’re supporting them by buying through figurehead groups, but if this flood of selling keeps up, it’s going to take a toll of our purchasing assets.”

  “I think we’d be best advised to let things ride for a bit,” said the president of a certain private exchange bank. “If things go down some and small investors get out, I think that would be to the good.”

  “What’s the present withdrawal rate?” asked the Minister of the Treasury.

  “Very soon it will be fifty percent.”

  “Maybe it would be good to hold it temporarily at about fifty-five percent,” muttered the Minister. “After that we’ll just have to let it drop as far as it will go.”

  “I wondered if anyone has discovered that we’re using our assets to buy,” said the president of the Bank of Japan in a low voice.

  “It’s hard to say,” said the Bureau head. “The idea is to move deliberately and not stimulate the market, but the rate of increase is steadily climbing.”

  “In view of the way that European and American financial interests are manipulating their speculations, this cashing in of bonds seems to indicate that we’re foolishly letting ourselves be taken advantage of,” muttered the president of the exchange bank. “We shouldn’t throw good money after bad. I think that now is the time to let them take a bit of punishment.”

  “Fine—in any other circumstances but the present,” said the president of the Bank of Japan. “But even if hard-eyed financiers call us foolish, we must consider this: it’s a matter of the Japanese people losing their very homeland and thus being dependent upon the good will of the rest of the world. We cannot trick either individual investors or even large financial groups and pin the loss on them. We cannot afford enemies. Nor are we going to be reduced to the level of beggars. Rather, holding tight to what is our own, what we must do is see this thing through in such a way, hard though it be, that no other nation suffers loss from the sinking of Japan. If we do this, bitter pill though it be at the time, we will reap untold benefits in the not too distant future. Our ancestors in the Meiji Era started out empty-handed and conducted themselves in such a way as to win the respect of the world.”

  “But the question is, I’m afraid, to what extent such purity can stand as currency in world society,” said the head of the International Monetary Bureau.

  “It will stand, all right,” said the president of the Bank of Japan forcefully. He had a magnificent head of white hair. “And more than that, going beyond politics as such, nothing like an international industrial society can ever come into being without such a conviction. In the long run, I believe this has to be so.”

  “Come to me. . . .” Reiko’s whisper sounded in his ear. When he heard it, he remembered that night at Hayama, which already seemed like part of the far-distant past. Now, in place of the bracelet transistor radio whose music had irritated him as they lay together, there was piped-in music that filled this narrow airport-hotel room. For Onodera, Reiko’s amber skin seemed to have kept the scent of sand, of sand still warm from the torrid rays of the sun. In the very nadir of drunkenness, desire flamed up, and he grabbed hold of her desperately, roughly caressed her breasts, fixed his mouth upon hers, and did not let her go until, finally, he had wrung passionate, drawn-out cries from her.

  “I want to get married,” said Reiko, her panting body, awash in sweat, held fast within his arms. “I looked for you all over . . . afterward. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Why?” he whispered, his cheek pressed against her breast, white in contrast to the rest of her torso, still tan from last summer’s sun. “Why me? You have all sorts of fine boy friends. Me, whom you met only once ...”

  “And the night we met I made love with you on the beach, didn’t I?” Reiko smiled. “I was drunk, yes, but still... I wonder why. Why this man who had just appeared . . . why did I suddenly feel I wanted you? The group that was there that night —I knew most of them for a long time, but I never let any of them make love to me.”

  “Well . . . you were drunk,” said Onodera, smiling.

  Reiko pinched his back lightly with her nails. “I was awfully embarrassed afterward, you see. I thought maybe you’d think I was a sort of nymphomaniac, somebody who slept with anybody at all. But then I realized something. Because I did make love with you, I knew that you couldn’t be the kind of man who would think that of me.”

  But why? Onodera asked her, holding to the question. Why had she picked him?

  “I don’t know, but . . . That night . . . How was it now?”

  She had felt as though she wanted to look at the sea, Reiko whispered. She loved scuba diving, and she had tied a women’s record in it. When she sank down, head over heels, all alone, into the gloomy depths spreading out above, below, on every side of her, she loved the isolation she felt at that moment, the chill water gripping her.

  “I feel lonely then, I feel so isolated I want to break into tears, but I feel happiness, too. I’m like a fragment of a falling star plunging through empty space, but I’m totally happy. The cold water embraces me. And though I’m all alone, the blue-black water, the wavering seaweed, the fish swimming like clouds of silver ... I feel as though I’m one with all of these. And that’s when this forlorn, isolated happiness that makes me want to cry takes hold of me. . . . But wait! Now I see. I felt just this way, you see ... the first time you held me in your arms. Why, I don’t know, but the feeling was just the same. Even though I didn’t know then that you piloted a deep-sea submarine, I sensed the sea inside of you. That’s it! It was as though the vast, limitless sea, which had ever held me in its embrace, had seen the tears behind my mask and had taken the form of a young man and taken me in its arms.”

  Reiko then took his head in both her hands and, lifting it, looked deeply into his eyes. Her expression was like that of a little girl.

  “Will you marry me?”

  Instead of answering, Onodera gripped her naked body with crushing force, sucked her lips into his mouth, and once more thrust himself forcefully into her still-wet body. It was as t
hough, holding his breath, he were plunging deep down into the warm waters of a tropic sea. Kicking out, reaching out, twisting his body, pushing his breath to the limit, plunging deeper, still deeper. Then in the inky blackness of the ocean floor, with his lungs about to explode, he took hold of the stars that glittered gold, scarlet, blue in the depths. And then those stars burst into brilliant fragments that spread over the sky, scattering to every corner of it. Not uttering a sound, eyes fast shut, panting fiercely atop Reiko’s hot, sweaty belly held fast beneath him, Onodera at last came up from the depths and felt the buoyant ease of floating upon the waves. Head down, still breathing heavily, he experienced the rest that Reiko’s body had led him to.

  He remembered then that it had been over a year since he had last been with a woman. And the woman had been Reiko. Since then, a year and a half. . . day after day, he had sat sealed within that steel ball, operating instruments, moving rapidly from one site to another, fighting wind and waves, carrying on the endless labor together with men whose eyes fatigue and anxiety had fixed in a glittering stare.

  “You’re tired, aren’t you?” Reiko suddenly asked. Her beautiful lips abruptly parted, and her warm tongue licked up a single tear, which had wet his cheek without his having noticed it. As he took her in his arms again, this time gently, cherishing her, he repeated over and over to himself: I must rest. I must rest with this woman. What I thought was mere fatigue was my grief in the face of the fantastic disaster of Japan sinking . . . my fear, my heartbreak.

  No more than a few days after the government’s decision to make a public announcement within two weeks, a disquieting rumor began to spread through the country. A terrible earthquake and volcanic eruptions far more destructive than the last were going to hit Japan. This time Tokyo would be leveled, and Chiba and the Sagami Bay coast would sink to the bottom of the sea. There was nothing to do but to flee abroad for a time. Though the newspapers had not printed one word of it, the rumor spread rapidly. People whispered about it with anxious faces in offices, in homes, on the street. Every airline was swamped with requests for tickets abroad for whole families. The planes of every international airline that flew into Japan left loaded to full capacity every day, and even though more planes were put into service, reservations piled up three months in advance. Steamship lines, too, began to sell out their passenger reservations.