Opinion When the earthquake drill becomes real
Disaster trembles beneath the surface of everyday life in Japan.
As I sat down with my laptop that evening,some hours after the massive earthquake had struck Japan,my cellphone emitted a grating squeal. It was a signal from the National Meteorological Agency warning that a large aftershock was about to hit the Kanto area,which includes Tokyo. Luckily,I had made it back home and was sitting in my sturdy apartment building; my 12-year-old son nearby in our living room. There wasnt much more I could do except wait for Mother Nature to take her course.
That particular temblor didnt strike Tokyo hard,but the city shook intermittently throughout the night,prompting my son and me to cross our fingers and hope that the shaking wouldnt grow stronger. Fridays earthquake was a vivid reminder to all of us in the country that,yes,the Big One really does come. Japan sits on extremely unstable land. Tiny tremors are common. We all know the drill: Dive under the table or go into an open field,turn off the gas. And always keep a supply of food,water,flashlights and helmets at home. My sons primary school had actually held a practice evacuation on the previous day.
But,not surprisingly,we become complacent. Years can go by without a destructive temblor. Im pretty sure I have a box of portable emergency toilet kits somewhere,for example,but who knows exactly where. The last earthquake to hit Japan with major casualties was in 1995 in the Western city of Kobe,where more than 6,000 people died. Tokyo hasnt been the focal point of a devastating one since the Great Kanto quake in 1923. Like most Japanese,I didnt actually fear that a temblor would strike any time soon.
My jolt back to reality came as I was riding a train home after a morning of work and errands. The conductor announced that he would be braking hard,and a few seconds later we screeched to a halt. I felt the train sway. Its like were being rocked in a cradle, the elderly woman sitting next to me said. Back and forth like one of those magic carpet rides in amusement parks,the compartment swung in increasingly wider angles,making us fear that the car might flip over. Outside I could see the utility poles shaking. The passengers in the half-full train were quiet and calm. After a few minutes,the train crawled into the next station. The rail system then closed down,and I embarked on a 90-minute walk home.
Outside,people were milling about,afraid of staying inside where things might collapse. Nearly everyone clutched a cellphone even though the lines were jammed. I walked briskly because I wanted to meet up with my son. I was not particularly worried because he would still be at his school,which has a large open campus and new buildings that adhere to strict building codes. Still,when I looked down at my suede boots and saw his footprints on them he must have stepped on my shoes on his way out the door in the morning I decided not to brush away the dirt. Those imprints just might turn out to be a memento,I thought morbidly.
A few minutes into my journey,I got that queasy feeling again. I stopped and looked up at a lamp post. Yes. Swaying. Pedestrians halted,but cars continued on the road. When the shaking stopped I continued along,looking into store windows to survey the damage. It seemed surprisingly light,with the hardest hit being liquor stores where shattered bottles and dark-colored liquids covered the floor.
I knew things were really bad when I caught a glimpse of a TV screen through an office window. The entire map of Japan seemed to be surrounded by the flashing lines that indicate a tsunami warning. My thoughts meandered along with my fast pace. Would the nuclear power plants in the area hold up? There wouldnt be any looting,I was sure. Ive never sensed any large-scale anger here that could explode in such times of chaos. How about our gold fish? Had it been thrown out of its tank?
Damage at home was minimal. The work day was ending,and hordes of stranded commuters stood by the train station wondering how to get home. About a hundred people were lined up for cabs. As I pedalled my way in the dark,I thought about how my son and I would bond on the way home over our first big earthquake. But that fantasy was short-lived. When the teacher brought him out,he was fuming. Why did you come? I really wanted to stay the night at school, he said. The children had been lounging around in brand new blankets,watching DVDs and eating emergency ration cookies.
We spent the rest of the evening watching TV footage. We saw tsunamis sweeping over towns; ceilings collapsing and bright orange fires in the black night. My son grudgingly said,I guess its best to be home.
Kumiko Makihara is a writer and translator living in Tokyo
The New York Times
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