Plains and fields are very rare in Japan. Outside large open plains like Tokyo, the basic geography of Japanese towns is a tiny sliver of habitable land sandwiched between sea and mountain. That’s what happens when you take a tiny mountain-ridden series of islands in the ocean and try to live there. So the tiny town near the tip of a peninsula in the Kazusa region raised no eyebrows. The Pacific ocean on one side. Mount Naifu on the other. At first glance, it seemed a miracle that the whole town hadn’t disappeared under a landslide or tsunami yet.
I disembarked from the local train line at the stop closest to the sea so I could get a nice view of the Pacific ocean. Being a Tokyo boy, the very idea of a sea that was not the grimy, grey Tokyo bay excited and fascinated me. I walked down a slowly winding concrete path down to the water, occasionally being passed by locals in their little trucks struggling up the steep incline to the town.
A collapsed billboard, its steel legs eaten by the salt in the wind, lay on the side of the road. Kazusa’s Whalesauce, it read, with a faded drawing of a whale frolicking in waves. Kazusa was one of the rare areas in Japan where whaling was still in business, I remembered. Whalesauce was probably some sort of local food or condiment made of whale meat.
I heard the rattling of an engine, and leapt just in time before a truck ran into me. The billboard rattled and clanged on the road as the little tyres of the car threatened to crush my toes. And then it passed me, and turned a corner in a cloud of oily exhaust smoke. Fuck, I whispered, and decided to keep walking.
The majestic Pacific spread before me. Cavalries of white horses crashed at the half-buried concrete blocks in the sand. The dark green beyond faded into a deep blue that stretched all the way to California, or so I imagined. There were no boats or other people by the water. Just me, the ocean, and the blocks that stood solemnly before the waves.
I decided to follow the path along the beach to the next train station, where I would catch the local train again and return to Tokyo. I silently marvelled at how efficient the transport system was that I could go to the open sea and be back by dinner.
A pink shadow in the trees caught my eye. I knew what it was, and jogged towards the shadow. It was a sakura tree that had found itself right by the sea. The whole tree was in full blossom, the pinkish-white petals tickling the air. I approached it, and stopped. The pink was already speckled with the green stubble of budding leaves. It was the end of February. Sakura season was in mid-March. It was too early for the flowers to be in bloom, let alone show its leaves already. I shrugged, chalking it up to warmer weather in the south of the peninsula, and went back to the path that led along the sea.
I had been walking for a few hours when I began to notice more of the Whalesauce billboards. They popped up on guardrails and storefronts, some signs newer than others. I was beginning to grow peckish from my trip and my stomach decided that whatever Whalesauce was, I wanted to try it. So when I saw the words Whalesauce Outlet Store on a shop next to what I assumed was the Whalesauce factory, I made a beeline for it. The corrugated steel sheets on the roof were as rusted as some of the billboards I’d seen, and the whitewashed walls were peeling from the wooden beams. I wondered if it was still even in business.
The sliding doors shuddered on their steel rails as I stepped in. Fluorescent lights and yellowed windows lit up two cramped rows of tables and a freezer lined with products and boxes, each one adorned with the same whale mascot. I took another step in, and the dust hit my nose. I sneezed into my elbow and sniffled, assuming nobody was around.
“Irasshaimase,” whispered somebody. I spun around. A young girl stood behind the counter, nearly obscured by a stack of boxes and a cash register. She stared at me from under heavy, dark hair that obscured most of her eyes. Her grimy blue apron read “Welcome to Kazusa”, and featured the same little whale that was beginning to give me chills. She had heavy makeup and garish lipstick that didn’t belong on a girl her age—she looked barely a teenager.
I nodded slightly, acknowledging her. She looked down at the cluttered counter. I picked up a pack of “Whalesauce”, which despite its name, turned out to be whale jerky, and scooted over to the counter, eager to get out of this dingy store.
“Just this please,” I muttered.
Her eyes shot up.
“Where are you from?” She hissed.
“Tokyo, I’m from—”
“Get out of here. Get out.”
I stepped back. She was glaring at me with unnaturally large pupils, hands clutching the countertop and trembling.
I heard thudding footsteps from behind the counter. She drew a sharp breath and let go of the counter. The anger and urgency in her eyes was replaced by fear.
“Who the fuck is there?”
I dropped the pack of Whalesauce and tried to run, but my knees were locked tight and I stood rooted to the spot as a large brawny man appeared behind the girl. He loomed over her, his skin tanned and scarred and weather-beaten, eyes sunk deep in their sockets. A towel was tied around his greying head. He looked at the girl, and at me, and at the pack on the floor. Muscles bulged and tensed underneath his thin T shirt.
“I’m sorry, I’ll buy it, I was just—”
He grunted and began to walk around the counter. I backed up, hands raised. He caught up to me in three huge strides and held me by the collar.
“What’s a fucking outsider like you doing to my daughter?”
His breath reeked of beer and rancid rot. I looked down at the girl. She was silently staring at her feet, unmoving.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Answer my question.”
“I was just trying to buy some Whalesauce.” I whimpered.
He dropped me onto the hard concrete floor and a jolt ran up my lower back.
A middle-aged lady ran into the store. She had heavy, messy hair that resembled the girl’s, and wore a bloodied apron. Whale blood, I told myself. She rushed to the girl’s side and clutched her shoulders.
“Toshiko! Are you okay?” She screeched. That was the only word I could find to describe her voice—a screech. She glared at me, and shook what I assumed was her daughter.
The man kicked my legs to remind me of his presence.
“That girl has a marriage arranged. Mind your own fucking business.” He spat on me, and watched as I stumbled to my feet.
As I walked out, I glanced over to the girl, who was still being held tight by her mother. I thought I saw tears underneath her heavy bangs.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
Wrong choice.
“Son of a bitch.”
A fist made contact with the back of my head and I flew forwards, almost blacking out with the force. I collided into a shelf of Whalesauce tins. A couple fell on my head and onto the concrete floor with echoing clutters. I looked back, and the man seemed to have doubled in size, a mountain overshadowing me. He lifted one giant foot, ready to stomp on my frail ribs. I tried to scurry to my feet. I stepped on a can, and was sent sprawling again. His foot landed on a tin next to me. It exploded with an ugly squelch.
I crawled away from the cans and rushed out of the door. I looked back at the store, trying to see if the father was following me. Something caught my foot—it was some kind of root. I was sent flying onto a bush.
A pair of huge hands lifted me off the bush and gripped me by the arms. I flailed in the man’s grasp, but his fists only closed tighter. I could feel my bones creaking as he carried me away, away from the Whalesauce factory and towards the sea that had suddenly become a dark, thrashing mass of waves.
The father tied me to a piece of lumber, my hands behind my back and strapped to the log. I screamed and yelled for help as he hauled me and the lumber closer and closer to the ocean, the gusts of wind getting stronger with every step, and feeling the cold sprays of seawater on my face. He swung me over the ledge of a small rocky cliff, and I screamed even harder, thinking he would throw me into the sea. But he didn’t. Instead he stabbed my log into the dirt by the edge, facing the sea, like a crucifix.
“Please don’t do this to me, please,” I tried to shout, but I only managed to burst into tears. I watched the man as he stepped away from me, until he was a few metres away from the cliff. There he stood dead still, staring at me. I tried to loosen the ropes around my body and wriggled about, but he remained silent.
And then his eyes bled. Dark red droplets pooled in his eyelids and trickled down his coarse, stubbled chin. And his fingers began to bleed. His fingernails turned a purplish red, and the same droplets of blood formed in them and dropped by his feet.
As soon as the first drop of blood hit the dirt, the ground began to rumble. A deep growling rumble that reverberated within me and shook me. Rocks in the cliff loosened and fell into the churning waves below, their rattling echoes lost in the storm. The collapse almost happened in slow motion. First the ground beneath me cracked. And then the entire cliff shattered into a huge mass of rocks, no longer supported in the air. With a thudding, deafening roar I fell with the rocks and dirt. I couldn’t use my hands to protect my face. Gravel and dust poured into my mouth. Stones scratched my forehead, threatening to blind me. And the larger rocks tried to crush me whole.
When I stopped dropping and turning and rolling, the cliff had disintegrated into a rocky slope that led down into the sea. I was mere metres from the water, and with every wave, the salt stung my eyes and sickened my stomach. With a huge effort, I rolled my log over so I was looking up at where the ledge was.
The father was staring at me, eyes no longer bleeding. Perhaps checking to see if I was alive. And then another head popped up beside him. It was the mother. She cocked her head to the side, and sat down on the still dusty remnants of the clifftop. Her eyes and fingers also started to bleed. Thick, red beads ran down her cheeks. She held one hand over the rocks, and the drops landed in the ocean below.
It was not the ground this time. It was the sea.
As if she were summoning the tide, the waves inched closer to the rocks as she stared into me with those red, blood-soaked eyes. The water continued to rise. The rocks I was on were now isolated from the rest of the debris, creating a small island for me and my piece of lumber. Could this wood keep me afloat, I wondered. Probably not. My feet touched the waves. The impact of the water stung, and drained my warmth. A huge wave crashed into the rocks, and I was submerged, seeing nothing but the black water and floating debris and the precious bubbles that escaped from my mouth as I tried to scream. And then I was back on the rock. I coughed out briny seawater and vomited into the ocean.
The water had stopped rising. I looked up with a struggle. The two had left the clifftop and were nowhere to be found.
I stopped yelling for help, exhausted, and soon it turned dark. My feet were still underwater, and the coldness drained me. I slowly blacked out.
-——————————————————
Some hours. Or days maybe. Passed.
It was dark. The water had calmed while I was knocked out.
I felt a presence near my island. I turned my log over to face the sea, and froze. There was a huge, inky fin jutting out of the water next to me. A shark. It had to be. I tried to scream for help, but all I managed was a hoarse croak. But the shark didn’t attack—it barely even moved. And then it slowly sank into the water, leaving only a few bubbles behind.
I sighed, and closed my eyes, trying to go back to sleep, trying to get my heart to calm down, telling it that there was a good chance I would make it out alive since I hadn’t been killed yet. The words failed. I opened my eyes.
I was met with one giant eyeball. Almost as big as a hand.
It almost looked like an open geode. Like coloured rings of quartz, celestine and amethyst, rimmed with black and grey. I stared into that single eye, bewitched, wanting to see more colours and to dive into the concentric circles. And then it blinked. Slowly, deliberately. Pressing together its lip-like eyelids. My eyelids followed.
When I opened my eyes again, the thing was already swimming away from me. It took one last leisurely look at my limp body. I noticed its jaws—not pointed like a shark’s, but smooth and sleek and meeting right near its eyes. The creature’s skin was scratched and scarred, but it had a rubbery sheen to it. And on its side was a white pattern that marked its skin in a swooping motion.
It was a whale. An enormous whale that had decided to take a close look at me. The whale sighed, or so it seemed to me, and disappeared beneath the quiet waves.
-——————————————————
I woke up to the crazy father and mother from the night before. I shrieked and recoiled, rolling over the log that I was still strapped to. The father clicked his tongue in irritation.
“Shut the fuck up.” He ordered, and toyed with a knife that looked gigantic even in his burly hands. I screamed even more. These people were here to kill me at last. He took his knife, and slashed at the log. The rope binding me began to slack.
“Why? Where are you going to take me?”
“I said shut the fuck up.”
“We’re letting you go.” Added the mother. Who had tried to kill me with a stormy ocean. But something about their irritated tone seemed genuine. I stopped resisting. If they were going to kill me, there was nothing I could do about it.
They unbound my ropes as she had said, and I got to my feeble feet. They were numb and frozen from being stuck in the water for half the night. But I had a chance of being freed now.
“Why?” I risked asking. They both shot ugly glares at me before giving me an answer.
“Toshiko’s fiancé isn’t interested in you.”
A thought struck me.
“The… whale?”
They looked at each other.
“The fuck do you think?” The man said finally.
I climbed up the collapsed cliff with the help of some ropes that the parents had used to climb down. I was back at the Whalesauce factory.
I walked around to the storefront so that I could go back to the road, and bid farewell to this place that had nearly killed me multiple times. Toshiko was near the entrance, staring away from me. I tried to pass by her unnoticed, when she whispered something to me.
“Don’t try to save me. I don’t need to be saved. I don’t want to be saved.”
I looked down.
Her fingernails were bleeding.