Sacred Cesium Ground and Isa's Deluge

by Kimura Yūsuke

  “We haven’t done any work over here since the disasters. So, many bags are buried under here.”

  “Bags?”

  “Bags. The ones that the cattle feed comes in. Right after the nuclear plant exploded, when there were still incredibly high levels of radiation, Sendō-san forced his way out here and set out feed for the cattle. He couldn’t stay very long so just left them there in the open. Those open bags.”

  “So, things were really as bad as that, then …” Which means, where I am standing right now has formed, like a geological layer, only in the time since the meltdown.

  The other side of the bog was the usual ankle-deep mud but much firmer than what we had just come through. The old cowshed was to the right of the narrow path we were walking on, a stand of trees was off to the left as we walked up the slope. I remembered then the stench where we had just been. I asked her about it. I knew that Yasuda had been feeding the dogs and cats left behind in the evacuation zone. That’s when she had come across, in one of the barns, a lone cow on the verge of death. I asked about it, wondering if the stench I had just encountered felt the same as what she had gotten from that barn full of death.

  “Ohh, that, well, I don’t have words for that.…” Her eyes were downcast. “These cows, they carry four or five hundred kilograms, you know. That mass of flesh, well, it rots and dissolves away, and … I don’t know how many dozens of them there were, like bodies in a big tub, full of piss.”

  “Oh my …”

  “Like a punch in the nose, it was. With every breath, it felt like a vile liquid working its way inside you. The other guy who was with me started to gag.… You want me to go on with this?”

  “Well, I guess so …”

  “All the air, it was black.”

  “Black?”

  “With flies.”

  “Flies? …”

  “There were so many flies the air looked black. So many, when you breathed they came into your nostrils. You couldn’t open your eyes. On the walls, on the ground at your feet, big fat maggots, everywhere. You couldn’t walk without stepping on them; when you stepped on them they would go pop, pop. It was awful. With every step, I thought I was going to slip and take a spill into all that.”

  I had nothing to say.

  “Right up there, that’s where he was. Leaning, about to fall, but that cow was still clinging to life somehow. Still alive, he seemed, but right next to him were his companions filled out nearly to bursting with gas, him with the piss and shit up to his shoulders. Hollow eyes. Those eyes, as though he was already far on the other side of hopeless despair and pain.… I wondered what he might be thinking. It haunts me still.”

  “So, what did you do?”

  “Yeah … my God, totally focused and gave it all I had. I had to do something, somehow. I found some water for him. I gave him some of the hay that remained outside the barns. But it was too late. The next time I came he was gone. Whether he had died or was put to sleep, I don’t know, but someone had cleaned up.”

  She had been speaking plainly; she then turned right onto the path and continued down the hill. More pasture was visible down the slope, off to the left. It seemed to be the area that I had been looking at from Sonoda’s back porch.

  “Some people say, ‘They were being raised to be killed anyway.’ Even the guys at the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries, whose job it is to take care of livestock after all, were talking about the irradiated cattle as ‘living debris.’ ”

  “I read something similar in Sendō’s book—how frustrated he was: ‘They talk about them like stuff made in factories.’ ”

  “That’s what those guys seem to think. Whether fish, or forests, or stuff from mines, anything other than humans are all just ‘resources’ to those people.”

  This talk reminded me of the temporary staffing company where I used to work. We were always talking about “human resources” or “human capital,” but these were actual people, and whether for good or for ill, they were being used as “resources.”

  “But if they really saw all of this right before their eyes, could they just act as though it’s so simple, could they really just say ‘kill them all’? There used to be thirty-five hundred head of cattle within twenty kilometers of the nuclear plant. Of those, about eight hundred remain. About sixteen hundred of them were culled, the rest died of starvation or who knows what. Add to that twenty-seven hundred head of cattle all the other animals that were exterminated, the tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands probably, of pigs and chickens, and then all the cats and dogs that died … I mean, enough of this, I can’t stand any more of this, this allowing things to die.”

  I had no words to say. The outrageousness of what she had witnessed weighed so heavily, it jammed up my thought processes, shut down my emotions. Even so, having listened to all of this, I remained unable to even imagine the actual stench that she had encountered. I was finally able to get out, “Yasuda-san, you care really deeply for these animals, don’t you?”

  She laughed quietly. “That’s because ever since I was little animals have helped me. In tough times and sad times I have taken care of them and am reminded of them. And now, well, here I am, I too am in this place.”

  “In this place?”

  “Yes, here I am in this world, just like them, here I am with this physical body, same as them. There are times when I get wrapped up in my own little things and tend to forget this. Perhaps I have just grown cold and cutoff. But then the animals draw close, and they are affectionate; in those moments I feel my heart open again to the world. I am reminded how they too are living, which means I too am living; they help me see it.”

  “I think I know what you mean.”

  “I mean, as far as I am concerned, animals provide humans with an important something that connects them to the world out there. They are not simply ‘resources,’ not even ‘healing helpers.’ ” She came to a halt at the bottom of the hill. “So, here we are, here is where we used to place the cows that had died of sickness or accident.”

  She pointed to the open area in front of us. It had been forbidden to bury irradiated animals, so it was open like this. Short grass sprouted from the spongy earth in this area that got little sun. She moved forward toward the grassy area. “Here. This is it, the graveyard. They were all placed here.” There were no markers of course, not even any mounds, just a craggy, exposed surface. Scattered across the ground was a confusion of white cattle bones. I reflexively brought my hands together in a position of prayer. “Off in the distance over there are three more cows, not yet buried.” Looking in the direction she indicated I saw two dark heaps. “But I need to be getting back. But go ahead, look around.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I appreciate your bringing me this far.” I stared at the skeletons of the cows scattered across the ground, among the puddles. Horns attached to skulls, backbones attached to pelvises, rib bones. Limbs with gray skin still attached but turned inside out, like pants in the process of being peeled off. Legs that appeared to have been torn from their sockets, nothing but bone to the knee while below the knee looking no different from when they were alive. Hooves unchanged. In that moment they looked like human legs. I had to look away.

  I made my way to the pasture encircled by electric fence. A group of cattle were gathered off to the right. Some were squared off and locking horns; some were running as though in a race. This scene was at complete odds with what I had just witnessed at the bottom of the depression in the pasture.

  I cut across the meadow. Passing through the fence on the other side of the pasture brought me in front of a hillock with a stand of trees. A large river was visible through the trees, flowing below. Just as I arrived at the hillock a powerful bang rang through the air. Water birds took to wing from the surface of the water and fanned out toward the far shore. Trees grew on the hillock on the other side as well, beyond which the mountains could be seen gradually rising. I could not help but think how undulating, fertile, and rich is this l
and.

  I drew in a lungful of air and headed toward the heap off to my left. More carcasses were just beyond the fence—a very large cow in front, a medium-sized cow just beyond. I had understood her to say that there were three cows over here, but I was not finding the third one. Timidly, palms together in respect, I walked closer.

  They were both dark brown, now faded; they looked unkempt of course, but the bodies were otherwise unchanged. Spots of white bird shit. The cow in front of me had splendid horns; its front and back legs were neatly folded under; it sat in calm repose, head extended and reaching forward. And those eyes, picked clean by the crows I assumed, were now just black hollow holes. Nostrils flared wide; the ever-so-slightly open mouth revealed a glimpse of bottom teeth. The fur of one flank seemed scraped clean to reveal red-black skin. The cow further back lay turned on its side, with only its chin facing the sky. Its front legs were folded under while the rear legs stuck straight out. The well-rounded flank might have been simply the shape of the rib cage, or it may have been the result of gas buildup. I didn’t know which. Its anus gaped open like a cave. I was imagining the various insects making their way in and out of that opening—something I didn’t really want to think about.

  I found myself staring. I had forgotten to breathe. I was beset by a dread I couldn’t identify. Eyes. Nose. Mouth. Buttocks. From those gaping holes, looking out from the gaping darkness, an unfathomable black snakelike something seemed to be slithering out.

  I looked away. I turned to walk back. I caught something from the corner of my eye. Something seemed to be moving. I looked down to find a small dark insect, not quite cricket, not quite spider, in the hole that used to be one of that big cow’s eyes. Creepy long-folded legs, wingless, smooth humped back, resembling a camel-backed cricket, but with only two legs and no antennae. And worse, no discernible eyes or mouth. This black, lusterless insect, unconcerned, halting next to the hole, turned its body toward me.

  Cautious, tense, I drew closer to look at this bizarre creature. Only to reflexively jump straight up, cover my mouth and nose with my hand, and hurry away as quickly as I could. It had turned the tip of the long thin needle protruding from its ass, turned my way, like a blind man’s cane, as though searching for the openings in my body.

  I crossed the electric fence and intended to return by cutting through the pasture only to find that out of somewhere had come a group of cows that now blocked my path. Every single cow stood with its eyes on me. A shout rose in my throat. I came to a stop. The early afternoon light backlit the outlines of their bodies, provided luster to the russet and dark brown of their fur. We stood for a long period of intense concentration, the cows and I gazing at each other.

  Until one of the larger cows in the center lowered its head and walked my way. At which point all the rest—there must have been thirty of them—sauntered over in my direction.

  I wanted to take off running, to escape, but I was frozen in place. It occurred to me that I could wave my hands and shout as I had back in the barn, but I also feared that such provocation might have the opposite effect; then what would I do? I remained as stiff as a rod; they stopped about two meters in front of me, but without ending the intense stares in my direction. To intimidate me? To make fun of me? Some of them pawed with their front legs and shook their massive heads.

  Maybe this is the end. Seeing no other options I experimented with cautious sidesteps, squarely facing them still. They turned their heads and followed me with their eyes but showed no inclination to come my way. Continuing with these crab steps allowed me to put some distance between them and me. It seemed okay. I changed direction and quickly stepped toward the electric fence on the far side. After some distance I turned to find that they had gathered in front of the carcasses of their fallen comrades. Their heads extended over the fence, sniffing, as if engaged in an act of mourning. At that point one of the cows took off running along the fence; the others chased after, raising tremors from the earth.

  Eventually I felt my body relax; I thought I was going to melt into the ground. Returning by the road I had come it became clear to me that over there, enclosed though it might be by electric fencing, was their world, no place for humans. This was followed by a single thought that now gripped me. What if they were to throw off all the yokes that had been placed around their necks by the humans, what if they awoke to all the anger around them? What if they chose to run amok, to fight for their own right to live and for their own dignity?

  “Run amok …?” I felt confounded by what I was thinking. Why, I was asking myself, would an expression of their anger be understood as “crazy”? An anger that pushes one to deviate from the normal course? An expression of anger by those that have been pushed that far may indeed appear as craziness to distant onlookers. At the same time, are there not also occasions when one must go a little crazy? So it seemed to me, even though there was much that I didn’t understand. I thought of Sendō and his “I would rather starve to death first.”

  I was lost in such thoughts as I passed the old cowshed; walking through the muddy, swampy area is when it happened. The earth heaved. The next moment I found myself in the mud, like I had been thrown. I had outstretched both arms to brace myself only to find I was now submerged up to my ears in mud that smelled like pus from a festering abscessed tooth. Some must have gotten into my mouth because a sour, bitter sort of flavor was spreading across my tongue. In a panic I pulled myself to my hands and knees. My hands were covered in filth, so I couldn’t even wipe my face. I had no idea what had happened. I remembered the sensation of a foot missing its mark; it seemed that I had thrust my foot into a deep hole obscured by the mud and lost my balance.

  Dumbfounded, I couldn’t stand up. Somehow, from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Yasuda-san peering into my face, her face twisted with concern. She was cradling my head, calling out something, trying to be encouraging. I had just become one of those cows that she had tried to aid in the past, covered in shit and piss beside the melting body of comrades, hollow-eyed and awaiting death.

  Someone’s voice boomed in the back of my head. At first I took it for the sound of Kazumasa in anger, but that wasn’t it. It was a voice I thought had been entirely forgotten; it was that of my father while he was still alive. My father, when he was drunk, would chase after me. I never got on with his second wife. He’d drag me from the closet, or from the shadow of whatever I had hidden behind, and lay into me with both fists. “You worthless little shit, nothing but worthless.” His northern accent would come down as thick as his fists.

  My scream was just a small squeak. The world began to spin; my eyes would not focus. When I came to again I found it there before my eyes, right below my face, expressing no volition in the matter, brimming with life and death, glittering like gold dust, reflecting the sun’s rays: mudshit.

  Sendō and Mitani, with Miku Mari and her entourage, pushed through in my direction. Miku Mari was leaning heavily on the shoulder of the guy who appeared to be her manager. Her yellow Wellingtons, so nicely patterned with white waterdrops, were giving her trouble in the mud. She grumbled and complained: “Oohh myyyy gaaawd this smells soooo baaad. It is the worst smell everrrr. Yu-u-u-uck. It’s the worst everrrr.” All the other men and women in the group were shrieking and moaning as they walked in this direction. Sendō was directing them, apparently in the direction of the cattle graveyard. When he saw me he called, “Hey, what happened to you? You all right?”

  That’s when the rest of them, looking like a bunch of kids enjoying themselves on a theme-park ride, noticed me, now the same color as the mud, crying. They turned to me with eyes the size of dinner plates.

  I can’t say I felt any particular emotion toward these people in that moment. I felt only a blankness. I knew nothing except the imagery of a second before, of fists coming my way, of mudshit, of being transported back to childhood. So, who knows what possessed me to shakily stand up, to say, “Look at this!” having scooped up the mud with both hands, and to
start walking toward Miku Mari. “Look at this! Take a good look at this! You see this? This is evidence of life. It is proof of life.…”

  I kept talking. And this mudshit, this cesium mudshit, this filled-to-the-brim proof-of-cows-that-had-lived-and-had-been-abandoned—I thrust it before her eyes. And then I was screaming that wail again. It welled from deep within, came pouring forth, strained and extreme, a scream as long as I had breath.

  At seven that night I walked Yasuda-san to the door; she had to leave early. Sonoda-san had taken pity on my plight. Given what a mess I had become she made the bath in her house available for me. I then went straight over to join the others, who had completed their tasks for the day. The sweatshirt and jeans under my windbreaker had gotten a little muddy but not so badly, fortunately, that I could not wear them. My phone, in my pocket, seemed unharmed. I was sad that I had arrived too late to say good-bye to Sonoda and Takizawa, who had left earlier than usual, while I was still in the bath.

  “You cooked for us, even though it is your first time here! Many thanks.” Yasuda bowed her head in gratitude. I nodded back, taken by surprise.

  “Hardly—I appreciate your care over these three days.”

  “No, no. It’s you who went out of your way to help us here, it’s you who helped us. Pretty serious physical labor, I know, but please, come back anytime.”

  “Thanks. I will definitely be back.” I meant it.

  Yasuda then looked toward Sendō, whose voice could be heard from the living room. “Seems he’s having fun in there,” she said, laughing. “Today was fun, with all those people around. But after all the volunteers have gone home he seems to get sort of lonely and deflated.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, as he watches demolition videos on YouTube.”