Chapter 1: prologue 1

To dive into the bottom of the dark sea, to finally accost my own past, I wrote this story…

 

I arrived at a port in Souma City, Fukushima Prefecture.

 

The moment I swung the car door open, I could smell the ocean. From far and near, the air carried the sound of countless waves rolling. A lonely spring gull cried, a solitary white spot in the gray cloudy sky. Specks of snow flitted the sky, the remnants of winter in the chilly March breeze. The breeze which blew across the deserted harbor, across the cracks and scars of the earthquake.

 

Shimizu, my childhood friend, was waiting for me on a small boat, bobbing some distance down the pier. He was a man of big stature, giant in the small craft, easily recognizable from even far out. He had grown in the past year. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that a bear had wandered into the harbor. He finally noticed me when I got close. He smiled, just like the grin of Ebisu, one of the Seven Gods of Fortune.He had a kind, friendly face that didn’t match his physique.

 

“Yacchan!” He cried my name.

 

He hopped back on to the pier and gave me a bear hug, quite literally. The scene was worthy of the caption “Man attacked by a bear.” But that was how Shimizu was, all smiles and fierce skinship.

 

Although I was quite happy to receive such an expression of affection.

 

“Long time no see, Shimizu.” I returned his tight hug, and patted his happily bulging flanks.

 

He finally let go of me and said with a distant look. “It has been four years.”

 

“It has been four years…”

 

Tears threatened to well my eyes as my memory surged back in time.

 

The boat was a single-seated, roofed boat. Shimizu sat in the cockpit, while I sat behind him, using the case of my luggage as a chair. With a box of broken items in my arms, the engine roared and we took off.

 

The ship cut through the dull blue sea, spraying white sprays which gave off metallic glow when caught light. The harbor distanced, then lost its thin outline from the horizon, instead, the Abukuma Highlands rose, black wave-like rage against the gray clouds.

About forty minutes later, the boat came to a stop. There was nothing around us, but the vast expanse of gray-blue. I checked the coordinates on GPS.

 

37°49′99 North, 141°9′41 East

 

A perfect match to the location according to the Fukushima Fishing Union.

 

We started prepping for the dive. I laid out our wetsuits, masks, fins, and tanks. I had just gotten certified as an open diver in Okinawa only for this purpose. Shimizu, a diver of higher rank, checked my gear.

 

With a thumbs up, he dived into the water with vigor. I remembered swimming lessons in elementary school. Shimizu was the type of person to jump in head first since then, bold as an angel. On the other hand, I was as meticulous as a devil, or put simply, timid. The water was warmer than I expected, but it still made my slim body shiver in no time.

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Shimizu swam up to me and asked worriedly. “Yacchan, you alright? Your lips are already purple.”

 

“Eh? Already?”  Even I myself was appalled at how frail my body was. “I’ll be fine. Probably.”

 

Even through diving goggles, I recognized his doubtful look.

 

“Follow me, I’ll lead.” He bit the regulator and dove beneath the surface.

 

I awkwardly followed him to the deep world of blue.

 

The rippling and the laps of wave against the boat became inaudible, my own breaths and the rising bubbles filled the almost-silent world instead.

 

Shimizu was five meters down, I dove after him, leaving the glowing blue of the surface. When I was a meter deep, I popped my ears for the third time. First was when I was submerged, the second when I propelled downwards.

 

The visibility was poor, mostly due to the cloudy weather. There were no fish in sight, save for a single Kue. Shimizu was diving deeper and deeper. Afraid that I would lose him, I carefully threaded the surfacing silvery-white bubbles. The action reminded me of Hansel and Gretel tracing the pebbles in the moonlight.

 

The deeper we went, the deeper blue the sea was. In the dark silence, flakes of detritus fell like upside-down snow.

 

Just like salt crystals, I thought.

 

Salt—to most people, was just a seasoning. Salty white grains in a small glass bottle. A necessity of life that makes a lackluster salad taste good, that people put on to pull out the sweetness in watermelon.

 

But to me, salt was more special—it meant death, it meant time, it meant life.

 

The strange fate that I have had gave a special meaning to salt to me.

 

As I dived deeper and deeper, my mind naturally excavated my past. My heart went back in time fifteen years. I thought I heard music drifting in the depths.

 

Beautiful piano notes…

 

Frederic Chopin, Op. 10, No 3, “Farewell”.

 

This was a story that began and ended with tears.

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