Sorry for your loss, Japan
Silken Hankie and the Angry Gods
Amongst rows of women huddling under thick floral printed blankets, Nao looks minute and young. One has arms around her, speaking slowly and quietly, as though energy might spin her out of her incomprehensible grief. Nao looks up at the sky and wonders if her parents are up there, and prays that they don’t send snow down to express their grief. She rubs at the silken handkerchief in her hand and holds it against her cheek. It smells of fresh laundry and her mother.
When the earth began to growl and tremble, the milk in her cup had started to swirl in pretty patterns. Her mother ran out the kitchen in alarm, her pretty eyes wide and anxious.
“Get under the table! Get under there now,” she shouted, wrapping her arms around Nao and dropping her on the floor.
Nao crawled under the table and worried about the milk and her favourite cup. She watched as her mother ran into the room, shouting for her father and sometimes about nothing at all. There was a flurry of voices, wild with panic and suddenly she couldn’t hear them at all. Her father’s prized teacup collection fell off the mantelpiece and brown bits flew everywhere. She hugged her knees and huddled into a ball, trying her very best to pretend that the loud noises weren’t there. She rubbed her fingers against the silken hankie in her pocket and rocked, and rocked and rocked. It wasn’t until the whole house began collapsing and she heard her mother shouting for the last time that she started to cry.
After the last plate fell out of the cupboard, and everything fell silent, she fell gently asleep.
After people came to rescue her, Nao closes her eyes and leans on the lady beside her, as though after opening her eyes again, she’d transform into someone Nao knew. As she gradually feels time coming to a halt and everything around her slows down, she heard the lady mutter, “Poor girl, poor, poor girl. Her parents never got out alive.”
