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~~After the disaster, before the disaster – a short story~~	After the disaster, before the disaster – a short story by David Peace
2012-03-09 23:20:07 UTC	2012-03-11 12:50:25 UTC (1 day later)
In an emergency such as this earthquake, art is useless, to say the least. Our recent experience only helped expose the ultimate futility of all artistic endeavours. – Ruminations on the Earthquake, Kikuchi Kan, 1923	In an emergency such as this earthquake, art is useless, to say the least. Our recent experience only helped expose the ultimate futility of all artistic endeavours. – Ruminations on the Earthquake, Kikuchi Kan, 1923
After the disaster, Ryunosuke lived for four more years.	After the disaster, Ryunosuke lived for four more years.
Before the disaster, Ryunosuke had been in his study in his home in Tabata, in the north of Tokyo. Throughout the morning, there had been brief showers and a strong wind while Ryunosuke read newspaper reports on the formation of a new cabinet under Count Yamamoto. Just before noon, he had finished the last article and lit a cigarette when he felt a slight vibration. Moments later, his house was shaking to an extraordinary degree and Ryunosuke could hear tiles falling from the roof above him and his family screaming from other rooms below him. But the shaking did not subside, as was usual, and the motion continued to intensify. Ryunosuke put out his cigarette. He tried to stand but the floor tilted and rolled again beneath his feet, so he was forced to sit back down at his desk. Then, at last, the waves of shocks seemed to lessen and Ryunosuke could finally stand and join his family outside in the garden.	Before the disaster, Ryunosuke had been in his study in his home in Tabata, in the north of Tokyo. Throughout the morning, there had been brief showers and a strong wind while Ryunosuke read newspaper reports on the formation of a new cabinet under Count Yamamoto. Just before noon, he had finished the last article and lit a cigarette when he felt a slight vibration. Moments later, his house was shaking to an extraordinary degree and Ryunosuke could hear tiles falling from the roof above him and his family screaming from other rooms below him. But the shaking did not subside, as was usual, and the motion continued to intensify. Ryunosuke put out his cigarette. He tried to stand but the floor tilted and rolled again beneath his feet, so he was forced to sit back down at his desk. Then, at last, the waves of shocks seemed to lessen and Ryunosuke could finally stand and join his family outside in the garden.
His wife, his children, and his aunt all rushed to Ryunosuke and clung so desperately to him that he feared he would fall over as, monotonously, he repeated, "It's okay. It's okay," while thinking, It's not okay. It's not okay. For still now, in the garden, the ground continued to rumble, continued to sway, heaving and tossing, the air filled with the fog of a smothering dust and the screams of grinding timbers.	His wife, his children, and his aunt all rushed to Ryunosuke and clung so desperately to him that he feared he would fall over as, monotonously, he repeated, "It's okay. It's okay," while thinking, It's not okay. It's not okay. For still now, in the garden, the ground continued to rumble, continued to sway, heaving and tossing, the air filled with the fog of a smothering dust and the screams of grinding timbers.
After the disaster, the official record would state that the Great Kanto Earthquake had started at 11:58 a.m. on Saturday, September 1, 1923, and stopped after four minutes.	After the disaster, the official record would state that the Great Kanto Earthquake had started at 11:58 a.m. on Saturday, September 1, 1923, and stopped after four minutes.
After those four minutes had passed, his wife and his aunt immediately began to bring essential provisions and the family's most valued possessions out of the house. They lined them up in the garden. His wife suggested Ryunosuke do the same with his most treasured books. Ryunosuke went back inside to his study. Many things had fallen or moved since he had last sat at his desk. He righted piles of books. He straightened sheets of paper. Then for some time Ryunosuke stared around the room at his collection of books, wondering which to save and which to forsake: Baudelaire or Strindberg? Flaubert or Dostoyevsky? But Ryunosuke did not want to read poetry. He did not want to read drama. He did not want to read short stories or novels. Ryunosuke picked up a volume by Voltaire. He put it back down. He picked up a volume by Rousseau. He put it back down. Finally he picked up the Bible and The Communist Manifesto. Ryunosuke took them out to the garden. He pulled a leaf off a basho plant. He put the leaf on the dirt of the ground. Then he put the two books on the green of the leaf. His wife and his aunt both looked at him with contempt. Ryunosuke could not tell if their disdain was directed at his choice of books or at his treatment of the plant. Or maybe it was not contempt. Maybe it was fear –	After those four minutes had passed, his wife and his aunt immediately began to bring essential provisions and the family's most valued possessions out of the house. They lined them up in the garden. His wife suggested Ryunosuke do the same with his most treasured books. Ryunosuke went back inside to his study. Many things had fallen or moved since he had last sat at his desk. He righted piles of books. He straightened sheets of paper. Then for some time Ryunosuke stared around the room at his collection of books, wondering which to save and which to forsake: Baudelaire or Strindberg? Flaubert or Dostoyevsky? But Ryunosuke did not want to read poetry. He did not want to read drama. He did not want to read short stories or novels. Ryunosuke picked up a volume by Voltaire. He put it back down. He picked up a volume by Rousseau. He put it back down. Finally he picked up the Bible and The Communist Manifesto. Ryunosuke took them out to the garden. He pulled a leaf off a basho plant. He put the leaf on the dirt of the ground. Then he put the two books on the green of the leaf. His wife and his aunt both looked at him with contempt. Ryunosuke could not tell if their disdain was directed at his choice of books or at his treatment of the plant. Or maybe it was not contempt. Maybe it was fear –
"Look! Look! Look," shouted his eldest son, Hiroshi, pointing at the sky.	"Look! Look! Look," shouted his eldest son, Hiroshi, pointing at the sky.
From the gate of their house on the hill, Ryunosuke and his family saw thick black clouds of smoke rising from the fires that now were raging across the lower parts of the city. Ryunosuke and his family knew they had been spared the worst of the quake and, so far, the ravages of the flames. A few loose tiles had slid off their roof and smashed on the ground. A stone lantern near the gate had toppled over and broken into pieces. Ryunosuke gathered up the fragments of the tiles. He stacked them neatly in a pile. But then the ground shook again and the pile collapsed. Ryunosuke stared at the fragments of the roof tiles and then at the four pieces of the stone lantern. He tried to right the base of the lantern but it was too heavy to lift. He left the fragments and the pieces lying where they had fallen.	From the gate of their house on the hill, Ryunosuke and his family saw thick black clouds of smoke rising from the fires that now were raging across the lower parts of the city. Ryunosuke and his family knew they had been spared the worst of the quake and, so far, the ravages of the flames. A few loose tiles had slid off their roof and smashed on the ground. A stone lantern near the gate had toppled over and broken into pieces. Ryunosuke gathered up the fragments of the tiles. He stacked them neatly in a pile. But then the ground shook again and the pile collapsed. Ryunosuke stared at the fragments of the roof tiles and then at the four pieces of the stone lantern. He tried to right the base of the lantern but it was too heavy to lift. He left the fragments and the pieces lying where they had fallen.
That afternoon, first his half brother and his family arrived, then his sister and her family. Both his half brother and his sister had lost their homes in the fires following the earthquake. Both their families were now homeless. Ryunosuke, as first-born son and head of the family, now opened up his home to his half brother, his sister, and their families. Later that long afternoon, they were joined by the son of one of his wife's relatives from Honjo, on the eastern bank of the Sumida River; he had been standing with a shutter over his head, to ward off the sparks from the flames, when he was picked up by a whirlwind caused by the fires and then dropped in the pond of the Yasuda garden. He was the only one of his family of nine to survive. Before moving to Tabata, Ryunosuke and his family had also lived in Honjo. Had we not moved, thought Ryunosuke, then surely we would all be dead now, too.	That afternoon, first his half brother and his family arrived, then his sister and her family. Both his half brother and his sister had lost their homes in the fires following the earthquake. Both their families were now homeless. Ryunosuke, as first-born son and head of the family, now opened up his home to his half brother, his sister, and their families. Later that long afternoon, they were joined by the son of one of his wife's relatives from Honjo, on the eastern bank of the Sumida River; he had been standing with a shutter over his head, to ward off the sparks from the flames, when he was picked up by a whirlwind caused by the fires and then dropped in the pond of the Yasuda garden. He was the only one of his family of nine to survive. Before moving to Tabata, Ryunosuke and his family had also lived in Honjo. Had we not moved, thought Ryunosuke, then surely we would all be dead now, too.
And again the earth shook, again a strong aftershock, and again tiles fell from the roof of the house, as again his family rushed to Ryunosuke, hanging anxiously on to him, his half brother, his sister, and their families, too. And so tightly did they all hold on to his yukata that Ryunosuke feared he would be strangled in their clutches.	And again the earth shook, again a strong aftershock, and again tiles fell from the roof of the house, as again his family rushed to Ryunosuke, hanging anxiously on to him, his half brother, his sister, and their families, too. And so tightly did they all hold on to his yukata that Ryunosuke feared he would be strangled in their clutches.
That evening, the head of the Neighbourhood Association called on Ryunosuke and his family. The head of the neighbourhood association asked Ryunosuke if he and his family were all healthy and well, their house habitable and safe. Then the head of the neighbourhood association told Ryunosuke that martial law had been proclaimed, that all troops in Tokyo had been mobilised, and that anyone refusing to comply with requisition orders would be subject to three years' imprisonment or a 3,000-yen fine. Now the head of the neighbourhood association asked Ryunosuke if he, as a Good Citizen, would join their newly formed local Committee of Vigilance, so he, as a Good Citizen, could help safeguard their neighbourhood during this period of uncertainty and upheaval. Ryunosuke, as a Good Citizen, nodded. Now the head of the neighbourhood association handed Ryunosuke a helmet. And Ryunosuke, as a Good Citizen, put it on.	That evening, the head of the Neighbourhood Association called on Ryunosuke and his family. The head of the neighbourhood association asked Ryunosuke if he and his family were all healthy and well, their house habitable and safe. Then the head of the neighbourhood association told Ryunosuke that martial law had been proclaimed, that all troops in Tokyo had been mobilised, and that anyone refusing to comply with requisition orders would be subject to three years' imprisonment or a 3,000-yen fine. Now the head of the neighbourhood association asked Ryunosuke if he, as a Good Citizen, would join their newly formed local Committee of Vigilance, so he, as a Good Citizen, could help safeguard their neighbourhood during this period of uncertainty and upheaval. Ryunosuke, as a Good Citizen, nodded. Now the head of the neighbourhood association handed Ryunosuke a helmet. And Ryunosuke, as a Good Citizen, put it on.
That night, no one dared to sleep indoors. The ground continued to shake, shattering people's nerves, while the very air itself seemed to choke them, so hot were the temperatures. And more visitors continued to come – to check on their welfare; to borrow their money, eat their food, and drink their water; to share their reports of destruction and fire – Honjo-ku, all burned; Hongo-ku, all burned; Shitaya-ku, all burned; Kojimachi-ku, the Palace and the block south of Hibiya Park safe; the Imperial Hotel and the district south, safe; Koishikawa-ku, the river Edo side burned; Kyobashi-ku, all burned; Shiba-ku, mostly burned; Azabu-ku, partly burned; Ushigome-ku, safe; Yotsuya-ku, mostly safe; Asakusa-ku, all burned; Nihonbashi-ku, all burned; Akasaka-ku, the half toward the city center burned; Fukagawa-ku, all burned – and share, too, their rumors of insurrection and invasion, their accusations of arson and looting, their whispers of murder and rape, their words of death and fear.	That night, no one dared to sleep indoors. The ground continued to shake, shattering people's nerves, while the very air itself seemed to choke them, so hot were the temperatures. And more visitors continued to come – to check on their welfare; to borrow their money, eat their food, and drink their water; to share their reports of destruction and fire – Honjo-ku, all burned; Hongo-ku, all burned; Shitaya-ku, all burned; Kojimachi-ku, the Palace and the block south of Hibiya Park safe; the Imperial Hotel and the district south, safe; Koishikawa-ku, the river Edo side burned; Kyobashi-ku, all burned; Shiba-ku, mostly burned; Azabu-ku, partly burned; Ushigome-ku, safe; Yotsuya-ku, mostly safe; Asakusa-ku, all burned; Nihonbashi-ku, all burned; Akasaka-ku, the half toward the city center burned; Fukagawa-ku, all burned – and share, too, their rumors of insurrection and invasion, their accusations of arson and looting, their whispers of murder and rape, their words of death and fear.
Under the stars, beside his helmet, Ryunosuke lay on the futon between his wife and two sons. He tried to read the Bible. But he could not concentrate. He tried to read The Communist Manifesto. But, again, he could not concentrate. For under the ground, he could feel the earth continue to grind and scream, a gigantic mechanical worm burrowing through caverns and tunnels, pushing the ground up, then pulling it back down in its wake. Ryunosuke imagined the turning gears and spinning cogwheels deep within the metallic body of the beast. And above the ground, he could hear their visitors continue to accuse and whisper. Ryunosuke put his fingers in his ears, his fingers in his eyes, and waited for the dawn.	Under the stars, beside his helmet, Ryunosuke lay on the futon between his wife and two sons. He tried to read the Bible. But he could not concentrate. He tried to read The Communist Manifesto. But, again, he could not concentrate. For under the ground, he could feel the earth continue to grind and scream, a gigantic mechanical worm burrowing through caverns and tunnels, pushing the ground up, then pulling it back down in its wake. Ryunosuke imagined the turning gears and spinning cogwheels deep within the metallic body of the beast. And above the ground, he could hear their visitors continue to accuse and whisper. Ryunosuke put his fingers in his ears, his fingers in his eyes, and waited for the dawn.
❦	❦
After the disaster, that first morning, Ryunosuke was overcome with worry for his friend Yasunari. Yasunari lived in Asakusa and, throughout the long night, all the rumours and whispers Ryunosuke had heard had filled him with dread for the fate of his friend; he saw the delicate, refined face of Yasunari broken and crushed beneath the weight of a building, pale and bloodless, or his thin, hollow frame burned and charred on a mountain of corpses, black and anonymous. And so with a great sense of foreboding and some degree of duplicity, for fear of worrying his wife and family, Ryunosuke set off for the Asakusa area.	After the disaster, that first morning, Ryunosuke was overcome with worry for his friend Yasunari. Yasunari lived in Asakusa and, throughout the long night, all the rumours and whispers Ryunosuke had heard had filled him with dread for the fate of his friend; he saw the delicate, refined face of Yasunari broken and crushed beneath the weight of a building, pale and bloodless, or his thin, hollow frame burned and charred on a mountain of corpses, black and anonymous. And so with a great sense of foreboding and some degree of duplicity, for fear of worrying his wife and family, Ryunosuke set off for the Asakusa area.
The journey from Tabata was not an easy one for there were no streetcars and the roads were clogged with survivors, children strapped to their backs, shouldering enormous bundles or pushing handcarts piled high with their belongings, all heading out of Tokyo, in the opposite direction to Ryunosuke. A military law had already been passed that allowed people to leave Tokyo but forbade others from entering, and so there were soldiers and police on every corner. There were Committees of Vigilance, too, formed by Good and Upright Citizens, all carrying clubs or pipes, sticks or swords, and often wearing helmets similar to the one Ryunosuke now sported. As he walked toward Asakusa, Ryunosuke watched as these committees dragged men from the columns of survivors to accuse them of being non-Japanese, either in blood or spirit, and up to no good. Without fail, these accusations were punctuated by blows from the clubs or pipes, sticks or swords of the Committees of Vigilance. Ryunosuke was certain that had he not been wearing his new helmet then he, too, would have been subjected to such accusations and blows. Or worse.	The journey from Tabata was not an easy one for there were no streetcars and the roads were clogged with survivors, children strapped to their backs, shouldering enormous bundles or pushing handcarts piled high with their belongings, all heading out of Tokyo, in the opposite direction to Ryunosuke. A military law had already been passed that allowed people to leave Tokyo but forbade others from entering, and so there were soldiers and police on every corner. There were Committees of Vigilance, too, formed by Good and Upright Citizens, all carrying clubs or pipes, sticks or swords, and often wearing helmets similar to the one Ryunosuke now sported. As he walked toward Asakusa, Ryunosuke watched as these committees dragged men from the columns of survivors to accuse them of being non-Japanese, either in blood or spirit, and up to no good. Without fail, these accusations were punctuated by blows from the clubs or pipes, sticks or swords of the Committees of Vigilance. Ryunosuke was certain that had he not been wearing his new helmet then he, too, would have been subjected to such accusations and blows. Or worse.
Finally Ryunosuke reached Asakusa. Or the place where Asakusa once had stood. For here the destruction was total; mile after mile of completely burned and still-smoking ruin, from the river in the east in every direction, and everywhere corpses; charred-black corpses, half-burned corpses, corpses sprawling in gutters, corpses floating in rivers, corpses piled up on bridges, corpses blocking off whole streets at intersections. Every manner of death possible to a human being was on display. And everywhere, the stench of death; an odour of rotting apricots that, even through the handkerchief Ryunosuke pressed against his face, burned his nose and scalded his eyes with horror and grief. For now, finally, tears came as he remembered the people and the place Asakusa once had been – the little pleasure stalls, all now cinders, the pots of morning glories, all now withered –	Finally Ryunosuke reached Asakusa. Or the place where Asakusa once had stood. For here the destruction was total; mile after mile of completely burned and still-smoking ruin, from the river in the east in every direction, and everywhere corpses; charred-black corpses, half-burned corpses, corpses sprawling in gutters, corpses floating in rivers, corpses piled up on bridges, corpses blocking off whole streets at intersections. Every manner of death possible to a human being was on display. And everywhere, the stench of death; an odour of rotting apricots that, even through the handkerchief Ryunosuke pressed against his face, burned his nose and scalded his eyes with horror and grief. For now, finally, tears came as he remembered the people and the place Asakusa once had been – the little pleasure stalls, all now cinders, the pots of morning glories, all now withered –
All now harrowed. All now dead.	All now harrowed. All now dead.
And Ryunosuke despaired for Yasunari. But then, at that very moment, he heard the very voice of his friend and Ryunosuke turned; he blinked; he blinked again; he rubbed his eyes with his handkerchief and blinked again. But yes! Yes! It was true! Here, among all this destruction, among all this death, here was Yasunari, alive and unhurt, walking toward him across the rubble, through the smoke, in animated conversation with Kon, another of their friends.	And Ryunosuke despaired for Yasunari. But then, at that very moment, he heard the very voice of his friend and Ryunosuke turned; he blinked; he blinked again; he rubbed his eyes with his handkerchief and blinked again. But yes! Yes! It was true! Here, among all this destruction, among all this death, here was Yasunari, alive and unhurt, walking toward him across the rubble, through the smoke, in animated conversation with Kon, another of their friends.
"I thought you were a ghost. I was sure you were dead," said Ryunosuke.	"I thought you were a ghost. I was sure you were dead," said Ryunosuke.
Yasunari laughed. "Everyone is a ghost now. A ghost or an orphan."	Yasunari laughed. "Everyone is a ghost now. A ghost or an orphan."
Yasunari and Kon were walking up to the Yoshiwara to see what had become of the old pleasure quarter, and they urged Ryunosuke to join them. And as they picked their way through the wasteland, Yasunari never stopped jotting down words in his notebook or recounting his recent adventures and observations –	Yasunari and Kon were walking up to the Yoshiwara to see what had become of the old pleasure quarter, and they urged Ryunosuke to join them. And as they picked their way through the wasteland, Yasunari never stopped jotting down words in his notebook or recounting his recent adventures and observations –
"In the moments after the first great shock, before the fire consumed my lodgings, I was able to salvage some bedding. And so, last night, I slept on that in the park. I even managed to construct a mosquito net. And then, who should crawl under the net beside me, but my landlord's wife and her child …"	"In the moments after the first great shock, before the fire consumed my lodgings, I was able to salvage some bedding. And so, last night, I slept on that in the park. I even managed to construct a mosquito net. And then, who should crawl under the net beside me, but my landlord's wife and her child …"
But when the three friends came upon the Yoshiwara quarter, even Yasunari fell silent in the face of what they saw there.	But when the three friends came upon the Yoshiwara quarter, even Yasunari fell silent in the face of what they saw there.
The Benten Pond was now a cauldron of five hundred corpses, bodies piled upon bodies, some burned and some boiled. Muddy red cloth was strewn up and down the banks, for most of the dead were courtesans. Ryunosuke stood among the smoldering incense, his handkerchief pressed to his face, his eyes fixed upon the corpse of a child of twelve or thirteen years. Now Ryunosuke looked up at the sky, his eyes smarting with the smoke and the sun. He wanted to cry out, to scream at the gods:	The Benten Pond was now a cauldron of five hundred corpses, bodies piled upon bodies, some burned and some boiled. Muddy red cloth was strewn up and down the banks, for most of the dead were courtesans. Ryunosuke stood among the smoldering incense, his handkerchief pressed to his face, his eyes fixed upon the corpse of a child of twelve or thirteen years. Now Ryunosuke looked up at the sky, his eyes smarting with the smoke and the sun. He wanted to cry out, to scream at the gods:
Why? Why? Why was this child ever born, to die like this?	Why? Why? Why was this child ever born, to die like this?
And again, as he had many times before, Ryunosuke saw the image of Christ on the Cross and again he heard the words that haunted him:	And again, as he had many times before, Ryunosuke saw the image of Christ on the Cross and again he heard the words that haunted him:
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?	My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Beside Ryunosuke stood a young boy of a similar age to the corpse. The boy was staring at the body. He stifled a sob. He looked away. But his older brother grabbed his arm, gripped his face, and scolded him. "Look carefully, Akira. If you shut your eyes to a frightening sight, you end up being frightened forever. But if you look everything straight on, then there is nothing to be afraid of."	Beside Ryunosuke stood a young boy of a similar age to the corpse. The boy was staring at the body. He stifled a sob. He looked away. But his older brother grabbed his arm, gripped his face, and scolded him. "Look carefully, Akira. If you shut your eyes to a frightening sight, you end up being frightened forever. But if you look everything straight on, then there is nothing to be afraid of."
Suddenly, Ryunosuke felt the eyes of the young boy upon him. Ryunosuke turned to smile at the child. But when their eyes met, the boy hid his face in the folds of his older brother's clothes. Ryunosuke turned on his heels and marched off. Ryunosuke thought, It would have been better had we all died.	Suddenly, Ryunosuke felt the eyes of the young boy upon him. Ryunosuke turned to smile at the child. But when their eyes met, the boy hid his face in the folds of his older brother's clothes. Ryunosuke turned on his heels and marched off. Ryunosuke thought, It would have been better had we all died.
❦	❦
After the disaster, on the way back to Tabata, under a tangle of scorched electric lines, Ryunosuke fell in step with a policeman. As the two men walked, Ryunosuke questioned the policeman at length about the earthquake, about the fires, and about the various rumours of crimes and insurrection that seemed still to fall from every passing mouth, hanging in the air with the stench of rotting apricots.	After the disaster, on the way back to Tabata, under a tangle of scorched electric lines, Ryunosuke fell in step with a policeman. As the two men walked, Ryunosuke questioned the policeman at length about the earthquake, about the fires, and about the various rumours of crimes and insurrection that seemed still to fall from every passing mouth, hanging in the air with the stench of rotting apricots.
The policeman, perhaps impressed by Ryunosuke's helmet, was talkative but confessed that while he knew many had been accused of malicious or revolutionary acts, he himself had seen no evidence of such deeds.	The policeman, perhaps impressed by Ryunosuke's helmet, was talkative but confessed that while he knew many had been accused of malicious or revolutionary acts, he himself had seen no evidence of such deeds.
Just outside Nippori Station, Ryunosuke and the policeman came across the body of a man tied to a pole, his head beaten in, his body horribly mutilated, with a sign around his neck that declared he was both a Korean and an arsonist. The man must have died by inches and even now, perhaps hours after his slow death, as Ryunosuke and the policeman stood before him, another passerby approached to whack his corpse with a rolled-up parasol. This passerby now turned to Ryunosuke and the policeman; he thanked them for their good work, bowed, and then sauntered off, swinging his now-bloody parasol as he went. The policeman shook his head. He urged Ryunosuke to take care, bade him farewell, and then walked on.	Just outside Nippori Station, Ryunosuke and the policeman came across the body of a man tied to a pole, his head beaten in, his body horribly mutilated, with a sign around his neck that declared he was both a Korean and an arsonist. The man must have died by inches and even now, perhaps hours after his slow death, as Ryunosuke and the policeman stood before him, another passerby approached to whack his corpse with a rolled-up parasol. This passerby now turned to Ryunosuke and the policeman; he thanked them for their good work, bowed, and then sauntered off, swinging his now-bloody parasol as he went. The policeman shook his head. He urged Ryunosuke to take care, bade him farewell, and then walked on.
After the disaster, in the twilight, Ryunosuke remained transfixed before the body of the Korean, the ground still rising and falling. And as Ryunosuke stared at the body of the Korean, at all the bodies of the dead, as he stared across this city of rubble, across this city of smoke, everywhere he saw gears and wheels, translucent against the earth, against the sky, turning and spinning, grinding and screaming.	After the disaster, in the twilight, Ryunosuke remained transfixed before the body of the Korean, the ground still rising and falling. And as Ryunosuke stared at the body of the Korean, at all the bodies of the dead, as he stared across this city of rubble, across this city of smoke, everywhere he saw gears and wheels, translucent against the earth, against the sky, turning and spinning, grinding and screaming.
Four crows landed on adjacent poles. They stared first at the corpse, then at Ryunosuke. Ryunosuke took off his helmet. Ryunosuke bowed his head. The biggest crow lifted its bloody beak heavenward and cawed	Four crows landed on adjacent poles. They stared first at the corpse, then at Ryunosuke. Ryunosuke took off his helmet. Ryunosuke bowed his head. The biggest crow lifted its bloody beak heavenward and cawed
once, twice, a third time	once, twice, a third time
and a fourth.	and a fourth.