The big one

Before moving to Japan in 1987 I went to a bookstore in Australia to find out more about the country I knew mainly for its geisha girls, samurai and sushi. I remember reading a description of the 1923 earthquake that hit in the wrong place – near Tokyo – at the wrong time: it was the lunch hour, and people were cooking over fires. About 40,000 residents of the city fled to an open area, presumably to find safety from falling buildings. They were incinerated.

The article noted that a large earthquake strikes Japan approximately every 60 years. That fact, combined with the graphic description of the 1923 earthquake which killed an estimated 140,000 people, almost made me change my mind about moving there. I did end up going, and left 17 years ago. By that time the big one was overdue.

Sometimes the earth moves and there's that pleasurable little death, as the French refer to it. And sometimes the earth moves and there's horrific, big death.