Hotaka hurried off, Mr Grumpy calling after him. He broke into a run, desperate to escape the destruction and the suffocating sadness, but especially the looming realisation that Mr Grumpy was probably right. And then those noises were building in his head again, the visions too, and he knew he couldn’t cope if they grew much worse. He ran blindly, bumped into someone and almost fell, but stumbled on, heading west towards the higher part of town.

When he eventually stopped, he was above where the tsunami had reached. Panting to catch his breath, he realised he was next to the town’s main Buddhist temple and Shinto shrine. The torī, the huge gate into the sacred area, towered over him. His gaze fell upon the kanetsukidō, the bell house, its four wooden pillars reaching up to a pitched roof. Inside hung the bonsho, a bronze bell about a metre and a half in height. Covered in decorations and inscriptions, the ancient bell gave Hotaka a strange sense of calm and security. He’d heard it said that the Buddha is within the bonsho.

The temple precinct was crowded. People were seeking shelter and comfort there, food and clothes were being distributed, and endless services were being conducted for the dead. Mourners filed by, placing photographs beneath urns of ashes, lighting incense, intoning prayers. Several monks were busy writing ihai, wooden memorial tablets for the dead.

Abbot Etsudo was there, Hotaka noticed. The man was impossible to miss; tall and imposing, he stood out from the crowd in many ways. He was the jūshoku, head of the temple, renowned for his infectious chuckle and big loud voice, although now he was quiet and subdued as he moved around comforting people. Hotaka had met the abbot once or twice with his grandfather, and liked him. He was known as the Jolly Monk because he was happy and tried to make others happy and see goodness in life. How he expected to do that today, though, Hotaka couldn’t imagine.

The abbot suddenly looked up and saw Hotaka. He waved and came over.

‘Hotaka, isn’t it? Fujimoto-san’s grandson.’ He smiled warmly.

‘That’s correct, Jūshoku-san. Konnichiwa.’ Hotaka bowed.

‘How are you, my boy?’

Hotaka shrugged. What could he say?

‘I’m sorry, that’s a silly question. How would anyone be today? We are all of us lost. Every single one of us. Quite apart from the enormous pain and grief many are suffering, the tsunami has swept away all our bearings, all our anchors, and left us adrift.’ The abbot shook his head sadly. ‘Tell me, how’s that grandfather of yours? Okay, I hope.’

‘I’m happy to say that Jīchan is up in the hills staying with his friend Mr Rho for a few days. So he’d be fine. But I’m sure he’ll also be really worried and upset and wishing he could be here.’

‘Yes, of course. I can’t think of anyone who does more to help others. He’s a good man.’

Hotaka had to agree. His grandfather was always doing something for someone. He never thought about himself.

‘We all need to follow his lead, you know, now more than ever. It’s in terrible times like this that we should reach out and help one another. Most of all we must help those lost in darkness to find at least some light, even if it’s only a flicker.’ He slapped his hand on Hotaka’s shoulder. ‘Actions. Always do what is right.’

The abbot bade Hotaka farewell and crossed to the bell house, climbing its steps; it was time to ring the bonsho. At the bell he bowed three times, as he would to the Buddha. Then he pulled back the shu-moku, the log, and let it strike the bell. The sound was clear and strong, gradually changing to a deep hum that hung in the air like mist. Hotaka’s grandfather had once told him that if you listen properly to a bonsho’s call, it never completely fades but stays in you forever. With that thought, Hotaka walked away feeling a little calmer.

He passed his school, deciding not to go through the gate. He guessed that quite a few students must have been taken by the wave – those who hadn’t gone to the puppet theatre – for there were many parents milling around. Seeing the grief on their faces would be too difficult to bear. And what if Takeshi’s parents were there? What would he say to them? What could he say?

So he kept moving and before long came to the gym Mr Grumpy had spoken of, the one that had been transformed into a morgue. People and vehicles were passing in and out, a constant flow of sorrow. As he reached the main gate a truck turned in laden with large black plastic bags, a pungent odour trailing behind. The smell of death, Hotaka decided with a shudder, and cupped his hand over his nostrils. A man passed by with a body in a barrow. Behind the gym three portable incinerators were all pumping smoke. Cremations, Hotaka realised with horror. Bodies were being burnt here. Many of them. Once more a great weight of sadness descended upon him.

He wanted to run away, but noticed a boy sitting on the steps of the gym. His head was buried in his hands, so his face wasn’t visible, but something familiar about him made Hotaka move closer. The boy was thin and gangly, his hair a tangled mess, his clothes crumpled and ill-fitting. A pair of black thick-lensed spectacles lay on the step beside him. Hotaka knew those specs.

‘Osamu?’ he said. ‘Is that you?’

The boy lifted his head and squinted up, eyes red and puffy.

‘Hotaka.’ His voice was husky. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Nothing. I was just passing. And you?’ Hotaka asked with a sense of foreboding. ‘What about you?’

Osamu immediately looked away – at the people, at the ground, anywhere rather than at Hotaka. He grabbed his spectacles and made a fumbling attempt to clean them, dropping them instead. Hotaka picked them up.

Osamu was in Hotaka’s class. They’d been in the same class as each other since starting school. But they’d never been friends; they were too different for that. Osamu was the school geek, a tech head, a bookworm, the whiz kid who wore specs that were like magnifying glasses and who could code before he even went to school. Hotaka was into sport: baseball, soccer, sailing, running, anything physical. They had nothing in common, and in fact Hotaka couldn’t remember the last time they’d actually spoken to each other.

‘Here,’ he said, holding out the spectacles. Osamu took them without looking up, muttering his thanks. He then stared at them intently, his hands shaking. Hotaka sat down next to Osamu. ‘What is it?’ he asked quietly. ‘What’s the matter?’

It took Osamu ages to answer, as if the words refused to come out.

‘My parents are dead.’

Hotaka gasped. He’d guessed that Osamu must have lost someone important, but he never imagined this. Both parents dead? Unthinkable. Unimaginable. He struggled for something to say.

‘Are you sure?’ he blurted out, immediately regretting it.

Osamu turned and glared at him. ‘What do you think?’ he shouted. ‘I’ve seen them, in there, in body bags. I can still see them. I’ll see them for the rest of my life! Cold and grey and…and dead!’

The last word came out as a long, lonely howl, and Osamu sobbed uncontrollably.

Hotaka could see and hear the boy’s pain, and wanted to comfort him but didn’t know how. ‘I’m sorry,’ he cried. ‘That was stupid of me. I really am so sorry.’

He held Osamu tightly, waiting for the sobbing to ebb. When it eventually did, the boy sat back.

‘I’m sorry, too,’ he said. ‘For shouting at you. I know you didn’t mean to be stupid.’

‘That’s all right, bud,’ Hotaka replied. ‘It’s just the way I am. Stupid. Comes naturally.’

Osamu laughed weakly and the boys sat in silence.

‘What will you do?’ Hotaka asked after a while.

‘No idea. I only know that I don’t want to go home. I’d be on my own.’

‘Isn’t there anybody in Omori-wan who—?’

‘No,’ Osamu said. ‘All I have is my grandmother in Tokyo. The police have contacted her but she can’t be here until next week. I’d be all alone in that big house, and I don’t think I could stand it. I spent all last night there alone, waiting for my parents, when they would already have been…dead. I couldn’t go back there tonight. I’d feel them everywhere, in every room.’

‘Then you’ll just have to stay at my house.’

Osamu’s face brightened. ‘Do you mean it?’

‘Of course I do.’ Hotaka stood and held out his hand. ‘Hurry up, before I change my mind.’