Hotaka heads down to the bay, deep in thought. A truck blares its horn when he crosses the road to the harbour without looking. He gazes out over the marina, not really seeing anything, his mind still back at the little house. He’s certain that Sakura was there, behind the door. But why would she hide? Surely she wasn’t still angry with him?

He looks up. The afternoon sun is surprisingly warm for this time of year. A light breeze ripples the water, gently rocking the boats. Why can’t everything be this simple, he wonders.

He’s about to turn for home when he notices a group of people pointing at something and follows their gaze. They’re pointing at the seawall. And no wonder; the three massive concrete panels are covered in graffiti.

The middle panel is crammed with all sorts of slogans in big red letters: Stop the Wall. Don’t Imprison Us! Act Up! Seawall Bad Call. Let Us See the Sea. Don’t Keep Nature Out.

The panels on either side have only one slogan each, written in huge letters. TEAR DOWN THIS WALL, the first one shouts. The third panel exhorts: STOP! BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.

It’s her. Hotaka knows it at once. He can’t imagine how she managed it – those panels are enormous. She must have had help. But that aside, there’s no doubt in his mind; the graffiti are Sakura’s work.

He laughs, unable to stop himself. Part of him wants to rush straight back to her house, bang on the door and congratulate her. But maybe her aunt was telling the truth; maybe she really was asleep. She’d have to be exhausted after doing all that. It would’ve taken ages, all night even. He stares incredulously at the huge concrete blocks, and pulls out his phone.

OMG! He begins a message to Sakura, but then hears his name.

‘Hotaka.’

He recognises the voice and glances up from his phone. Uncle Yori is waving from his boat-shed. Hotaka waves back, and quickly finishes the message.

Amazing! But how did you do it?

He presses SEND, then crosses the marina.

‘You’ve come at last,’ Uncle Yori booms in his gruff fisherman’s voice, a grin etched on his sun-tanned face. ‘And about time. Hurry up, then! We’ll manage a test run if we don’t dawdle.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just hurry, boy! Time is of the essence.’

Uncle Yori heads into his boat-shed, Hotaka right behind him. It’s dark, and his eyes take a while to adjust. He almost bumps into his uncle when the big man suddenly stops and points.

‘Well? What do you think of it?’

Hotaka squints. ‘What do I think of—’ He gasps, suddenly realising what he’s looking at. ‘No!’ he shouts. ‘I don’t believe it.’ He throws his arms around the fisherman. ‘It’s Jīchan’s boat!’

‘Not bad, eh? Even if I say so myself.’

‘It looks perfect. How did you manage this? When did you—’

‘Enough.’ Uncle Yori waves his hands about. ‘We can talk on the water. Come along, lad. Hop to it. Let’s launch this craft.’

The little boat sails superbly, making the most of the light breeze.

‘She’s a real sabani,’ Hotaka cries as they skim across the bay.

They’ve been sailing for over half an hour. The sun hangs above the hills to the west, its warmth fading fast now. Uncle Yori is on the main sail, Hotaka at the rudder, and he’s really starting to feel as if he’s getting the measure of the nippy little craft.

‘I’d love to take her out there.’ He nods towards the open sea.

‘Me, too,’ Uncle Yori replies. ‘She’d handle it easily, no question. But not now, I’m afraid. In fact we’d best head back. That breeze is dying. I’d hate to be becalmed. It’s a long row home.’

They go about and begin tacking towards the harbour.

‘See how close she sails to the wind,’ Hotaka remarks. ‘Just like Jīchan’s boat used to. How did you get it so right?’

‘Well, I had photographs, and then I had help from the master boat builder who worked on the original boat. Time was the main thing. It took the best part of two years; whenever I got a spare moment I worked on it.’ Uncle Yori slaps the boat affectionately on the side. ‘But it’s been worth it all just to see your face.’

‘What you have done is so very special, Uncle. I can’t tell you how special.’

Uncle Yori shakes his head. ‘Good to hear. You see, I had to build this boat; I felt something was missing in my life without it. I did it in memory of the old man, as well, so that he would always be with us. And you know I think that he is with us now.’

Hotaka nods. He can feel his grandfather all around them – in the billowing sail, in the mast, the rudder, in all the loving care and attention to detail that’s gone into the little boat. He can almost hear the old man’s voice in the breeze: It’s in our blood, the sea. In our blood.

‘But more than anything I built it for you. Your jīchan gave you a love of the sea, we both know that. I know a large part of that love withered when the sea stole him. But I believe he would weep forever if you were to turn your back on the sea because of his death. I thought you’d never sail again unless I somehow lured you back. I decided this was the only way.’ Uncle Yori grins. ‘And it looks like I was right.’

Hotaka grins too. ‘Totally.’ A strong gust has come up; the sabani grabs it and sails beautifully. ‘Totally right!’

The gust holds, taking them across the bay at good speed. They hang on, enjoying every moment. Only once they’re close to the marina does the wind back off.

‘Good timing,’ Hotaka says as they glide sedately towards the marina. ‘I think we’ve had the best of the wind for the day. We must do it again.’

‘I’d love to. But more than anything, you must do it again. Alone, or with a friend, I don’t care. Consider the boat yours, to sail whenever you wish.’

‘But that’s impossible. You can’t—’

‘Don’t argue, lad. It’s what your jīchan would’ve wanted. That’s why I built the boat. And that’s why you must accept it as yours.’

Hotaka has a lump in his throat. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Then don’t say anything.’

They pull into the marina and slide alongside Uncle Yori’s boat-shed. Hotaka douses the sail and looks about. The sun is sinking and there’s already a chill in the air, but Hotaka has never felt so warm inside.

‘Beautiful, eh?’ Uncle Yori says, laying his hand on Hotaka’s shoulder. ‘And yet the sea can be so violent. That’s Nature for you. One moment it cradles us like babies; the next moment it crushes us.’

They stand for a while, taking in a wide sweep of the bay, their eyes eventually resting on the seawall.

‘That’s why whoever did the graffiti knows exactly what they’re talking about. We’re part of Nature. We can’t shut it out with walls. We have to live with it, not against it.’

‘Hang on. Are you saying we don’t need the seawall?’

‘You bet I am. It’s a hugely expensive joke…on us, the people of Omori-wan. The ones laughing are those pocketing the money – construction companies, corrupt politicians, the yakuza, but especially Mayor Nakano and his sidekicks. The whole reconstruction program is out of control, but that wall is the worst part. It should not be happening.’

‘So why haven’t you ever said anything? Why hasn’t anyone said anything?’

‘Good question. There are many reasons, but no excuse. Heaps of people like me have been too busy rebuilding our lives since the tsunami to worry about anything else. Then the government put strict conditions on reconstruction funds, insisting we agree to the seawall before receiving any other money for the town. There’s a fear factor, too – protesters are always silenced when big money is involved, and this is huge money. And then of course there’s that weird attitude we Japanese have of always bowing to authority, always doing as we’re told, never questioning. No wonder we get trampled by the big guys.’

‘So what good is the graffiti, then? If we always do what we’re told, what difference will it make?’

‘A lot, this time. That graffiti will get people thinking. It’s the fuse that could blow Mayor Nakano’s corrupt little game sky high.’

Hotaka stares at the graffiti. It’s Sakura’s work, he’s certain. That sends a shiver of pride and excitement right through him. His friend. So strong. So right.

‘Of course, whoever did this is also very brave,’ Uncle Yori continues. ‘The mayor will do anything to quell it as quickly as possible.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know so. There’s too much at stake here to let a bit of graffiti get in the way. He’ll do anything.’

Uncle Yori’s words send another shiver through Hotaka.

‘That’s why we can no longer stay silent. This is a chance to take back control of our own town. We cannot afford to lose that chance. We need to keep this fuse burning.’

‘How?’

‘Another good question. Sleep on it.’ Uncle Yori slaps his nephew on the back. ‘Let’s see what tomorrow brings, eh? Every tree was once a tiny seed.’

Hotaka leaves his uncle and walks home pushing his bike, dizzy with elation. A little way up Monk Head Hill he stops and sends another message to Sakura.

I am so proud of you. I hope you’ll still call me your friend. See you tomorrow morning?