Most Hustle & Desire

Finished chanting their shanties, and sandbags full, the fishermen light cigarettes, crack soft drinks, and harass the pretty volunteer before we go to comb the coast for odd bits of village debris strewn by the 30-foot tsunami, like this soft serve machine, sucked from the seaside hotel and dumped where the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses no longer stands. This stainless steel wreck is today while tomorrow is the girl running ahead of the funeral procession, sticking in her mouth the green seed pods of wisteria we’ve cut from a katsura tree. The adults wait for us to clear the way as they cling to portraits of the man and woman filling urns they carry to the grave. It’s a sunny day, perfect for harvesting scallops, crabs and sea cucumbers and for licking soft serve to the sigh of waves rising and falling past the shoreline pines, where fishermen smoke their last and chuck crumpled packs to the blue of the bay. First published this day in a little Pac