How a Japanese Fisherman Survived Nuclear Fallout
The story of a Japanese fisherman who experienced nuclear fallout
Koji hunkered low in the cramped hold of the Daigo Fukuryu Maru, the drone of the engine a steady beat against the howling wind. His hands ached, the nets rough against his calloused skin, but it was the relentless rocking that made his stomach churn. He’d been a fisherman since boyhood, but the sea had never felt so hostile, so alien.
Suddenly, a flash tore through the gloom to the west. Blinding, even with his eyes squeezed shut. Heat washed over him in a sickening wave, then silence, broken only by the crash of the waves. He blinked, spots dancing in his vision. The other men were shouting, pointing. Something monstrous boiled on the horizon, a luminous cloud rising from the east.
Hours later, a strange substance began to fall. Not rain, but soft, snow like flakes that clung to the deck and their skin. It felt cool, strangely comforting amid the lingering nausea. Koji scooped up a handful, entranced by its shimmer. One of the younger crewmen licked his fingers, childlike curiosity overcoming caution.
It took days for the sickness to begin. First, an insidious weakness, like their bones had turned to water. Then the rashes, blisters blooming on their exposed skin. Hair fell out in clumps. Their teeth loosened, gums bleeding at the slightest touch. One by one, they collapsed, writhing in agony. Koji watched his crewmates, the men he’d known his entire life, waste away before his eyes.
Landfall was a hazy nightmare. They were too weak to pilot the boat, drifting until it ran aground. When help finally came, their rescuers recoiled, faces twisting in horror. Koji and the few who survived were carted away like infected animals.
In the months that followed, agonizing treatments barely kept them alive. News reached them — a hydrogen bomb test, gone wrong. They’d been in the fallout zone, poisoned by an invisible enemy. The world held its breath, waiting for them to die.
But they didn’t. Slowly, agonizingly, most of them recovered, at least physically. Koji returned to his village, greeted not with cheers but with whispers and averted eyes. The widow next door, who’d always offered a kind word and a hot meal, locked her door when she saw him. Children were warned not to play near him, as if the sickness might linger.
Koji fished again, because it was all he knew. But the sea was never the same. That blinding flash haunted his dreams, the memory of his dying crewmates a weight he could never escape. He miraculously lived a long healthy life long into his 70s despite direct contact with the radioactive material.
