Page 42 of The Presidents Shadow

HERE’S A PIECE of wisdom that I should permanently embed in my brain: just when you think you’ve seen it all, you can be almost certain that you haven’t even come close.

That is certainly true when we disembark after landing in Kyoto.

Margo, who has joined Burbank and me for the Japanese leg of our trip, literally freezes in place as we stand on the tarmac.

That is how shocking the devastation is: mountains of rubble.

No. I don’t exaggerate. Mountains. Billions of pieces of concrete and marble and steel piled high into the air.

Our driver, Mr. Fujita, apologizes for the absence of a welcoming committee.

He explains that so many people in Kyoto have been displaced or have disappeared that the city is barely functioning.

In fact, Kyoto’s famed super-speed railways have totally vanished.

What few streets exist are narrow; the sparse traffic is slow.

With so few people left to drive around, I’m not surprised.

“Look at this car I am driving, Mr. Cranston,” says Mr. Fujita. “It is not even a car.”

He’s correct. The four of us are riding in a sort of a jerry-rigged tank, half jeep, half bulldozer. Few people walk the streets, and those who do, walk with their heads bowed. Some look sad. Some look angry.

For me the most astonishing sight is this: actual tunnels have been carved through many of the massive rubble piles, passageways for the few cars out on the streets.

“I thought nothing could beat the horror we saw in Australia—the death, the suffering, the chaos,” Burbank says. “But this is even worse.”

“Nightmares are often not the same,” says Margo. “But they all frequently have similar components.”

“Yes,” I say. “And those components are exactly what you just said, Burbank: ‘the death, the suffering, the chaos.’”

We stop suddenly at one of the huge mountains of destruction. I have no idea what separates this pile from the hundreds of others we passed along the way. Mr. Fujita, of course, notices the confused looks on our faces.

“Kyoto University stood here,” he says. “But do not fear, an even greater one will rise once more.”

Looking at the pile of broken concrete, twisted metal, and rusted rebar, I marvel that Jericho was able to get out alive.

“I admire your strength and energy, Mr. Fujita,” says Margo. “How can you be so optimistic?”

“How?”

He pauses, then he speaks gently.

“I have hope for the future because Mr. Cranston is here with us.”

I’m flattered, but I am also terribly, terribly scared.