by Unknown
The arrow flew through the air, straight and true.
At the very last second, Sensei Kyuzo caught the arrow with his right hand.
The students gasped in astonishment.
Sensei Kyuzo took a moment to enjoy the stunned expressions of all the young samurai, before striding triumphantly back up the dojo and handing Akiko the arrow.
‘Any further questions?’
22
LOVE POETRY
‘Have you heard the news?’ said Saburo, hurrying across the courtyard the next day.
Jack, Yamato and the others were heading to the Hall of the Hawk for a haiku lesson. They stopped as Saburo gathered his breath.
‘Last night someone set fire to the Catholic church next to the Imperial Palace!’
‘The war’s started then,’ said Kiku, her face blanching slightly.
‘No, it was a one-off attack. The sensei think a passing ronin did it on his way to Edo. I heard daimyo Takatomi’s furious about it.’
‘Was anyone hurt?’ asked Jack tentatively.
Saburo gave a solemn nod of his head. ‘A priest was trapped inside.’
They all fell silent. Jack felt daimyo Kamakura’s noose tighten another notch. It seemed that every week they had word of another foreigner or priest who’d been persecuted, but this was the first religious attack to have occurred within Kyoto itself.
‘What about the ronin?’ asked Yamato.
‘No one knows. But apparently the Tokaido Road north to Edo is crowded with samurai and ashigaru, responding to the call to arms.’
‘Where are they all coming from?’ said Kiku. ‘Kamakura’s army is going to be unstoppable.’
‘Don’t forget the four other Regents of the Council all have armies of their own,’ said Akiko, trying to calm her friend. ‘Together, they’ll easily outnumber Kamakura’s forces.’
Jack was about to ask another question when he spotted Yori emerging from the Buddha Hall. ‘Where have you been?’ he exclaimed.
They ran over to Yori who was now slumped on the steps of the Butsuden, a small brass bowl in his lap. He gazed up at them and offered an exhausted but untroubled smile.
Saburo plonked himself down beside Yori.
‘You missed the most amazing taijutsu lesson yesterday. Sensei Kyuzo caught an arrow with one hand!’ he said, snatching an imaginary one from the air.
Yori raised a weary eyebrow in acknowledgement of his friend’s enthusiasm.
‘Are you all right?’ Akiko asked, kneeling down in front of him. ‘We’ve been worried about you, ever since you ran out of Sensei Yamada’s lesson.’
‘I’ve been apologizing to Sensei,’ Yori replied quietly.
‘For over a day?’ said Kiku, exchanging a worried glance with Akiko.
‘Sensei Yamada had words with me. Quite a few, in fact. Then he made me polish the bronze Buddha to give me time to think about what he’d said.’
‘But that statue’s huge!’ said Jack, inspecting Yori’s tiny hands black with grime. ‘That’s unfair. You only left his lesson.’
‘No, I was highly disrespectful,’ reminded Yori. ‘Sensei Yamada was right to punish me. Besides, I’m feeling better now he’s explained things.’
‘What did he say then?’ asked Yamato.
‘Sensei Yamada said that as samurai, we must devote ourselves with equal passion to both fighting and the creative arts. It is our duty to ensure we have a peace worth fighting for.’
Yori raised the little brass bowl and cushion out of his lap.
‘He’s also given me this singing bowl to practise on. Kiaijutsu isn’t about how loud the shout is; it’s about how focused the ki is,’ explained Yori, his eyes sparkling with determination. ‘Sensei Yamada said that even the smallest breeze can make ripples on the largest ocean.’
Sensei Nakamura returned Jack’s attempt at haiku. She gave him a single despondent shake of the head that sent a shudder down her mane of snow-white hair.
‘You insist on putting your own opinion into the poem,’ she said, her tone cold as the grave. ‘Angry sea. Pretty blossom. How many times have I told you not to use words that impose your personal response on the moment you’re describing? The reader of your haiku might not have the same reaction as you.’
‘Hai, Sensei,’ replied Jack with a weary sigh. He still didn’t understand. He thought poetry was all about love, emotion and passion. That’s why that playwright William Shakespeare was so popular in England. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more beautiful…’ or something like that. The Japanese, on the other hand, seemed so detached from their emotions that they weren’t even allowed to express them in a poem.
Sensei Nakamura moved on to Yori. With a dour expression, she studied his page.
‘A fair attempt. You show promise,’ she began.
Yori smiled hopefully. Her praise, though, was short-lived.
‘But you must avoid saying the same thing twice in your haiku. You begin here with cold dawn and then go on to observe the chilly breeze. Not good. You’ve wasted a word and haven’t told the reader any more about your subject. Try again.’
Abashed, Yori took back the haiku and began to rewrite it.
Sensei Nakamura worked her way through the students, admonishing them for their various faults and very occasionally offering faint praise.
‘Kazuki-kun, recite your haiku to the class. I would like to commend yours.’
Standing, paper in hand, Kazuki proudly read aloud:
‘Take a pair of wings
from a dragonfly, you would
make a pepper pod.’
There was a generous round of applause, but Sensei Nakamura cut it short with a stern look. ‘I said I would like to commend it. But this isn’t in the spirit of a haiku. The boy has killed the dragonfly. To compose a haiku, you must give life to it, you should say:
‘Add a pair of wings
to a pepper pod, you would
make a dragonfly.’
A collective hum of understanding filled the hall as Kazuki sat back down, his moment of glory quashed.
‘I had hoped by autumn that this class’s attempts at haiku would be of a higher standard,’ she sighed. ‘Nonetheless, most are now passable so I will risk organizing a kukai for the start of winter. That should give those falling behind in class enough time to improve.’
Sensei Nakamura was met with a roomful of puzzled looks. She tutted loudly, her eyes widening in exasperation at their ignorance.
‘A kukai is a haiku contest. I will be inviting the renowned poet Saigyo-san to preside over the kukai, so ensure the poems you present are only those of the highest quality!’
She dismissed the class with a wave of her hand. After tidying away their ink blocks, paper and brushes, the students filed out of the hall.
‘It’s very exciting, isn’t it?’ enthused Yori as they were slipping on their sandals in the courtyard. ‘I mean, to have the great Saigyo-san come here, to our school! He’s my favourite poet.’
‘I think I’ll enter,’ said Saburo, to everyone’s surprise.
‘You?’ said Akiko, giving him an incredulous look. ‘There won’t be any prizes for poems about bodily functions.’
‘I’ll write one about love then!’
‘What do you know about love?’ laughed Akiko.
Saburo suddenly looked flustered. ‘As much as anyone here.’
‘Akiko!’ called Takuan, beckoning her to join him.
‘Though probably not as much as some people,’ he muttered under his breath, and strode off in the direction of the Chō-no-ma for lunch.
Jack heard the comment and glanced over at Akiko and Takuan talking.
‘Let’s go, Jack,’ said Yamato, chasing after Saburo. ‘Otherwise there won’t be any rice left after the Poet of Love’s finished!’
While Jack found his sandals, he overheard Takuan say, ‘I was thinking of entering this haiku into the competition and I’d value your opinion.’
‘It’s lo
vely,’ said Akiko, bending closer to read the paper he held. ‘The mountain image is so clear. I can just imagine myself there.’
‘It’s yours to keep,’ Takuan offered.
Akiko flushed, bowing humbly. ‘But this is your entry for the kukai.’
‘I can write another,’ he said, placing it into her hands. ‘The greatest honour is that you appreciate it.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, bowing and accepting the haiku.
‘Come on, Jack!’ shouted Yamato impatiently from the other side of the courtyard.
Jack followed him into the Chō-no-ma, though his appetite had gone.
‘Are you going to enter the kukai?’ asked Jack, gazing out of Yori’s tiny bedroom window at the stars glimmering in the night sky.
‘Yah!’ squeaked Yori.
‘Do you think I should?’
‘Yah!’ squeaked Yori again.
‘Are you even listening to me?’
‘Yah!’
Yori stood in one corner of his room, shouting at the small singing bowl perched on a stand in the other. He was determined to make it ring. Since his chat with Sensei Yamada, he’d been convinced that kiaijutsu was his undiscovered talent and the martial art would save him in the forthcoming war. So far the bowl had remained silent.
Jack caught a movement outside in the courtyard. He spotted Akiko leaving the Niten Ichi Ryū by its back gate. No doubt visiting the monk at the Temple of the Peaceful Dragon.
‘Sorry, Jack, what were you saying?’ gasped Yori, trying to get his breath back.
‘I said, are you going to enter the kukai?’
‘Hopefully, if I can compose one worthy enough for Saigyo-san. He’ll expect something special. What about you?’
‘There’s not much point, is there? I’m useless at haiku. Unlike Takuan.’
Yori gave Jack a sideways glance.
‘I’m not jealous,’ insisted Jack, turning away from Yori. ‘It’s just that I saw Takuan give a haiku to Akiko.’
‘If you’re so desperate for a poem, I’ll write you one,’ said Yori, suppressing a smile.
‘You know that’s not what I mean,’ Jack replied tetchily. ‘Doesn’t it have some sort of significance in Japan? In England, that would be seen as love poetry.’
‘Not with Takuan,’ assured Yori. ‘I saw him compose a haiku for Emi the other day. He’s probably written one for each of the girls. They like such gallant gestures. That’s one reason why he’s so popular. If it’s bothering you, why not write Akiko a haiku yourself?’
‘You know that I’m no good at haiku. She’d just laugh.’
‘No, she wouldn’t. I’ll help you,’ said Yori kindly, pulling some paper from a pile.
Jack reluctantly took the paper. ‘But this isn’t a love poem, right?’
He felt his cheeks flush and hoped Yori wouldn’t notice.
‘No, of course not,’ said Yori, his face the picture of innocence. ‘It’s just practice for the kukai.’
Despite denying being jealous, Jack realized his feelings for Akiko amounted to more than just friendship. If he was honest with himself, she was the reason he was having second thoughts about leaving Japan.
23
AUTUMN LEAF STRIKE
‘Hajime,’ commanded Masamoto, beginning the Two Heavens kata between Jack and Taro.
The two of them cautiously approached one another from opposite sides of the Phoenix Hall dojo, until the tips of their katana touched, their wakizashi held in a low guard.
Suddenly Taro exploded forward. Without lifting his sword, he drove his blade along the length of Jack’s katana, pushing it aside and striking at Jack’s heart. Taro displayed perfect control over the attack, and Jack felt only the lightest pressure of the kissaki hitting his chest.
‘Excellent, Taro-kun. A faultless Flint-and-Spark strike,’ commended Masamoto. ‘Your turn, Jack-kun.’
Maintaining contact with Taro’s sword, Jack now thrust the tip of his katana at his opponent’s heart. But the end of Taro’s blade jabbed into Jack’s stomach before he could reach his target. He hadn’t deflected Taro’s sword wide enough.
‘If that had been a steel blade, Taro’s katana would’ve cut straight through you,’ said Masamoto, a grim expression on his scarred face. ‘Jack-kun, you must execute this strike with great certainty. Put more strength into your feet, body and hands, and strike quickly with all three at once.’
‘Hai, Masamoto-sama,’ replied Jack, glumly kneeling back in line with the rest of the students. He’d been the only one in the class not to manage the Flint-and-Spark attack.
‘We’ll move on to the Autumn Leaf strike,’ Masamoto announced. ‘An appropriate Two Heavens technique for the season, I think. The heart of this attack is to strike down upon your opponent’s lead sword, disarming him and picking it up yourself. Watch carefully.’
Masamoto and Sensei Hosokawa withdrew their swords. As Sensei Hosokawa moved to attack, Masamoto surged forward, hitting Sensei Hosokawa’s katana twice in quick succession with his kissaki. The sword clattered to the floor.
‘This technique will only work if you don’t let up for a second during the attack,’ he explained, ushering the class to take up fighting positions in the dojo.
‘Practise until you’ve mastered it.’
Glad to escape the training pressure of Masamoto’s dojo, Jack stood alone on the veranda of the Southern Zen Garden. He gazed thoughtfully at a long rectangle of white sand raked to look like miniature waves. This formed the central feature of a garden decorated with large granite standing stones and meticulously pruned shrubs. In the far corner, like a frail old man, grew an ancient pine tree, its branches so twisted and bent by the elements that its trunk had to be propped up by a wooden crutch.
Jack took a deep breath, hoping the tranquil setting would lift his spirits.
By the end of a morning’s training, he’d still been struggling with the Autumn Leaf strike. Why couldn’t he do it? He was skilful enough with a single sword. But when he held two, he lost his control and accuracy. It frustrated him that after three months of Two Heavens training, he seemed to be getting worse rather than better.
Jack was certain the simplicity of the forms was hiding a deeper secret within. One Masamoto had yet to reveal. Or one he’d entirely missed. Whatever, he wouldn’t give up. With the possibility of war and Dragon Eye still out there, the Two Heavens was the key to his survival.
Taro emerged from the Hall of the Phoenix and, spotting Jack on the veranda, joined him in the Southern Zen Garden.
‘Don’t be disheartened by your lack of progress,’ said Taro. ‘The Two Heavens is known to be the hardest sword style in Japan. Learning it is like climbing a mountain with your feet tied together and your hands bound.’
‘But you can do it,’ said Jack. ‘What’s the secret?’
‘I once asked Masamoto-sama that,’ said Taro, laughing. ‘He said, “The secret is there is no secret.” ’
‘I don’t understand. There has to be.’
‘Exactly what I said. He just replied, “The teacher is the needle, the student the thread. As a student, you should practise without end.” I suppose that’s the secret. Continuous hard training.’
He gestured to the Zen garden with a sweep of his hand.
‘The Two Heavens is like this garden. I’ve no idea how the gardener created this. It looks beautiful, perfect and, at the same time, so simple. But I’m certain a great deal of time, thought and skill were put in to achieve this.’
‘So how long did it take you to master the technique?’ asked Jack.
Taro chuckled at the idea. ‘I’m barely a beginner. The Two Heavens takes a lifetime to master.’
Jack’s face dropped. ‘But I don’t have a lifetime. There’s a war coming.’
Taro nodded gravely. Studying Jack out of the corner of his eye, he said, ‘I can see you’re determined like me. If you want more practice, I’d be willing to train with you outside class.’
‘When?’ said
Jack, bowing his appreciation.
‘You are keen. This evening?’
Jack nodded eagerly.
‘See you after dinner,’ said Taro, bowing and heading off in the direction of the Shishi-no-ma.
Jack remained behind in the garden. With Taro as a training partner, he was already feeling much more optimistic. He could learn from the boy’s mistakes and improve at a faster rate. Hearing a shoji slide open, he turned round. Sachiko, Mizuki and Akiko were now leaving the Hall of the Phoenix.
‘Akiko!’ called Jack, running over to her.
She bowed as he approached. ‘That was a hard lesson, wasn’t it? The Autumn Leaf strike is almost impossible.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Jack. ‘But Taro’s offered to give me extra Two Heavens practice this evening. Would you like to join us?’
‘Thank you, Jack,’ replied Akiko. ‘That’s very kind of you, but Takuan’s offered to help me with my haiku for the competition. Maybe another time.’
‘I understand,’ he replied, trying to hide his disappointment.
‘Great. I’ll see you later at lunch,’ she said, smiling breezily. ‘I’d better go, Sachiko and Mizuki are waiting for me.’
Returning to the garden, Jack sat down on the veranda, his head in his hands. He could hear Yori’s voice in his head, telling him that Takuan helped lots of people, including Jack himself. So there was no reason for him to be upset. Why, then, did he feel as if he’d suddenly sunk to the bottom of the ocean?
‘You look sad, gaijin,’ said Kazuki, leaning nonchalantly against one of the veranda pillars. ‘Jealous Akiko’s got a prior engagement?’
‘No!’ replied Jack. ‘Takuan’s just helping her with her haiku.’
Kazuki grinned, realizing he’d got under Jack’s skin. ‘I can understand what Akiko sees in Takuan. He’s handsome, intelligent, not really a fighter but a fine horseman nonetheless. And, of course, he’s Japanese. Are you certain it’s just his haiku she’s interested in?’