Читать книгу Chojun - Goran Powell - Страница 17

A Visit From Dr. Kano

It was another stifling evening in Naha as we packed into the town hall. The doors and windows had been opened wide, but there wasn’t a breath of wind to circulate the air. In the eager press of bodies, the sharp smell of fresh sweat stung my nostrils, but I was too excited to care. I was with the other boys from my karate class and we were in high spirits. The reason for this excitement was a visit from the founder of judo, Dr. Jigoro Kano.

Judo was a new and popular way to develop fitness and fighting ability, and with its exciting competitions, it was already being considered as an Olympic sport. Tonight, Dr. Kano himself would be demonstrating his art. As one of the foremost citizens of Okinawa, Miyagi had a seat on the front row next to the mayor. Beside them, a clutch of journalists and photographers were well-placed to capture the evening’s events. I’d managed to get a seat only a few rows back from Miyagi, along with the other boys from the karate club. We chatted eagerly as a group of young judo-men in crisp white suits laid mats down in the center of the hall.

The head of the Naha Judo Club strode into the center and the crowd fell silent. He gave a short speech welcoming Dr. Kano, and when Kano stepped out to join him there was rapturous applause. To my surprise Kano was an old man—far older than I’d imagined—with a thick grey moustache and a down-turned mouth, though his stride was sprightly and he bristled with energy.

He was joined on the mat by his senior assistant, whom he introduced as Mr. Nagaoka. I expected Kano to call his students out to demonstrate, but instead he proceeded to perform a flowing two-man drill using only Mr. Nagaoka as his partner. Despite his scholarly appearance, Kano spoke little during his demonstration, offering no more than the name of the technique he was using, or a simple introduction to a new theme such as locks or chokes. He demonstrated his throwing techniques in groups based on the direction of the opponent’s force: throws for an attacker moving toward you, throws for an attacker pulling backward, throws for an opponent moving sideways. Kano and Nagaoka performed a seamless demonstration of the wonderful throws and submissions of judo. It went on for almost an hour and the power and beauty of their actions spoke louder than any words.

In those days, judo was considerably more brutal than its present form. Kano added many subtle strikes into his techniques. The intensity of their performance was incredible and relentless, and the hall watched spellbound. “Ha, yes!” I heard Miyagi exclaim several times, clapping his hands in delight and whispering animatedly to the mayor. He clearly held Dr. Kano to be a martial artist of the highest order. When Kano had finished his own demonstration, he announced that the members of the local judo club would now demonstrate free sparring, and I noticed he wasn’t in the least out of breath. The young students engaged in a series of exciting throwing and grappling matches, and the level of their physical conditioning was obvious.

When their matches had finished, another hour had passed in the blink of an eye. Kano left to wash and change into a fresh judo gi before returning to mingle with the crowd. He was quickly introduced to the mayor, who in turn introduced him to Miyagi. I squeezed through the throng, determined to be at my teacher’s side when he met the great man and hear what they had to say to one another, but when I got there, the mayor was doing most of the talking.

“Master Miyagi is Okinawa’s foremost karate master,” the mayor told Kano happily, “He is truly one of the natural wonders of the island!”

“There are many fine masters on Okinawa,” Miyagi said quickly, then complimented Kano on the quality of his demonstration.

Kano beamed with delight. “Thank you, Master Miyagi. It is always most gratifying when a fellow martial artist appreciates one’s art. I’ve been keen to visit Okinawa for some time, since I am most interested in karate. I have had the pleasure of meeting with several renowned masters in Tokyo and Osaka, Master Funakoshi and Master Mabuni, and I was fascinated to see their demonstrations. Master Funakoshi is a school teacher like myself, and we share the view that martial arts would be a valuable addition to Japan’s school curriculum.”

“Martial arts is very good for the health and spirit of young people,” Miyagi said, then turned with a smile. “These are some of my own students,” he said, ushering us forward.

Dr. Kano regarded us with unconcealed pleasure, “Fine young men too, by the looks of them.”

“Splendid!” the mayor said, overjoyed that a man such as Kano should express such sentiment, “Perhaps we can persuade Miyagi and his students to give a small demonstration of their karate?” he said mischievously.

“No, no,” Miyagi replied raising his hands quickly, “Tonight is a night for judo, not karate, and besides, the hour is getting late.”

“Nonsense!” the mayor said, “the sun has still not set! Show Dr. Kano the beauty of our native art.”

“There’s no need,” Miyagi protested, but the mayor persisted.

“Oh come Miyagi, you are always saying that you want to promote karate to the rest of the world.”

“Dr. Kano has seen our art before, demonstrated by two fine masters,” Miyagi said evasively.

“Ah, but he has not seem the Naha style of karate, and tonight we are in Naha,” the mayor said triumphantly.

“That much is true,” Kano said with what seemed like genuine interest, “and I understand there are many different schools of karate. What is the name of your school?”

“Our school is called Goju Ryu,” Miyagi answered.

“Hard and soft,” Kano said, breaking down the Go and Ju of our title, “fascinating!”

It was interesting, since judo contained the same character of Ju meaning soft or, more exactly, compliant or yielding.

“That is why your demonstration was so enjoyable to watch,” Miyagi said. “Your methods of using an opponent’s strength against him are truly remarkable.”

“It has been my life’s work to create a style based on these principles,” Kano said proudly. “I believe them to be the highest form of combat.”

“I agree,” Miyagi smiled. “However, the hard part of a style is quicker to learn, and easier to put into practice.”

“Most certainly,” Dr Kano nodded with a smile. “Even in judo, power and aggression play a vital role. But tell me more of your karate—does it contain Chinese influence? I have heard that some styles do.”

“My teacher studied in Fujian Province for many years. Most of our kata are Chinese in origin, though some elements of Okinawa’s native martial arts have been blended in.”

“Which elements are those?” Kano probed.

Miyagi smiled. “We Okinawans are a simple people, Dr. Kano. We like to rely on simple methods in our fighting.” He raised his hand and clenched it slowly into a fist.

“Ha yes, the famous karate punch!” Kano said. “You use a punching post, I believe?”

“The makiwara is one of our primary training tools,” Miyagi said, “though there are others. Physical strength and conditioning are also very important.”

“Quite so,” Kano said, “but the thing that fascinates me most about karate is the practice of kata without a partner. Tell me, what is the purpose of performing a kata alone?”

“That is quite a question,” Miyagi said, “and one which I have pondered myself quite often, since it’s obvious that training with a partner is more realistic.”

Kano put his head to one side, still awaiting an answer.

“There are many explanations,” Miyagi continued, “but my final conclusion is that the deeper meaning of karate is not physical, but rather spiritual. Through the practice of kata, the practitioner aims for perfection of form and movement. This can only be achieved by being in harmony with the elements surrounding us, the earth below, and the heavens above. To perfect one’s movement in kata is to be perfectly in tune with nature and the universe.”

“Quite an achievement,” Kano said quietly.

“An impossible dream,” Miyagi said quietly, a trace of bitterness in his voice.

Kano nodded. It seemed he had chased the same dream himself. “You are familiar with Yoga, Mr. Miyagi?” he asked suddenly. Miyagi answered that he was.

“On a recent voyage to Europe, I made the acquaintance of an Indian Guru aboard an ocean liner. We spent many happy hours in discussion, and I learned a great deal about his country and its remarkable spiritual practices. Did you know, for example, that the meaning of the word ‘Yoga’ comes from the same root as the word yoke, and can be translated as connectedness?”

It was Miyagi’s turn to be impressed, and as he considered the idea, Kano continued cheerfully, “My ultimate aim in judo is also the development of the individual, the perfection of the self.”

“A shared ambition,” Miyagi said.

“An impossible dream,” Kano beamed, and Miyagi chuckled at having his own words quoted back to him. Kano’s smile remained, but his eyes were more serious. “I would be fascinated to see a demonstration of your art, Master Miyagi,” he said, and it was clear the request was far more than a simple attempt at politeness.

“Yes, come come, Miyagi,” the Mayor urged, “demonstrate your art for Dr. Kano. Demonstrate it for all of us.”

Miyagi looked about, seeking an excuse to refuse, but the mayor was determined. “Dr. Kano is sailing in the morning,” he added. “We cannot delay, Miyagi. It must be tonight!”

Miyagi’s eyes returned to Kano’s, which hadn’t left his since Kano had made his request. He threw up his hands in defeat. He couldn’t refuse.

I left the hall at full speed, running alongside my fellow students, all the way to Miyagi’s house. Our job was to bring the equipment he needed for his demonstration. My task was to fetch a bundle of bamboo sticks and a clay pot that sat in his garden. The pot was tall, reaching almost to my waist, and heavy. I put the sticks in the pot and struggled back to the hall. My classmates had brought other items, some quite unusual, and when we were all back we gathered the equipment together by the back wall.

It seemed word had got around fast that Miyagi was about to perform a demonstration and the hall had filled to an even greater capacity. In the past, Miyagi had always had his students demonstrate his karate, but after the elderly Dr Kano’s impressive personal demonstration, he could hardly refuse to perform himself.

When Miyagi stepped onto the center of the mats, a hush fell over the crowd. He called us forward and guided us through a brief warm-up before demonstrating our conditioning exercises with traditional equipment. Next, we performed Sanchin and Miyagi commented on its importance to the audience. After this, we sat down, and Miyagi had Jinan Shinzato perform Sanchin alone while he tested him. Shinzato’s hard body was covered in a thick sheen of sweat that splashed as Miyagi struck, the crack of his iron palms echoing around the hall. I’d never seem Miyagi test Shinzato with such venom, and could only imagine how hard Shinzato must have fought to conceal the pain from his face.

When the dreadful testing had finally finished, Miyagi prepared to perform Sanchin himself. He was considerably taller and bigger than Shinzato, and when he removed his jacket, his body resembled nothing more than a huge bull that had wandered in from the cane fields. He pressed his palms together in readiness to begin and his eyes went to a distant place, as if preparing for battle. In that instant I knew where he was. He was on the cliffs of Itoman Bay—and I was filled with such happiness that I struggled not to cry out.

His arms crossed before him and he stepped forward, breathing loudly. Despite the slow nature of his movement, the audience fell silent and watched spellbound. Rooting his feet into the ground, his huge body became one of the giant boulders on our rocky shoreline. As his arm went back and pushed forward, his limbs became the branches of the Ryukyu palms. As his stance sunk and rose, he carried the power of the ocean swells in his every movement. The elements of Okinawa had come together in the form of a man.

I glanced at Dr. Kano and saw him watching Miyagi with undisguised wonder. Miyagi dipped and turned to face the back of the hall, then rose and locked into his stance once more. “Ha!” Kano exclaimed, noticing the classic judo footwork at play.

Miyagi turned once more. His body was dripping in sweat now and the sheen made it all the more incredible to behold. His hands came forward together and drew back three times, then he finished with two backward steps and wheeling blocks. There was a long moment as the audience waited, uncertain how to respond—then rapturous applause. Miyagi’s performance was just beginning. He called for two volunteers from the audience and handed each of them an oak staff, inviting them to strike his body while he performed Sanchin once more. Their blows had no effect. “Harder,” he urged with a smile, and they swung with all their might, though it made no difference.

Next, he demonstrated two beautiful kata that flowed from slow, deliberate movements into explosive punches, kicks, and stomps, punctuated by fearsome kiai that sent tremors through the benches where we sat. If Sanchin had been nature’s elements at play on a fine day in Okinawa, these kata were storms that left devastation in their wake, and when Miyagi had finished, the hall was held for a moment, suspended in awe before erupting into thunderous applause.

To end the demonstration, Miyagi had us bring our assortment of props onto the mats. I saw my master perform feats that I would not have thought possible. He smashed a giant stack of tiles with his fist, chopped a thick block of wood in half with a knife-hand strike, and thrust his fingers into a tight bundle of bamboo to snatch a single stick from its center.

Two of my companions brought out a table and Shinzato placed a huge slab of beef on it. Miyagi tore it into small chunks with his bare hands. Then he pointed at me. I hurried out with the tall ceramic jar that I’d brought from his garden. Miyagi lifted it onto the table and turned it around so the audience could see it wasn’t broken. He stood before the jar in silence for almost a minute, as if summoning a special strength from somewhere—despite his humble manner, my teacher was a quite a showman when he wanted to be—then suddenly, with a sharp cry, he struck the jar. I’d expected a shower of flying shards to fill the air, so I was shocked to see he’d failed to break the jar, or even move it. The audience was equally surprised. There was an embarrassed silence, until Miyagi spun the jar around to reveal a hole, two inches across, drilled through the clay. It was almost a perfect circle. The audience was too stunned to clap or cheer.

Another student brought out a kerosene can and a basin for Miyagi, and the silence remained in the hall. Miyagi lifted the kerosene can and spun it around so we could see each side, then made to open it. The top was too tight. He tried once more, this time with all his might, but the top wouldn’t budge. Knowing the strength of his grip, I found it hard to believe he couldn’t open the can. He replaced it on the floor and spread his hands in despair. It seemed his demonstration would end with a whimper. Then to everyone’s surprise, he turned and kicked the can in anger. The action seemed so out of place for Miyagi that the audience didn’t know how to react. He stooped and picked up the can. Tipping it onto its side, a stream of kerosene poured out from a hole in the side into the basin at his feet. Miyagi had punctured the can with his toe.