Читать книгу Chojun - Goran Powell - Страница 18

The Dancing Man

“How did you do it?” I asked in wonder, as we walked on the hard-packed dirt road toward Shuri.

“Do what?” Miyagi asked.

“Kick the hole in the can!”

“With my toe.”

My questioning was getting me nowhere, but it was a fine day and a long walk to Shuri, and Miyagi seemed to be enjoying our conversation, so I persisted.

“When will we learn to do that?” I asked.

“You already know how to do it.”

I turned in exasperation to Shinzato, who was walking with us. Shinzato ignored me. “Do you know the answer, Sempai?” I demanded.

“Practice.”

“Jiru is right,” Miyagi said, “Practice is the key to this and all things. Didn’t you know that already?”

“I suppose so,” I admitted reluctantly.

“Good, because I cannot tell you the answers to everything,” he smiled. “You must learn to find them for yourself. Once you know where to look, they are easy enough to find, most of the time.”

“Where should I look?” I asked.

Miyagi stared out to sea. The road was getting steep and he took several breaths before answering. “All the secrets of karate are in the kata. Learn the universal principles that make the techniques work and you have learned everything there is to know. Then simply practice, as Jiru says.”

What are the secrets?” I demanded, unable to resist.

“Ah, Kenichi,” Miyagi said sadly, “I knew you would ask me this. Why can’t you be more like Jiru, who never asks any questions? Jiru does the training I set for him with every ounce of his heart and soul. That is why he is so good. That is why he is the sempai.”

“I can never be as good as Jiru,” I said. It was a cheeky thing to say because Jiru was a nickname used only by Miyagi and by rights, I should have referred to Shinzato as sempai, but fortunately Miyagi chuckled at my remark. Shinzato didn’t seem annoyed either. Ever since knocking me out, his attitude to me had softened, from a haughty disdain to a more general indifference. He even called me by my name, on occasion, and whenever he did, I felt an inexplicable joy.

“So tell me,” I persisted, “the secrets…”

“There are so many that I can’t even begin to count them,” Miyagi said evasively.

“Do you know them all?” I asked.

“No I don’t,” he said, and I got the feeling I’d touched on something that troubled Miyagi. I didn’t press him, but after a few more paces up the winding road to Shuri, he began to speak again.

“When my teacher, Master Higaonna, was getting old, we spent many hours together training at my home. Afterward, I would have supper prepared for him and we would often talk long into the night. At the time, I asked him everything I wanted to know, and he always had an answer for me.” Miyagi paused. It was a painful memory for him. “That was a long time ago. Today I have many more questions. That is why we’re going to Shuri.”

“What’s in Shuri?”

“There is an old man I want to visit.”

“A karate master?” I asked, excited.

“A master of Okinawan dance,” Miyagi said.

Shinzato and I walked on in silence, our lack of interest obvious.

“Not this modern stuff that young people do today,” Miyagi continued, ignoring our unspoken protest, “but the old dances of Okinawa that were practiced last century, when karate was at its peak.”

“Why are we going to see a dancer?” I asked, bemused.

“Before he died, Master Higaonna told me that many techniques of battle had been concealed in Okinawan dance.”

“Why were they concealed?” I asked.

“Because in those days, the Okinawans were not only banned from using weapons, they were forbidden from practicing any form of martial arts, so it was done in secret and concealed in dance.”

We arrived at the outskirts of Shuri and turned off the main road to follow a back street that wound between rude dwellings in a valley. The walls of the castle and the tall Shureimon Gate soon became visible above us.

“The Japanese had only recently invaded our island,” Miyagi continued. “Remember, as I’ve often told you, Okinawa was an independent kingdom before the arrival of the Satsuma clan.”

We came to a little wooden house surrounded by a high hedge on the outskirts of Shuri, and Miyagi knocked on the door while Shinzato and I stood a respectful distance behind. An old man answered and Miyagi introduced himself. The old man eyed him suspiciously at first, but as Miyagi spoke, he appeared to recognize him and we were invited inside. The interior was dark, and the few pieces of furniture were old. The walls were bare, save for two small prints of colorful birds and an old fan of black and gold that had been opened out and attached to the wall. A small cabinet held a blue tea set and some books and papers, curled at the edges and yellow with age. The dented tatami on the floor showed the wear of countless footsteps over the year. Despite it meagerness, the house was spotlessly clean and there was a pleasing sense order to the place.

The old man offered us tea and refreshments. I was surprised because he was of the generation that wouldn’t deign to prepare such things himself, and he appeared to be alone in the house. I was still wondering how he would conjure up tea for us when he stepped outside and called to a young boy who was playing in the street nearby. The boy ran off with a message and a few moments later a woman appeared, the old man’s daughter, I imagined, to make good on her father’s offer.

While she prepared tea on the tiny stove behind a dividing partition, the old man spoke to us about Okinawan dance, as Miyagi had requested. He talked for a long time and Miyagi listened attentively, never once interrupting, but Shinzato and I quickly grew bored. In the end, Shinzato could hide his disdain no longer and when the old man paused for breath, he demanded to know whether the dances contained martial techniques.

The old man assured him that they did. Shinzato asked him to demonstrate, and the old man rose and walked to the center of the room. His dance began slowly with a high forward step, and then he placed his front foot lightly on the floor, one hand rising while the other sank. As he stepped forward, his hands changed, flowing smoothly from the wrist. He turned a circle in tight little steps. It didn’t seem very martial to me, but I noticed Miyagi watching very carefully. The old man continued his strange movements for several minutes until Shinzato stood up and the old man stopped in surprise.

“I fail to see the martial techniques in your dance,” Shinzato said boldly.

“That doesn’t mean they’re not there,” the old man said, glaring at Shinzato.

“If they’re there, then perhaps you can defend yourself with dance,” Shinzato said, the trace of a smile on his lips, and before the old man could respond he swung a punch at the old man’s head.