Читать книгу Legends of the Martial Arts Masters - Susan Lynn Peterson - Страница 10

Sumo is a traditional style of Japanese wrestling. Huge men, some of them weighing as much as 450 pounds, enter a packed-clay ring covered by a large roof that looks like a Shinto shrine. The ring is known as a dohyo, the wrestlers as rikishi. From a crouching position, the rikishi, wearing nothing but silk loincloths, crash into each other. To win the match, one of them has to tip the other over or push him out of the ring.

The Great Wave

Onami stood across from his opponent in the dohyo, the sumo ring. He estimated the opponent to be a good seventy-five pounds lighter than he. Size didn’t guarantee him a victory, but it would certainly help. Onami looked into his opponent’s eyes. They were cool, steady. Onami hoped his looked just as steady, but he doubted it. There was something about wrestling in a ring before a huge, cheering crowd that made him nervous.

Onami took a wide straddle stance, slowly rocked up on one foot, then dropped the other with a force he hoped would make the ground shake. Across the ring, his opponent was doing the same. Stamping the ground this way drove out any evil that may be lurking in the ring. Onami hoped it would also shake loose some of the growing fear rumbling in his belly. He picked up a handful of salt from a basket in the corner and scattered it in the ring, saying a quick prayer for safety. Then he moved to his side of the ring and squatted, arms stretched wide. The gyoji in charge of the match signaled with the colorful fan he held in his hand. The two wrestlers moved to the center and crouched, their knuckles in the sand that covered the clay ring.

Onami knew he had to win this match. He hadn’t had a victory in a long time, a fact that caused him great shame among the wrestlers of his stable. “I can’t lose this match,” he told himself. “I can’t lose. I have to win.” His opponent charged, interrupting Onami’s inner pep talk. Onami charged back. Quickly, almost automatically, he reached for the band around his opponent’s waist. He felt it in his hand, but then his fingers slipped as his opponent shifted his weight. “I have to move,” he thought as he felt his opponent’s leg hook behind his own. He shifted ever so slightly, and that was all his opponent needed. Onami felt his feet go out from under him. A huge cheer went up for his opponent as Onami hit the hard clay of the ring.

“I don’t know what the problem is,” Onami said to his friend Takagawa the next day at practice. “I do fine here at the school. But when I get into the ring, I can be dumped by rikishi half my size.”

“All you can do is keep working,” his friend said. “It’s only a bad case of jitters. If you practice hard enough, it’s bound to go away sooner or later.”

“I thought so, too,” Onami said. “But that was over twenty losses ago. If I don’t get a win soon, the Master is going to dismiss me from the stable.”

“That kind of thinking is going to get you into trouble,” Takagawa replied. “You can’t do anything about yesterday or tomorrow. Let’s just practice today.”

The two friends squared off in the ring. Onami charged and easily pushed his friend from the circle. Other students climbed into the ring with him, and he pushed them out as well. Finally Onami’s teacher stepped into the ring. Onami bowed low in respect. But when the opportunity presented itself, he twisted his teacher off balance and dumped him on the ground.

“Why can’t I wrestle this well in the ring?” Onami muttered to himself as he returned to his room after practice. “Why can I defeat anyone, including my teacher, in training, but the moment I step into the ring, I can be defeated by any beginner who steps in with me?”

He hung is head in shame and puzzlement as he shuffled down the hall. “Onami!”

Onami turned at the sound of his name. “Yes, teacher,” he said.

“I want you to talk to someone who can help you with your wrestling,” his teacher said. “Tomorrow morning you will present yourself at the Zen monastery. There you will ask for a man named Hakuju. Do what he tells you.”

“Yes, teacher,” Onami replied wondering what a man at a Zen monastery would know about sumo.

The sun had just barely poked above the horizon the next day when Onami knocked at the monastery gate. A young monk answered and took him to the temple where a thin old man sat in meditation. The young monk left, and Onami waited. The old man’s body was still, silent. His face was a picture of complete relaxation. Yet despite the coolness of the morning air, perspiration ran freely down the old man’s face. He was obviously engaged in some inner struggle Onami could neither see nor sense.

Eventually the old man opened his eyes, rose, and turned to Onami. “You are Onami,” he said.

“Yes,” Onami replied bowing deeply. “Your name means ‘great wave.’” “Yes.”

“I hear you are not so great in the dohyo. I hear a tiny splash could push you over.”

Onami cringed but said nothing.

“Would you like to become a great wave, pushing over everything in your path?”

“I would,” Onami replied, “more than anything.”

“Then kneel here,” the old monk said, motioning to a small kneeling bench. “Close your eyes. Meditate. Picture a big wave.”

Onami knelt, closed his eyes. In his mind he saw a wave, a large wave. It crashed on the beach before him. He wondered if he was becoming a better wrestler yet. He opened his eyes.

“I’ve seen the wave,” he said rising to his feet. “What do I do next?” “Next, you see the wave,” Hakuju said motioning for him to kneel again. “I will be back this afternoon to check on you.”

Onami knelt and closed his eyes again. In his mind he saw the wave. It rose and fell, rose and fell. Onami heard its thunder, saw it crash on the beach. All morning he watched the wave. And all morning he wondered how the wave was going to help him become a better wrestler.

That afternoon, Hakuju returned. “Have you been picturing a great wave?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Onami replied.

“Tell me about it,” Hakuju said.

“Well,” Onami began, “it’s large, and it’s covered with foam, and it crashes on the beach.” He paused, not sure what else to say.

“It sounds like a pretty small wave to me,” Hakuju replied. “I told you to picture a big wave. I will be back at sunset to check on you.”

Onami closed his eyes. The wave in his mind grew. It rose high above his head, crashed at his feet. Onami smelled the wind off the ocean, tasted the salt on his lips. The power of the wave shook the earth around him, filled him with its echo.

Onami was deep in his meditation when Hakuju returned that evening. “Tell me about the wave,” he said.

Onami paused, not sure what to say. “It shakes the earth when it crashes. It’s frightening, but it’s also beautiful. It’s more water than I have ever seen in my life,” he said.

“It sounds like a pretty small wave to me,” Hakuju replied. “I told you to picture a big wave. I will be back at sunrise to check on you.”

Onami was disappointed. In a way, though, he was pleased to have more time to spend with the wave. He closed his eyes. All night the wave swelled and grew. Its sound was deafening inside Onami’s mind. Suddenly, it leapt forward and picked up Onami from where he had been sitting on the beach. In its core, Onami rolled and tumbled until he came out the back of the wave. Sputtering water, Onami paddled to keep up, struggled to catch the wave, to become part of it. The wave picked him up and carried him, filled him with its power. It washed through the temple, carrying it away. It washed through Onami’s school, carrying it away. It washed over the dohyo where Onami competed, carrying away the great roof and all Onami’s competitors. Nothing could stand in the path of this great wave.

“Onami!” Hakuju’s hand was on his shoulder. “Onami, it’s morning.” Onami opened his eyes. Salt water rolled off his forehead. He blinked it back, surprised to see the temple still standing. The ground all around him was dry.

“Tell me about the wave,” Hakuju said.

Onami broke into a huge grin. “I’m not sure I can,” he said. “You should have been here. It was . . .” he paused, not sure how to describe the experience.

“Go home,” Hakuju said. “And remember next time you step into the ring that you are Onami. You are the Great Wave.”

Onami’s opponent squatted opposite him beneath the great roof of the dohyo. Onami looked around. In his vision, the wave had carried all this away. “I am Onami,” he said to himself. “I am the great wave.”

The gyoji signaled with his fan. Onami felt the swell inside him. He crashed into his opponent, flowed over and through him, pushing him easily out of the ring. The judges gave the signal. He had won the match.