The Long Run (18 page)

When nobody raises a hand, McCann says that to be a sumo wrestler, you have to put on a lot of weight. “About two hundred pounds,” he says, “and this means every boy who joins the sumo team will receive extra meals each day and double servings. As well, all sumos will be released regularly from class for special trips to the canteen. Sumo wrestlers will receive special canteen cards.”

Every hand in the class shoots up.

“You may dialogue among yourselves about the advantages of becoming a sumo.” McCann walks to a chair, sits down and lowers his head. The class becomes a beehive.

“I put my hand up, but I wouldn't be caught dead walking around with a diaper stuck up me arse,” Ryan whispers.

“Fuck the loincloth,” Murphy says. “I'm in it for the grub. Extra meals and free trips to the canteen's good enough for me.” Unlike poor Ryan, Murphy doesn't need the extra weight.

Oberstein looks downcast, the way he does when he gets the spells.

“What about you, Oberstein? You in?” Murphy says.

“I dunno,” Oberstein says. “The Japs bombed Pearl Harbor. My president declared war on them for that. I dunno if I can promote their rituals.”

Blackie urges Oberstein to join. “Oberstein, there's two kinds of people in this world. Them that says, I'm gonna make it happen. And them that says, What the hell's happenin'?”

“You're an American, Blackie,” Oberstein says.

“One hundred percent. Stars and Stripes forever,” Blackie says.

“What about Pearl Harbor?” Oberstein says.

“Ain't nobody from Pearl Harbor livin' in Mount Kildare,” Blackie says. “We're POWs, Oberstein, POWs, and we're AWOL, just like in the movies.”

I look at Oberstein and imagine him two hundred pounds heavier.

McCann claps his hands twice. “There are seventy sumo moves. You must master all seventy. The first tournament of the Mount Kildare Sumo Wrestling Team will take place tomorrow after school. Besides the grand champion, there will be junior champions and pre-champions. These will be followed by senior wrestlers, contenders, beginners, and recruits. Right now, you are all recruits. After tomorrow's tournament, you will be ranked. And who knows? Maybe there will be tournaments in town. Against other schools. The Protestants. Maybe there will be Protestant sumos. But Mount Kildare sumos will be the best sumos in the province. Just like our band and our choir and tumblers. Please show up half an hour early for hair and loincloth demonstrations,
chommage
and
shimenawa
. And remember, boys, once you come to the ring, you always refer to me as your grand champion, your
yokozuna
. Your what, boys?”

“
Yokozuna
, Brother.”

He claps his hands again, sharply, like a Chinese mandarin, raises them palm to palm, says “
Gassho
,” bows a deep, slow bow and leaves.

“I don't think we really got a choice.” Murphy nods his head in McCann's direction.

Bug rolls his eyes and cocks his head. “
Yokozuna
,” he mocks.

“Yoko loco,” Blackie says.

There are twenty-seven boys on the sumo wrestling team. Each practice Brother McCann begins roll call by shouting the number one in Japanese,
ichi
. Each boy shouts his number in turn—
ni
,
san
,
shi
,
go
,
roku
—until twenty-seven is called. McCann refuses to allow numbers four and nine to be called out during the same class. They must alternate, he says.
Shi
, number four, has the same pronunciation as “death.” And
ku
, number nine, has the same meaning as “to suffer.”

“
Kurushimu
, four and nine, a very bad combination, sumos. Very, very bad. Forty-nine, as you know, is the worst mark you can get on a test. A
limbo
mark. Better to get one or zero. Forty-eight means you definitely failed. Fifty means you barely passed. But you passed. Forty-nine means you almost made it. You're in a sort of limbo. It's the worst mark a student can possibly attain. Also, 1949 was a very bad year, sumos, a very bad year. You are all students of Newfoundland history. You all know your
Dictionary of Newfoundland
. You all know what happened to our great country during that fateful year, 1949. That was our Pearl Harbor, sumos. The year we joined the Canadians. April Fool's. Ha ha! A terrible, terrible year. We might as well have become communists. We surrendered our souls, our independence. Shameful. We gave up everything, our government, our stamps, our Bank of Newfoundland, our currency, our ambassadors, our pride, sumos. Our pride. Forty-nine . . .
a very bad year
. Four plus nine equals thirteen, unlucky thirteen, sumos. Never ever let me hear
shi
and
ku
called during the same class. Never, ever, ever.” He is extremely angry.

I am number nineteen,
ju-ku
. We all shout our numbers. For some weird reason, McCann thinks shouting is synonymous with being a Japanese sumo wrestler.

“Kavanaghs-san, you're over the line,” he screams. “Review your seventy sumo moves. Murphys-san, bow deeply before your bout.” During sumo sessions he always adds
san
to everyone's name. Bradburys-san, Ryans-san, O'Connors-san. He has an English–Japanese dictionary his brother sent him and he's always looking up Japanese words and shouting them at us.

“Sayonara, Kavanaghs-san, you're over the line again. Westcotts-san, Ryans-san, all sumos, straighten your
shimenawas
.” As he sprays, a strand of slime sticks to his chin.

Ryan and Kavanagh never get their loincloths on properly. They're always half falling off. Poor Kavanagh's droops so low you can usually see his pubic hair. But it's not just Ryan and Kavanagh, all of us, one time or another, have difficulty with our diapers, as Oberstein calls them. We all look pretty foolish.

Brother McCann wants every sumo to be properly loinclothed and haired for the opening tournament. He has arranged the competition according to weight. The winners will receive prizes in the form of extra canteen privileges—bags of chips, candy bars, Tootsie Rolls and soda pop. Everyone wants to win. All matches will be fought in the
dohyo
, and McCann instructs us to gather in a circle and clap our hands over and over, while bowing to each other, until our necks are sore.

“The match begins,” he shouts, “when two sumos enter the ring.” But first, he has to explain the
chiri-chozu
ceremony, which we call the Cheerios ceremony. “Squat at opposite ends of the ring, extend your arms, clap your hands once.” Then he performs the foot-stamping ritual, which is like a war dance the Apaches do in the movies. “Next, the purification ritual,” he shouts, and takes a handful of salt from a bowl Kelly passes him and throws it into the
dohyo
.

Finally, he teaches us the glare-off. “The glare-off is high noon with Gary Coopers,” he says. He pulls Kavanagh and Ryan, the scrawniest sumos, aside and tells them to crouch down at marked white lines. “Clench your fists and glare at each other. Try to break each other's concentration. Glare as hard as you can. It's like a faceoff in hockey.” As he turns and tells us the importance of keeping our focus, Kavanagh bares his teeth at Ryan, who sticks out his tongue. “The glare-off takes four minutes, sumos. You may lunge at any time during the glare-off.”

Every day now, McCann has a new Japanese item, as he calls it. Mostly clippings taken from papers and magazines sent by Father McCann. Yesterday, he read to us from a newspaper clipping sent from Tokyo on the Japanese Noh theater about a Mr. Tetsunojo Kanze, who was born into a family of Noh actors. Today, he asks who Mr. Kanze is.

“Head of one of five major troupes of Noh, a six-hundred-year-old form of musical dance drama that uses measured chants and movements,” Oberstein answers.

“Mr. Kanze is very famous. In Japan he is considered a living national treasure, and he is extremely well known worldwide. He made his first performance at the age of three and currently performs with his two older brothers, Hisao and Hideo.” Today, McCann catches Rowsell daydreaming and asks him to properly pronounce the names of Mr. Kanze's older brothers. Rowsell can't pronounce his own name. He keeps stuttering the word Kansas until McCann gives him a whack on each hand.

Mr. Kanze stages performances for peace and the abolition of nuclear weapons because of the horror of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, which I like to remind Oberstein about when he mentions Pearl Harbor.

Today at practice, McCann reads a piece from a book called
Essays in Idleness
by Yoshida Kenko, a fourteenth-century Buddhist priest. It's about how the Japanese imperial bedchambers always have the pillow facing east in order to receive the influence of the light. McCann asks Oberstein, who is a crackerjack in geography, what direction the east is, and when Oberstein says Virginia Waters, McCann tells us all to change our pillows before bedtime so that all sumo pillows face east.

When he finishes reading from
Essays in Idleness
, he reaches for a game box and holds it high above his head. “Another Japanese item,” he shouts, “from Father McCann. Samurai Sabres, a game of high adventure, which all sumos must master.” He is extremely excited, shouting and spraying spit everywhere. “The time: Sixteen hundreds. The place: Feudal Japan at war. The challenge: Command an army of samurai warriors, battle for provincial control, eliminate your enemies and become shogun. It is a game of strategy, secrecy, diplomacy. Plan your moves in the cafeteria, during recess, before going to sleep, everywhere, except chapel. Cloak your campaign in secrecy by hiring temporary mercenaries or the ninja to spy and assassinate. Form mutual bonds of loyalty with an enemy warlord. But be constantly wary of the knife in the back.”

“So, what's new?” Bug whispers.

McCann passes the game to O'Neill. “This is a game for sumos, all sumos, to master.” He chops his hands sharply, drops his jaw and stares at the ceiling.

Before the tournament tomorrow we must all memorize a Japanese Zen meditation, which we're to recite before every wrestling match. And Brother McCann has talked Rags into teaching us the art of Japanese haiku. That's a form of poetry that has strict rules: three unrhymed lines totalling seventeen syllables, with a pattern of 5-7-5. But Rags says you don't have to stick to that strict pattern. Haiku written in the States usually ignores the rules. Rags says not to worry about the rules, just have fun. He wrote a couple of examples on the blackboard. They're short and cute and fun to write. Most of us really like them. We trade them like baseball cards. My favorite is:

In the old stone pool

a frog jumps:

splishhh

We are told to write a haiku to read out at our next sumo wrestling class. Bug passes one around during study hall:

Cloud sails by Kavanagh's crotch

loincloth slips:

fuck

We crack up. Study hall quickly turns into haiku madness, dirty haiku being passed around hand over fist.

We are all a sight for sore eyes. Buck naked except for our diapers, and with our hair oiled and bobbed on our heads like Pebbles from
The Flintstones
. We've arrived early for McCann's demonstration class. He asks for a volunteer to demonstrate various Western techniques and positions that are unacceptable in sumo wrestling. His special lessons, as he refers to them, can last for up to fifteen minutes. Today he wants us to see the leg sweep, the leg hold, and the head-and-arm throw, all illegal. “No hair pulling,” he shouts, “no fist punching, no eye gouging, no kicking in the privates.”

Nobody volunteers for his special lesson, so he nabs McBride and lies on his side on the mat, locking his legs around poor McBride's skinny waist. He tells us that this is the scissors hold, and no sumo would be caught dead using such a primitive technique. Then he flips poor McBride and jumps on his back and grunts and growls something about arm throws and body braces and why they are illegal. Poor McBride is gasping for air, pinned beneath McCann's throbbing weight. McCann makes a high-pitched moan and looks up. We can see the whites of his eyes. The veins in his neck stick out, his face is reddish purple.