The Way Of The Sword (8 page)

‘KIAI!’ screamed Akiko.

Her fist slammed into the solid block of wood.

And rebounded…

The strike looked exceedingly painful and Jack winced for her. Akiko cradled her hand, tears welling up in her eyes, her joy of the previous night completely extinguished by their first class of the day,
taijutsu
.

‘Next!’ shouted Sensei Kyuzo, without a hint of sympathy.

Akiko knelt back in line to allow Jack to take up position in front of the short rectangular plank. The cedar was as thick as his thumb and appeared indestructible with bare hands. Still Sensei Kyuzo had placed it upon two stable blocks in the middle of the
Butokuden
and instructed every student to break the board with their fists.

So far no one had even dented it.

Jack clenched his right hand in preparation to strike. With all his might, he drove his arm down on to the cedar plank. His fist collided with the block, sending a shuddering jolt up his arm. The wood didn’t even splinter, but Jack felt as if every bone in his hand had shattered.

‘Pathetic,’ snarled Sensei Kyuzo, waving him dismissively back into line.

Jack rejoined the rest of class, who were all nursing bruised hands and aching arms.

‘Iron is full of impurities that weaken it,’ lectured Sensei Kyuzo, ignoring the suffering of his students. ‘Through forging, it becomes steel and is transformed into a razor-sharp sword. Samurai develop in the same fashion. Those wishing to prove they’re strong enough to be chosen for the Circle of Three will be required to break through three such blocks, at the same time.’

Sensei Kyuzo suddenly attacked the cedar block, dropping his tiny body downwards and driving his fist through the wood with a shout of ‘KIAI!’

CRACK!
The cedar split in two as if it were no more than a chopstick.

‘You’re all merely iron waiting to be forged into mighty warriors,’ continued Sensei Kyuzo without skipping a beat, ‘and your forge is
tamashiwari
, Trial by Wood.’

He looked pointedly in Jack’s direction.

‘It’s just that some of you have more impurities than others,’ he added as he strode over to one of the
Butokuden’
s mighty wooden pillars.

Jack bit down on his lip, determined not to rise to the sensei’s bait.

‘Like iron, you must beat out these weaknesses,’ Sensei Kyuzo explained, indicating a pad of rice straw bound by cord at chest height to the pillar.

He punched it with his fist. The wooden column boomed deeply under the force of the blow.

‘This is a
makiwara
. I’ve set up these striking posts on each pillar of the training hall. You’re to hit these repeatedly to strengthen the bones in your hands. It’s good conditioning for all samurai. Twenty punches each. Begin!’

Jack lined himself up behind Saburo, who was already preparing to make his first strike.

‘One!’ shouted Saburo, working himself up for the punch.

Saburo’s fist collided with the straw pad. There was a crunch followed by a feeble groan as his hand crumpled against the rigid pillar. Saburo, his eyes screwed up in pain, stepped aside for Jack.

‘Your turn,’ he moaned through gritted teeth.

‘Three blocks!’ exclaimed Saburo, who was having trouble holding his
hashi
during dinner that evening. He wiggled his fingers trying to get movement back into his bruised hand. ‘I’m glad it’s you and not me going for the Circle of Three. One’s hard enough. How on earth are you supposed to break three blocks?’

‘You think Trial by Wood’s hard? This is only the beginning. We’re being judged on three other trials too,’ said Yamato, putting down his rice bowl.

He nodded towards the head table, where their
kyujutsu
teacher sat. Sensei Yosa, the only female samurai among the teachers and their instructor in the Art of the Bow, was looking as radiant as ever, the ruby-red scar that cut across her right cheek discreetly hidden behind her beautiful mane of black hair. ‘I’ve heard Sensei Yosa’s Trial by Fire is to snuff out a candle.’

‘That doesn’t sound so bad,’ said Jack, his hand also stiff as he struggled to pick up a piece of
sashimi
from the centre plate.

‘No, but in order to prove your skill for the Circle you have to do it with an arrow, fired at long distance.’

Jack dropped his
sashimi
in disbelief.

‘At this rate, none of you will be entering the Circle,’ observed Kiku.

Jack glumly retrieved his piece of fish from the table. Kiku was probably right. His own archery skills were passable, but he knew he had little hope of achieving such a feat as Trial by Fire.

‘Do you know what the other two trials are? Are they any easier?’ asked Jack hopefully.

‘Sensei Yamada is setting a Trial by
Koan
,’ revealed Akiko. ‘Our answer to the question will be used to assess our intellect.’

‘Yori, you’d better be careful,’ said Saburo, arching his eyebrows into a look of serious concern. ‘As the king of solving
koans
, you might be entered for the Circle whether you like it or not!’

Yori looked up from his bowl of miso soup, a startled expression on his face.

‘Stop teasing him!’ scolded Kiku.

Saburo shrugged an apology before slurping appreciatively on his noodles.

‘So what’s the final trial?’ asked Jack.

‘That’s Sensei Hosokawa’s Trial by Sword,’ answered Akiko. ‘To test our courage.’

‘I’ve heard the older students call it the Gauntlet,’ added Saburo.

‘Why’s that?’ asked Jack.

‘I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll find out.’

‘Can anyone tell me what this is?’ asked Sensei Yamada, indicating a bright white square of paper at his feet.

The ancient monk sat, cross-legged, in his usual position on the raised dais at the rear of the Buddha Hall, his hands gently folded in his lap. Trails of incense weaved a curtain of smoke around him and mingled with his grey spiderweb of a beard, making him appear ghost-like, as if the slightest breeze could blow him away.

The students, also sitting in the half-lotus position, studied the squares of paper laid out before them like large snowflakes.

‘Paper, Sensei,’ scoffed Nobu from the back of the class, grinning at Kazuki for approval. But Kazuki just shook his head in disbelief at his friend’s idiocy.

‘Never assume the obvious is true, Nobu-kun,’ said Sensei Yamada. ‘That’s what it is, but it’s much more than that. What else is it?’

Nobu fell silent under Sensei Yamada’s glare. The sensei may have been an old man, but Jack knew he’d been
sohei
, one of the notoriously fearsome warrior monks of Enryakuji, once the most powerful Buddhist monastery in Japan. It was rumoured the fighting spirit of these monks had been so strong, they could kill a man without even touching him.

Sensei Yamada clapped his hands and called,
‘Mokuso!’
signalling the start of the class’s meditation. The
koan
had been set: ‘It is paper, but what else is it?’

Jack settled himself on his
zabuton
cushion in preparation for his
zazen
meditation. Half closing his eyes, he slowed his breathing and let his mind empty.

As a Christian, Jack had never encountered meditation, or even Buddhism, prior to his arrival in Japan. At first he had found the process and concepts difficult to grasp. He questioned whether, as a Christian, he should be accepting them so readily, but three things had helped him change his mind.

First, when he had raised the conflict of faith with Sensei Yamada, the monk had explained to him that Buddhism was a philosophy open to all religions. This was why the Japanese had no issues with following Shintoism – their native religion – practising Buddhism, and even converting to Christianity, at the same time.

‘They’re all strands of the same rug,’ Sensei Yamada had said, ‘only different colours.’

Second, Jack had discovered that meditation was quite similar to the act of praying. Both required focus, peaceful surroundings and, usually, reflections upon life and how it should be led. So Jack decided he would think of meditation as simply another form of praying to God.

Third, during a particularly deep meditation, he had experienced the vision of a butterfly overcoming a demon and this vision had helped him win his
taijutsu
fight in the
Taryu-Jiai
contest.

This had been the proof that encouraged Jack to open his mind to the possibilities and benefits of Buddhism, even if he remained a Christian at heart.

Through daily practice he had become adept at meditation, and in no time at all his mind was focused on the piece of paper before him, trying to unravel the mystery of the
koan
. Even though no answer was immediately forthcoming, he wasn’t worried. He knew enlightenment,
satori
as Sensei Yamada called it, took patience and intense concentration.

Yet, whichever way he looked at the paper, it was still merely a sheet of paper.

A whole stick of incense had burnt through by the time Sensei Yamada called a halt to the meditation, and Jack was no closer to experiencing
satori
.

‘Mokuso yame!’
said the sensei, clapping his hands once more. ‘So, do you have an answer for me, Nobu-kun?’

‘No, Sensei,’ mumbled Nobu, bowing his head in shame.

‘Anyone else?’ invited the sensei.

Kiku raised her hand tentatively. ‘Is it
kozo
, Sensei?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘The paper is made from the fibres of the
kozo
tree,’ explained Kiku.

‘A fair suggestion, but you are still thinking too literally. How about if I do this?’

Sensei Yamada picked up his paper and folded it several times. Initially shaping it into a smaller square, he then bent the sheet in increasingly intricate folds. Within moments, the flat piece of paper had been transformed into a small bird.

He placed the paper model on the floor for all to see.

‘So what is it?’

‘A crane!’ said Emi excitedly. ‘Our symbol of peace.’

‘Excellent, Emi. And folding a paper crane is like making peace – some of the steps are awkward. At first, it may even seem impossible. But, with patience, the result is always a thing of beauty. This is the art of
origami
.’

Sensei Yamada took a fresh piece of paper from a small pile behind him.

‘So let me rephrase my opening question for you to meditate on. The
koan
is now: what is it that
origami
teaches us? But first watch me closely, so that you can all make your own cranes.’

Sensei Yamada repeated the complex combination of folds that would create the little bird. There were more than twenty individual steps. When the sensei made his last move, pulling at the corners of the model to form the wings, he was left with a perfect miniature crane in his palm.

In Jack’s hand, though, was a crumpled piece of paper.

Jack realized that
origami
was far more difficult than it appeared. He looked around at the others. The attempts by Yamato and Saburo were equally flawed, and even Akiko’s model appeared rather lopsided with one wing vastly larger than the other. The only student to have folded a crane perfectly was Yori, who was pulling at its tail and making the little bird’s wings flap.

‘It seems some of you need more practice,’ observed Sensei Yamada, who selected a second piece of paper and laid it in front of him. ‘So who can tell me what this is?’

‘A crane!’ chimed the class in unison.

‘Certainly not!’ admonished Sensei Yamada, much to the confusion of his students. ‘Use the eyes of your mind, not the eyes in your head.’

Picking up the paper, he folded and bent the sheet, his fingers dexterously manipulating it into ever more complex shapes. The students gasped in astonishment at the finished model.

‘This is quite clearly a butterfly,’ said the sensei with a wry smile, and in his hand was a lifelike replica of a butterfly, complete with antennae. ‘Tonight, I want you all to practise making a paper crane like I showed you. And while you do this, meditate on what
origami
is teaching you.’

The class collected up their pieces of paper and filed out of the Buddha Hall.

‘Remember the answer is in the paper!’ Sensei Yamada called after his departing students.

Jack, however, remained behind. He waited until everyone had gone, then approached his sensei.

‘You appear troubled, Jack-kun. What’s on your mind?’ asked Sensei Yamada, arranging his butterfly and crane models on the altar at the foot of the shrine’s great Buddha statue.

Jack summoned up the courage to speak about his personal fears. ‘I’ve been told that a Christian priest has been killed by
daimyo
Kamakura. Is this true?’

Sensei Yamada nodded sadly. ‘I’ve heard this news too. It’s an unfortunate case.’

‘So the
daimyo does
intend to kill all Christians in Japan?’ exclaimed Jack, alarmed to hear that the rumours were right.

‘Who told you that?’ said Sensei Yamada, raising his eyebrows in surprise. ‘As I understand, the death was not religiously motivated. The priest bribed a court official and so was punished for his crime. Granted, such a thing has never happened before and
daimyo
Kamakura does seem to be taking a hard line with foreigners, but this doesn’t automatically mean all Christians are under threat.’

‘But I’d heard that the
daimyo
was going to expel all foreigners by force,’ Jack insisted. ‘And that would include me!’

‘You needn’t worry,’ replied Sensei Yamada, smiling warmly at Jack. ‘If Masamoto-sama thought you were in danger, he would make moves to ensure your safety.’

Jack realized that Sensei Yamada was right and his idea of escaping to Nagasaki on his own had been idiotic, as well as completely unnecessary with Masamoto as his protector. But he was also aware of the strict hierarchy of Japanese rule. Kamakura, as the
daimyo
of Edo, was an influential man, and Jack wondered whether Masamoto wielded enough power to guard him from the higher authority of a lord.