“Enough?” I asked
“Yes.”
I let him go, backing away, keeping my eyes on him in case he attacked again. In actual fact the levels of our skills were similar, but my mind, due to Endo-san’s strict training, was the stronger. The moment Kon launched his attack he had already lost. I was content to wait, forever if need be; he had been too eager to start the fight.
He stood up; the look in his eyes told me his curiosity had been satisfied, his suspicions confirmed. He faced me and without the need for words we both bowed. I did not try to hide my sense of disbelief. We were both students of
aikijutsu,
the art of harmonizing forces.
Endo-san had often told me about his teacher, Morihei Ueshiba, after our classes had ended. Ueshiba was a gentle-looking man with piercing eyes and a quick temper, quick to flare, quicker to dissipate. His name and tales of his prowess were already spread widely across Japan and he was acknowledged as one of the greatest martial artists of all time, even by teachers of other disciplines. Born in the 1880s, he had revolutionized the concept of the warrior arts. The secret behind his power, Ueshiba often told his students, was based on love, love for everyone, for the universe, even for the one who was about to kill you. For love was a power of the universe, and with the universe behind you, who could defeat you?
I had often thought his message was similar to Christ’s emphasis on love. Originally
aikijutsu
was hard-edged, brutal. Ueshiba would eventually smooth the edges by rounding out the techniques, making them completely circular. The movement of the circle was the source of all his techniques. However, it remained extremely effective. The techniques I had learned from Endo-san were still rooted in the old-style
aikijutsu,
for Endo-san had left Japan when Ueshiba was still discovering the concepts that would ultimately ensure him immortality. From Kon’s movements I could see clearly that his
sensei’s
style differed slightly from Endo-san’s; it was softer and rounder. Though I was unaware of it then, I was witnessing and experiencing the evolution of an art.
“Where did you learn all that?” I asked. As the son of a well-known Chinese businessman, I did not expect him to be so proficient in Japanese fighting techniques.
“From my
sensei,”
he said. To my astonishment, he spoke to me in Japanese and I wondered if I had had too much to drink. He stood up, brushing sand off his clothes and tucking his shirt into his trousers, always fastidious about his appearance.
“Well, who is he?” I wanted more answers from him.
“Tanaka-san,” he said, enjoying my impatience. “He’d like to see you.”
I agreed to meet Kon at his home at dawn the following day and visit his teacher. I wanted to meet his
sensei,
and I was certain that Endo-san would be pleased to know of the presence of another man who was adept in
aikijutsu.
We sat above the reach of the incoming tide and talked of other things for a while. Kon suddenly said, “My father and I went to your mother’s funeral. I can still remember parts of it, although I was very young then.”
I could not recall seeing him there. So many people had turned up, not to mourn but because of my father’s position. “That was a long time ago,” I said.
He too had lost his mother at an early age, Kon told me. I sensed the carefully hidden hurt in him, the feeling of having been abandoned, and to my surprise it felt very similar to mine. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know how you must feel.” “Coming from you I know at least that’s the truth.” I was uncertain how to respond to his remark. I saw a smile surface and then sink back into his solemn face, and a short burst of laughter came out from me. His face lost its control and he shook gently with increasing mirth.
We talked for a long time on the beach that night; although we did not know it then, it would be the start of a strong friendship.
* * *
It was only when Uncle Lim was driving me home that I realized Kon had not asked me a single question, that he had seemed to know all about me and perhaps even about Endo-san.
Chapter Twelve
The following morning, Kon and I cycled to Tanjung Tokong, the Cape of the Temple, to pay a visit to his
sensei.
We went along a deserted stretch of beach past the Ocean Pearl Temple. The Cape was a fishing village, the community completely of Hakka bloodline, and the temple was the site of worship of Tua Pek Kong, a pilgrim who had settled in Penang even before Francis Light. Like so many pilgrims, he had been deified after his death.
We cycled along a narrow lane bordered by tall wild-grass, and then onto a sandy path that went downhill. I would not have found the place if I had been on my own.
At the bottom of the path we came to a wooden bungalow with a veranda running around it and a thatched attap roof that sat on it like a straw hat. A pair of coconut trees stood bent over it at one side, their leaves giving sound to the wind. Squirrels scampered on the sparse lawn, running up the trees, chattering busily, when we approached.
Hideki Tanaka waited at the top of the steps, his face impassive though not unfriendly. Like Endo-san’s, his hair was cropped short and gray, but he had a larger, thicker figure.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said in Japanese.
I nodded my head and bowed deeply.
We sat on the veranda facing the sea. The tide was low, and flocks of gulls and birds hopped on the exposed beach, their beaks piercing the sand for food. The empty beach stretched as far as the eye could travel, the seabed as black and rich as newly ploughed fields. Pools of water were trapped between the bumpy sand ridges created by the receding tide, and I wondered where all the sea had gone.
“Sometimes I feel I could walk all the way across to the mainland, across this sea that has opened before us,” Tanaka said, following my gaze. “Walk all the way home.”
“Like Moses,” I answered.
He looked puzzled, as though I had named a friend he had forgotten, then his face cleared. “Ah, yes. The prophet who parted the Red Sea. A charming story.” He instructed Kon to make us tea.
I felt peaceful sitting with him, yet underlying his tranquil mood was a strong sense of loneliness. I recognized it as I had sensed the same in Endo-san. How strange to find two such similar Japanese on this island.
Kon came out with hot green tea and for a while we sipped in silence, taking in each other, gazing out over the earth left behind by the vanished sea.
“Kon told me about you last night, how you fought him to the ground. He was very displeased by that.” Tanaka laughed. “Very few people have ever defeated him. That is why I told him, practice
zazen,
practice it every day. The power of the mind will always overcome the strength and weakness of the body.”
“Do you know my
sensei?”
I asked.
He nodded. “Endo Hayato-san. From one of the well-known families near Toriijima.”
“You don’t have a high regard for him?” I ventured.
“We studied under the same teacher, Ueshiba-sensei.”
I waited for him to explain; his reply had been typical of the sort Endo-san gave me whenever he did not wish me to pursue a matter. I looked directly at Tanaka, letting him know that I had not been fooled by his evasion. Tanaka gave a smile but did not elaborate.
I sighed inwardly, and asked, “What was Ueshiba-sensei like?”
“The gentlest, kindest person I’ve ever known. But also terribly hot-tempered. The greatest
budoka
—martial artist—Japan has ever produced. Endo-san was one of his best pupils. As was I.”
“How did the two of you end up here, on this island?”
“I don’t know. Fate? Endo-san left Ueshiba-sensei a few months before I did. There was some disagreement between them. I didn’t know he was here until a few months after I arrived. By that time I had settled in and bought this house. I had traveled all over Asia, and strangely seemed to find an affinity with this island. So I stayed.” He sighed. “To attempt to find some peace.”
“Strange,” I said. “That was what Endo-san said to me too. To find peace.”
“You must understand, Japan is undergoing a social upheaval. There’s a lot of hatred and ambition there, a bad combination. The Militarists and the Imperialists are agitating for war. Some of us don’t believe in war, and thus we are considered traitors and outcasts.
“I was ordered to teach the army recruits. To teach
aikijutsu
in order for people to be able to kill and murder.
Aikijutsu,
the very concept of which is based on love and harmony! I could not do so and neither could my
sensei.
To avoid further orders from the government he moved to Hokkaido Island, cut himself off from the world and started a farm there. I chose to leave Japan.”
I was certain there was more to this story than he was revealing, but I respected his intentions not to tell me more. He sent Kon inside to boil more water.
“Do you have great affection for Endo-san?” he asked, pouring me another cup of tea. I felt a growing sense of well-being, sitting under the shade of the veranda, listening to the birds and the leaves, feeling the breeze on my body.
I considered his question. “Yes. Yes, I do admire him. I also have strong feelings for him. Not a day goes by that I do not wonder what he is doing, where he is at that moment. He makes me happy to be alive ...” I said, my voice trailing off, unable to put what I felt into words.
“That’s good. I think, in the end, it’s your love for him which will save him.”
“Save him? From what?”
He merely gave a smile and I knew I would not obtain any more from him on that subject. Once again I resolved to ask Endo-san about his life before he left Japan.
Tanaka attempted to hit me then, his fist light and blurred like a tiercel swooping down to capture its prey. I avoided it by shifting my seated body to one side. When he pulled back to withdraw his hand my arm stuck to his, following it back to him, turning it into an attack on him. He turned his torso and overextended me until I was off-balance. I pushed myself to a crouch and shot out a side-kick at him, which I knew immediately was a mistake. He swept it easily aside and slammed me facedown onto the wooden floor. All this while he was still seated in the
seiza
position, his face devoid of expression.
“Your
suwariwaza
—sitting techniques—are still relatively weak. You must practice them more often. If you are strong even while sitting in this uncomfortable position, then think how much stronger you will be when you are upright,
neh?”
He hauled me up while I tried to cool my flaring temper. I realized he had a point. I turned and bowed to him, my forehead touching the ground. “I appreciate your guidance,” I said. “Would you consider teaching me?”
He shook his head. “It would be against all ethics to teach you while you are still the pupil of another
sensei.
However,” he looked up as Kon came to stand at the doorway, “there’s no rule against the two of you learning from each other. I’m of the opinion that the two of you will benefit greatly from being friends.”
Kon smiled and I knew we were both thinking of our shared laughter the night before. I had found a similar soul.
Tanaka became serious, his voice almost insistent. “Endo-san has trained you well. Now it is up to you to find out why he has done so.”
* * *
I was growing worried about Endo-san’s absence when I found a note from him, telling me he had returned. Something in me leaped like a fish in clear water and a lightness danced within me as I rowed to his island. I approached the thicket of trees with eagerness and called out his name as I neared the house.
He looked dark and sunburned, and his hair shone brighter in contrast. “Welcome home,
sensei,”
I greeted him, and I knew he was happy to see me. He invited me into his house, and we sat in front of the hearth.
“Have you been keeping well?” he asked.
“Yes, Endo-san,” I said. I had been disturbed by my conversation with Tanaka and I wondered now if I should tell Endo-san about it. I hesitated. Then I decided that I did not want to keep anything from him, so I described my meeting with Kon’s
sensei.
He did not appear unduly surprised, but when I asked if he would like to visit Tanaka, his voice lost its warmth.
“I do not wish to meet him.”
“But why? We’re practicing the same art, both are styles of
bujutsu
—in fact both of you learned from the same man.”
His voice turned cold and I felt I had gone too far in pushing him. “Be satisfied that both styles work equally well. Be aware that ultimately it is not a question of styles of the same art, or even of different arts; it is rather a question of the person. You cannot say, as an example, that Chinese martial arts defeated Japanese methods yesterday. How can one art defeat another? Can you state that painting ‘was defeated’ by flower arranging? It is only the person who can vanquish another.
