Three Views of Crystal Water (29 page)

Sometimes she saw the sword polisher on the Low Place practising, and in the evenings, she could often see him in the water, swimming.

One night she was waiting for him when he stepped out of the water. She held up the large cotton cloth which was his towel and his wrap. He took it wordlessly, and wound the cloth around himself, thanking her. He turned as if to walk to the bath.

‘Can we still practise the
kata?’
she said.

They began the next day, early, before the women left for fishing.

They began as they had the last year with the onehanded opening –
nukisuki
and the
noto.
It was important not to go too fast. Ikkanshi told her that in his old school, the students had to do the draw and
noto-
the sheathing-for one full year before moving on. He reviewed with her the vertical cut, making certain that she used the left hand to guide the sword. He tried to make her very familiar with the first cut-
mei-
and after that, the first four cuts, which are from sitting.

She was stronger than before and more used to the sitting position. She was firm too in her movements, and quick when she had to be. But he could not praise her. ‘Again,’ he said, and ‘again.’ ‘Ten more times.’

Some days Vera concentrated very hard on her work. It was beautiful to be up at sunrise and before the people were on the harbour front. Sometimes they heard the cranes who had come again to the marshy place. Often they did not speak. But he would finish each
kata,
resheathe the sword, and wait, until he was certain she was ready to begin again. Then he would brush the fabric of his
hakama
from between his knees, bend his knees, and sit again.

‘Again?’ she complained one day.

‘One thousand times and one thousand times again. After many years you may find enlightenment,’ he teased. But it was not really teasing. He was so much quicker than Vera on the drawing he only needed to see her reach for her scabbard, and his sword was blocking her.

He taught her the names. The scabbard was
saya. Uchi
meant inside; she already knew that.
Kachi
meant victory.
Saya no uchi no kachi saya.
‘The sword in the saya, winning without drawing.’

They moved on to
ushiro,
from the back, and
ukenagashi,
warding off, from seated and to the side.
Tuske-ate
came next and then she had a set of four seated
kata
that she could practise. This was very painful to Vera’s knees. But it
was even more painful to Ikkanshi’s, which he was careful to disguise from her.

Vera worked quickly, memorising, if not mastering the movements. He wanted to give her something that she could take away with her. He spoke about the wisdom of the way of the sword.
Katsukin ken,
he said, not
satsujin ken.
‘The sword that gives life, not the sword that takes life.’

‘How can it give life?’ Vera said. ‘I am pretending to cut off the head of my imaginary opponent.’

‘Exactly,’ said the sword polisher. ‘He is imaginary. You are cutting the ropes that tie you to his anger. You are making the separation from anything you must leave behind you in life.’

Some mornings she did not come to practise. Ikkanshi stayed on and did his own
kata,
seemingly indifferent to Vera’s presence, or absence.

But then she returned, and they worked together. It was companionable. Then her absences became more frequent.

‘It is not helping your progress,’ said Ikkanshi mildly, ‘that you have not been here three times this week.’

‘I don’t know why I should learn sword cutting,’ she said, sulkily.

‘Ah,’ said Ikkanshi. ‘We should all learn
budo.’

‘What is that?’

‘Kokoro.’

‘I don’t know what
kokoro
means.’

‘It is not an easy word to explain. It means many things. It is something like heart and something like spirit. It brings together the mind and the personality. To explain
kokoro
–’

He reached for her hair. It was long, bleached by sun and sea and it lay on her back. ‘It is like trying to tie up a girl’s loose hair.’ He took it in his fist and held it tight. Some of the side hairs escaped his grip and he loosed his fingers to catch them. Then the main swatch of hair broke free. He took both hands and tried to put it all together. She stood in front of him quite still with her chin bowed. There
was an awkward moment when he was still gathering the hair and he had realised that it was a mistake to touch her that way.

‘Sorry,’ he said, stepping back. He had forgotten that she was growing up. ‘Some people say, I meant to demonstrate, that trying to explain
kokoro
was like trying to tie up a girl’s loose hair.’

Vera stepped back from him then. ‘So if I have
kokoro,’
she said, ‘where does it live? In my neck? In my arm? Or only in my imagination?’

‘It lives in your whole person. Shall we begin?’ He wanted to get back to the
kata
quickly.

She had progressed, by mid summer, to the first ten, with only two more to teach her of the primary set.

But Vera showed her reluctance to come. Often she was late. Several times each week she slept in and was only woken by the other fisherwomen going out. It was as if she wanted him to chide her, and he refused to. Finally Vera said, ‘I have missed three mornings. You are my teacher. Are you not angry with me?’

‘I am not angry with you, Vera,’ he said simply. ‘A good
sensei
is never angry with the student. As student and
sensei
we are walking along together, that is all.’

Working on the standing
kata
was good. He taught her the footwork, going over the basics many times so that, later she would not develop bad habit.

‘It is useful to imagine that there is a doorway here,’ he would say, ‘and your opponent is on the other side. You approach as if you will walk by the opening and let him jump out at you, but then, instantly and without warning, you put your hand on the
saya
and turn, ninety degrees, drawing on him.’

It was fun, prowling in the tall grass, hearing the first morning voices in the village, the women at the well, the men with the boats. And gradually these voices would become louder and begin to intrude on the practice.

‘We will do
mei, ushiro, ukenagashi, tsuke-ate
and
kesa giri
one more time and then we will finish for this morning,’ Ikkanshi would say.

And then they would perform the etiquette, which was very important, to kneel before the sword, to remove the ties from the waistband that held it in place, wind the ties around the
saya
and tuck the ends away, to bow to each other, and to retreat.

The girls no longer played the shell game. Hana and Vera walked along the beach, and Teru walked behind them. Along the way, Hana dropped behind Vera, and Teru moved up, so that he was beside her. Alone, Vera looked out into the crowd of younger boys in the water.

‘What are they doing?’ She spoke loudly, so that her voice would carry three feet behind.

‘They’re catching octopus. Mikimoto put a bounty on them,’ Hana said.

‘Why?’

‘They get into his pearl oysters. You can get one
sen
for each octopus arm you catch. You can keep the octopus, too.’

This seemed a melancholy boon to Vera, and she kicked the sand and walked on. She was looking at the ground when Tamio burst out of the water and blocked her passage. He was streaming with water and laughing; he had an octopus in his hand, its tentacles hanging down to his knees.

‘Look!’

‘What are you doing with that?’ she asked.

‘I caught it.’

He meant to please her but she scowled.

‘You can keep it.’

‘No.’ She turned away.

‘Don’t go.’

She stopped.

He looked at her, and then back at Teru and Hana, who were close together. Tamio was probably just trying to get her away from Hana. Helping out his friend Teru. Although she didn’t think they were friends. Teru was old and serious, but Tamio was still racing around with the kids, cutting the arms off the octopuses.

‘I walk with you?’

‘Why?’

‘You look
at
me,’ he said. ‘Every time.’

He stood between her and Hana, who was moving a little farther away, with Teru. He put his leg out to stop her passing.

‘I do not!’

She had never looked at his eyes before. They were not black, but brown, flecked with gold. She was determined not to look away first. But there was no way of holding his eyes and not smiling. He was not going to look away either.

They could not walk or even move for fear of disconnecting their eyes. The smiles widened.

‘Vera,’ called Hana.

‘Wait.’

‘Vera, I’m going back.’

Vera could not speak for fear of blinking. She was annoyed that Tamio wasn’t giving in. Most people gave in. Her eyes, although fiercely fixed on his, also took in the fine bone high in his cheek and the pale copper of his skin. He had long lashes too.

‘Stop,’ she said.

‘Why?’

She thought he would reach for her and touch her. She wanted him to. Staring at him, not backing down, she stood there wanting him to reach out with both arms and put her head against his chest. She wondered if Hana was turning back. Her eyes wavered off to the side.

Then Tamio did step forward. He put his hands on her
shoulders. He pulled her lightly toward him. They were exactly the same height. He seemed about to kiss her lips but he, too, faltered. A small sound of regret came out of her mouth. He sprang away from her.

‘Your friend is going,’ he said, because now Vera was looking at Hana’s retreating back.

Hana’s walking away seemed much larger than just a one hundred and eighty degree turn while walking on the beach.

Vera must have looked desolate.

‘No,’ he said, and touched her arm. ‘Don’t be sad. Teru is good.’

After that the two boys, or rather, the man and the boy, were always on the beach after dinner. Hana was loyal, and stayed with Vera, but Vera could feel her waiting.

‘Here they come.’

‘I know.’ Hana sighed, lazy, indolent, and confident.

‘Are you going to talk to him tonight?’

‘I might.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Not what?’

‘Going to talk to Tamio.’

‘Don’t you like him?’

‘I do like him, but …’ Was he the only boy in the world? Vera looked out to the blank horizon – a line in a notebook that had not been written on. She knew where she was. She was on a little island, a speck of nowhere. There were other boys, other girls, in Vancouver, in London, everywhere, and they – surely they didn’t just choose each other by sight out of a crowd, and circle each other on the beach, and then go off together. She did not know what was next. At home she would have been able to tell. She would have read about it in books. The other girls would have told her. Here, nothing was said. It was as if this was all there was. And so she did not want it to happen.

‘Are you going to?’ she asked Hana.

‘Going to what?’

‘You know.’ She did not even know the words in Japanese.

Hana laughed.

The boys were closer behind them. They were throwing something back and forth between them. Their voices and the sound of their efforts, reaching, running for the thing – it was a fishing buoy, Vera could see out of the corner of her eye – were closer.

‘I will,’ said Hana. ‘Some day.’

‘Soon?’ said Vera.

Not slowly, but quickly, in a week, it changed. She came to like having the boys around. Walking out together, Hana and Vera were met by first one, then by the other. They exchanged secret smiles and branched off, Hana and Teru going to Dragon Lake, Vera and Tamio to the High Place. Vera didn’t know what Hana and Teru did together. She soon ceased to care.

There were only a few hours before the girls had to go in. The sky darkened and the wind rustled the water, the tiny house fires went on, and a few oil lamps too. The whole village was tired from being in the sun and wind. The setting sun made everyone quiet, gentle. Vera and Tamio put their heads together.

By now Tamio had declared himself her boyfriend. And so he was that: Vera’s boyfriend. She didn’t resist. He was of the island, but perhaps – by being in Keiko’s family – he had made himself apart from it. His eyes did not stop at the edge of the water: they looked to the horizon. He was curious, a little, and when he got over his shyness, he asked Vera questions about Vancouver, about Canada, about London. What were the streets like there? He had seen pictures and he knew there were a lot of cars. Did ordinary people truly get to meet the Queen, another shocking fact that he had heard.

‘Don’t ask me. I’ve never been in London!’ she said.

‘But you – English.’

‘My mother was English.’

‘Your English mother where is she?’

‘She’s gone,’ said Vera. ‘She died.’

‘She come back
O-Bon?’

O-Bon
was the Festival of the Dead, and it happened near the end of the summer.

‘She wouldn’t come. She hated it here.’

Tamio bowed his head. He reached for her. She moved inside the circle of his arms but kept a little away from his chest. Not so close that they touched. Touching was too much. With his arms stretching around her shoulders and meeting behind her back he made a hoop. She turned around inside it. She could feel the heat of his body. They were almost the same height. But he was wide, in the shoulders. She liked the way his waist came in to a narrow V, and his hips, which were lower than hers, stayed that same width. She turned inside the hoop, her arms up, making a game of seeing how much room she had to move in there. She turned her back to him to see the water. It was nearly dark and little white rills of foam appeared here and there on the surface.

He moved the hoop down, around her waist. She turned again this time, but his arms were closer to her. She bumped into him, and said, ‘Oh, sorry.’ His arms tightened and pulled her in. She arched back to keep her face away from his. He placed the palms of his hands on the middle of her back.