Read Online Legends of the Martial Arts Masters by Susan Lynn Peterson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Lynn Peterson
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of both strength and deep sadness. Takenouchi’s mind wandered to the battlefield he had just left. He understood how the old man felt.
Days passed, then weeks. Each day, Takenouchi spent more and more time working in Sato’s garden and walking in the forest that surrounded his house. Gradually his strength returned. The pain in his head eased.
One day while walking, he found a long, straight oak branch. He cut it down and brought it back to Sato’s cottage. Sitting cross-legged beside the garden, he whittled away the excess until he had a bokken, a wooden practice sword. Carefully, he checked the balance and then smoothed the surface by rubbing it with sand. That night he slept with his weapon beside his mat the way that soldiers usually did.
The next morning, cautiously at first, Takenouchi began his practice. His shoulder ached, but the ache was an old pain, the pain of a limb that was healing, not the pain of a limb being newly injured. He found an old tree stump and dropped a stroke down onto its center. He had a lot of work to do to build the strength in that arm again. A soldier with a weak side didn’t last long in battle.
After several weeks of training, Takenouchi’s shoulder was nearly back to normal. His headaches were almost gone, and he decided it was time to go back to work. He approached Sato in his garden.
“I think the time has come for me to leave,” he said. He felt a lump in his throat. He had grown very fond of the old man.
“Will you go back to being a soldier?” Sato asked. “It is what I do,” Takenouchi replied.
“You will go back to killing and possibly being killed yourself?” “It is what a soldier does.”
“Then may I ask something from you, as a soldier, before you leave?” “Certainly,” Takenouchi said, bowing to his old friend. “Anything. I owe you my life.”
“Attack me,” said Sato stepping out of the garden. “What do you mean?”
“Attack me. Try to grab me. As a favor.”
Takenouchi didn’t understand, but as a favor to Sato, he walked up and tried to grab his arm.
“No, no,” Sato said, “Attack me.”
Takenouchi lunged for the man’s throat. But before he could grasp it, he felt his wrist being brushed away. His elbow locked out. His arm cranked over his head. Not sure what happened, Takenouchi picked himself up from the dust.
“Attack me,” Sato commanded again.
This time Takenouchi rushed him. Sato could obviously take care of himself. Takenouchi ducked low, thinking to knock the man over. But in midstride, he felt Sato’s foot knock his own feet out from under him. A quick twist of Sato’s hips propelled the young samurai again into the dust. Takenouchi scrambled to his feet and grabbed for his bokken. Sato stood calmly waiting for him. Takenouchi swung the sword, thinking to thump the old man on the head. But Sato was quickly inside the swing, locking up Takenouchi’s arms and stripping the sword from his hands.
“Are you hurt?” Sato asked.
“No,” said Takenouchi. “Of course not.”
“But had you attacked a superior foe like that in battle, would you be hurt?”
“Hurt, or dead,” replied Takenouchi.
“But I was able to stop you without hurting you,” Sato pointed out. “Yes.” Takenouchi wasn’t sure what Sato’s point might be.
“Come, sit,” said the old man walking to the doorway of his cottage. “Let me tell you what I have learned here in the forest these many years. A soldier sees an attack and says, ‘I must kill or be killed.’ I see an attack and I know that I must keep it from hurting me. But whether I choose to kill or even hurt my attacker is up to me.”
Takenouchi sat for a moment, taking in what Sato had said.
“You don’t have to kill,” Sato said. “If you know how to take your attacker’s center, each time, every time, you can keep yourself safe. Then you can choose to kill or not kill.”
“Can you teach me?” Takenouchi asked.
“I was hoping you’d ask,” the old
Days passed, then weeks. Each day, Takenouchi spent more and more time working in Sato’s garden and walking in the forest that surrounded his house. Gradually his strength returned. The pain in his head eased.
One day while walking, he found a long, straight oak branch. He cut it down and brought it back to Sato’s cottage. Sitting cross-legged beside the garden, he whittled away the excess until he had a bokken, a wooden practice sword. Carefully, he checked the balance and then smoothed the surface by rubbing it with sand. That night he slept with his weapon beside his mat the way that soldiers usually did.
The next morning, cautiously at first, Takenouchi began his practice. His shoulder ached, but the ache was an old pain, the pain of a limb that was healing, not the pain of a limb being newly injured. He found an old tree stump and dropped a stroke down onto its center. He had a lot of work to do to build the strength in that arm again. A soldier with a weak side didn’t last long in battle.
After several weeks of training, Takenouchi’s shoulder was nearly back to normal. His headaches were almost gone, and he decided it was time to go back to work. He approached Sato in his garden.
“I think the time has come for me to leave,” he said. He felt a lump in his throat. He had grown very fond of the old man.
“Will you go back to being a soldier?” Sato asked. “It is what I do,” Takenouchi replied.
“You will go back to killing and possibly being killed yourself?” “It is what a soldier does.”
“Then may I ask something from you, as a soldier, before you leave?” “Certainly,” Takenouchi said, bowing to his old friend. “Anything. I owe you my life.”
“Attack me,” said Sato stepping out of the garden. “What do you mean?”
“Attack me. Try to grab me. As a favor.”
Takenouchi didn’t understand, but as a favor to Sato, he walked up and tried to grab his arm.
“No, no,” Sato said, “Attack me.”
Takenouchi lunged for the man’s throat. But before he could grasp it, he felt his wrist being brushed away. His elbow locked out. His arm cranked over his head. Not sure what happened, Takenouchi picked himself up from the dust.
“Attack me,” Sato commanded again.
This time Takenouchi rushed him. Sato could obviously take care of himself. Takenouchi ducked low, thinking to knock the man over. But in midstride, he felt Sato’s foot knock his own feet out from under him. A quick twist of Sato’s hips propelled the young samurai again into the dust. Takenouchi scrambled to his feet and grabbed for his bokken. Sato stood calmly waiting for him. Takenouchi swung the sword, thinking to thump the old man on the head. But Sato was quickly inside the swing, locking up Takenouchi’s arms and stripping the sword from his hands.
“Are you hurt?” Sato asked.
“No,” said Takenouchi. “Of course not.”
“But had you attacked a superior foe like that in battle, would you be hurt?”
“Hurt, or dead,” replied Takenouchi.
“But I was able to stop you without hurting you,” Sato pointed out. “Yes.” Takenouchi wasn’t sure what Sato’s point might be.
“Come, sit,” said the old man walking to the doorway of his cottage. “Let me tell you what I have learned here in the forest these many years. A soldier sees an attack and says, ‘I must kill or be killed.’ I see an attack and I know that I must keep it from hurting me. But whether I choose to kill or even hurt my attacker is up to me.”
Takenouchi sat for a moment, taking in what Sato had said.
“You don’t have to kill,” Sato said. “If you know how to take your attacker’s center, each time, every time, you can keep yourself safe. Then you can choose to kill or not kill.”
“Can you teach me?” Takenouchi asked.
“I was hoping you’d ask,” the old
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