track down the mountain.
“Why did you take her payment when we have plenty of rice?” Taji asks Sensei. “She is a poor woman.” Taji doesn’t miss anything. The soft sound of worn sandals and grains of rice rubbing together echoes like thunder in his ears.
“She needed to give it to me.”
“Huh?” says Mikko.
“Sensei gave her dignity by accepting her payment for the service he provided,” explains Kyoko.
Sensei nods. “It is important to serve. A samurai lives to serve. Sometimes what is right does not make immediate sense.”
“Was it right for me to give him my sword?” I ask. It feels strange to be swordless. Without Izuru there is an empty space in my heart that even the White Crane cannot fill.
“Is it right for me to tell you what to do with your sword? What is right?” Sensei asks me in answer. It’s the Zen thing, so I keep my mouth shut. NOTHING.
Later I ask a different question. “Why is Riaze coming to study with us? Once his leg is healed, there will be nothing wrong with him.”
Sensei looks at me, teaching teeth bared in a smile.
“Do you think I chose you because you only had one leg? Foolish boy, I choose the best. I chose each of you because I saw great talent. It is not my problem if there are some other irrelevant parts missing. Now, after all my hard work in the sun, I would like a rest by the river. Swimming practice!”
The sun is high overhead, and the sweat drips down my neck into the folds of my kimono. You’d think I’d be happy to go swimming. I’m not. A samurai has to swim in his clothes and his armor. Wet clothes are heavy, and leather armor weighs a ton, even on dry land.
“No battle ever stopped so a warrior could put on his bathing suit,” Sensei says.
“But we shouldn’t put
more
clothes on to go swimming,” says Yoshi. “We should take some off.”
“We could go swimming in our underwear,” suggests Mikko.
Sensei grins. “You cannot wield a sword if you are hiding embarrassed behind your hands. Kyoko would giggle so hard, she’d sink to the bottom.”
Still complaining, we climb into our armor to go swimming.
The river runs through Uma’s field, behind the kitchen. We file along the path with slow heavy steps. Uma nuzzles our empty pockets, searching for pudding. He stomps his foot to show his displeasure, and when Sensei offers him an apple, he snorts.
My eyes dart back and forth.
“I wouldn’t worry about Black Tusk.” Ki-Yaga smiles like the Sensei that swallowed the boar. He puts his fingers to his lips. “It’s a surprise,” he whispers.
It’s not far to the river. A brisk five-minute walk, even in battle armor. I like the sound of water. When it rains, I lie in bed listening to the river race past. Water is restful and relaxing, as long as it is not in goldfish bowls on the floor.
Sensei has a favorite place where he likes to sleep and watch us swim. He closes his eyes and leans against the gnarled cherry tree.
I dive in with a clumsy
splash
and
splunk.
It’s the best anyone can do, weighed down by leather. I kick hard with my one leg and I reach the middle, where no one can stand up, even if they have two feet.
Sensei opens one eye and his voice drifts out to teach me. “Different places have a way of leveling. What matters is where you stand, not how many legs you do it on.”
I’m in the right place and ready for action. “Come on,” I call. “Who wants a dunking?”
Kyoko swims over, her arms effortlessly carving up the water.
“Banzai!” she yells, pulling her practice sword from her sash and waving it in the air.
“Yah!” I answer, doing the same.
We touch sword points.
“One,” Yoshi counts.
We turn and swim as fast as we can.
“Two, three. Turn,” the others shout from the water’s edge.
Kyoko and I double back and swim toward each other, swords raised. Then she disappears beneath the water. She pulls my one leg out from under me, and I sink, coughing and spluttering.
“Kyoko wins,”
“Why did you take her payment when we have plenty of rice?” Taji asks Sensei. “She is a poor woman.” Taji doesn’t miss anything. The soft sound of worn sandals and grains of rice rubbing together echoes like thunder in his ears.
“She needed to give it to me.”
“Huh?” says Mikko.
“Sensei gave her dignity by accepting her payment for the service he provided,” explains Kyoko.
Sensei nods. “It is important to serve. A samurai lives to serve. Sometimes what is right does not make immediate sense.”
“Was it right for me to give him my sword?” I ask. It feels strange to be swordless. Without Izuru there is an empty space in my heart that even the White Crane cannot fill.
“Is it right for me to tell you what to do with your sword? What is right?” Sensei asks me in answer. It’s the Zen thing, so I keep my mouth shut. NOTHING.
Later I ask a different question. “Why is Riaze coming to study with us? Once his leg is healed, there will be nothing wrong with him.”
Sensei looks at me, teaching teeth bared in a smile.
“Do you think I chose you because you only had one leg? Foolish boy, I choose the best. I chose each of you because I saw great talent. It is not my problem if there are some other irrelevant parts missing. Now, after all my hard work in the sun, I would like a rest by the river. Swimming practice!”
The sun is high overhead, and the sweat drips down my neck into the folds of my kimono. You’d think I’d be happy to go swimming. I’m not. A samurai has to swim in his clothes and his armor. Wet clothes are heavy, and leather armor weighs a ton, even on dry land.
“No battle ever stopped so a warrior could put on his bathing suit,” Sensei says.
“But we shouldn’t put
more
clothes on to go swimming,” says Yoshi. “We should take some off.”
“We could go swimming in our underwear,” suggests Mikko.
Sensei grins. “You cannot wield a sword if you are hiding embarrassed behind your hands. Kyoko would giggle so hard, she’d sink to the bottom.”
Still complaining, we climb into our armor to go swimming.
The river runs through Uma’s field, behind the kitchen. We file along the path with slow heavy steps. Uma nuzzles our empty pockets, searching for pudding. He stomps his foot to show his displeasure, and when Sensei offers him an apple, he snorts.
My eyes dart back and forth.
“I wouldn’t worry about Black Tusk.” Ki-Yaga smiles like the Sensei that swallowed the boar. He puts his fingers to his lips. “It’s a surprise,” he whispers.
It’s not far to the river. A brisk five-minute walk, even in battle armor. I like the sound of water. When it rains, I lie in bed listening to the river race past. Water is restful and relaxing, as long as it is not in goldfish bowls on the floor.
Sensei has a favorite place where he likes to sleep and watch us swim. He closes his eyes and leans against the gnarled cherry tree.
I dive in with a clumsy
splash
and
splunk.
It’s the best anyone can do, weighed down by leather. I kick hard with my one leg and I reach the middle, where no one can stand up, even if they have two feet.
Sensei opens one eye and his voice drifts out to teach me. “Different places have a way of leveling. What matters is where you stand, not how many legs you do it on.”
I’m in the right place and ready for action. “Come on,” I call. “Who wants a dunking?”
Kyoko swims over, her arms effortlessly carving up the water.
“Banzai!” she yells, pulling her practice sword from her sash and waving it in the air.
“Yah!” I answer, doing the same.
We touch sword points.
“One,” Yoshi counts.
We turn and swim as fast as we can.
“Two, three. Turn,” the others shout from the water’s edge.
Kyoko and I double back and swim toward each other, swords raised. Then she disappears beneath the water. She pulls my one leg out from under me, and I sink, coughing and spluttering.
“Kyoko wins,”
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