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Izu and Tsuneko saluted each other, moved forward and
couched. Then, they drew their swords and started their
practice bouts. Izu glanced at Akiro's direction. He
wanted very much to make an impression. Akiro was many
years his senior. At fifty, he was the most revered
among the former members of the fencing club. Everyone
referred to him as Tenouchi, or
'the Grip' since he never lost an opportunity to
insist that a correct grip was everything. Izu and
Tsuneko were both seniors at the university. They were
training for the coming annual competition and Akiro was
helping them with the preparation. If Izu could defeat
Tsuneko, he would have the opportunity to spar with
Akiro. The warm-up session was over and he took
satisfaction in Tsuneko's laboured breathing. The match
began and Izu was satisfied to remain passive and let
Tsuneko engage him first. In rapid succession, Tsuneko
tried out his strokes, aiming at first on one point,
then another on Izu's body. Izu obstinately refused to
let himself be touched, warding off his opponent's blows
easily. Tsuneko's cries grew fainter and hoarser as he
gradually tired from swinging vainly at Izu. It was time
to move in for the 'kill'. A shadow flashed past
Tsuneko's eyes and before he knew it is was all over. A
resounding stamp of the foot and Izu's bamboo sword
crashed down on his mask.
Akiro got ready and studied his opponent. Izu was a
good swordsman; he had strength and concentration.
Perhaps his only disadvantage was his youth and lack of
experience. For Akiro, the fencing hall held many fond
memories and seemed timeless to him. It was the same
training clothes, the same protective armour, he same
sweat .... it was pure beauty.
The warm-up over, Izu stood with his sword directed
towards the old man's face waiting for him to offer an
opening. Akiro's style of swordsmanship was unemphatic,
there was a continuity and fluidity in his movements. He
seemed to have no point of support, but to float, almost
in midair. Moving around him, Izu could find no obvious
weakness or opening. The old man's flawlessness must
surely be a false front, nothing could really be so
perfect, he thought. He leaped, giving a cry, bursting
forth with his youthful strength like a deer's sudden
dart. In a flash, cutting through all the splendid
speed, something diverted Izu's weapon upwards and down
came the heavy blow of Akiro's sword like a brand of
burning steel on Izu's head.
Akiro felt a sense of affection for the youthful
fencers. They had much to learn but he was confident
that they would do well. They had the right attitudes
and discipline. He had been in their shoes thirty years
before. As the new coach of the fencing club, Akiro's
ability, experience and
personality would surely contribute to their
cause. He had left his business to the care of his
younger brother and devoted his time and energy to his
old college. He was glad to leave the business world and
exchange it for the world of sports. Sometimes he could
not understand why society in general was not
uncomplicated and beautiful like sports. Every
comparison with the mire of society only made the
hallowed ground of sports seem more attractive.
Under Akiro, the team improved tremendously over the
months and Izu became the captain of the fencing team.
Soon, it was time for the annual competition. Again,
Akiro reminded his students, "When all's said and done,
everything in fencing depends on your grip. That's the
one thing I've learned from thirty-five years of it. The
important thing for a human being is to learn and master
one thing in his life - one thing, however small. That's
enough." |
