Little Yokozuna (6 page)

"We walked and ran forever, it seemed like," said Owen Greatheart. "Like in a dream. We got so tired that our legs were like rubber, but we didn't seem to need food or sleep. Something strange happens when you travel the garden gateways. The time doesn't seem to make any sense. That time, days and nights seemed to pass, but some of the days seemed to last forever, and other ones only seemed to be an hour from sunrise to sunset. We began to see people now and then, villages sometimes and workers in the rice paddies, but we ran on and on and on, and that cloud of dust never seemed to get either closer or farther away. Until after about ten or eleven of those strange days, the thunder stopped and there was no dust cloud ahead anymore."

"He was waiting for you," said the old priest.

"Yes," said Owen Greatheart. "We stopped running and began to walk on more cautiously, wondering if it made sense to sneak up on whatever or whoever had Little Harriet. But then we came over a rise at last, and there we saw him standing in the middle of the road, directly in front of a great gate, a
torii
. He had Little Harriet in a sack over his shoulder, with just her head sticking out. We couldn't tell if she was dead or alive or unconscious or anything."

"
Oni
" said the monkey. "A demon warrior. I knew it."

"I guess," said Owen Greatheart. "His armor was red and blue with gold designs all over it, and his helmet had a leaping lion on the top. His mask was black like coal with a huge bushy mustache under the nose and a ferocious gaping mouth. He was gigantic, as tall as two of me. He laughed at us."

He fell silent. The old priest watched him. Even the monkey said nothing.

"Then he smote us with some kind of power," said Owen Greatheart. "He waved his sword at us and it was like a blast of fire so we couldn't stand up. I think it knocked us out, because when we looked again he was gone. With Little Harriet."

"But the great gate, by the road," said the old priest. "There was another garden there, inside?"

"Yes, yes," said Owen Greatheart. "Of course. We went in the gate and once again felt that cool mountain breeze. We followed it to a garden, one with a waterfall and red maples. We knew he must have gone that way. We walked around the garden until we found the source of the breeze, a bamboo grove in the deep corner. All we had to do was walk in and we found ourselves in another place entirely, a little courtyard garden in a city of some kind."

"The next train stop," said the old priest.

"Yes," said Owen Greatheart.

"Excuse me," said 'Siah, nervously. No one paid him any attention.

"Then," said the old priest, "how did it go the next time? Did you run like the wind and find him just disappearing into the next garden gateway, with a mocking laugh over his shoulder?"

"Something like that," said Owen Greatheart.

"And every other time also?" asked the old priest.

"Yes," said Owen Greatheart. He stared at the ground between his feet.

"Do you not see how you have gotten here?" asked the old priest. "Was it your mastery of the gardens that kept you so long on the track of your Little Harriet?"

"No," admitted Owen Greatheart at last, still not lifting his eyes. "He lured us. The demon never really let himself get out of sight. He wanted us on his track, for some reason."
Why?
he wondered, completely befuddled.
Why? Why any of this?

"Giving you the illusion," said the old priest, "that you were somehow in control of where you were going."

"Yes," said Owen Greatheart. "I see, of course, that we're hopelessly lost. But this garden is
still
our only hope. It's the only known gateway we have, and it's a powerful one. And if the demon warrior wanted us on his trail this far, won't he maybe use this garden to get us back on it again?"

"You assume," began the old priest, "that..."

"Excuse me!" said 'Siah again, louder.

"What's the matter, 'Siah?"asked Owen Greatheart. "Do you have to go to the bathroom
again?
"

"
No
" said the little boy in a trembly voice. "I was just wondering. Should that big mound of moss be
moving
like that?"

 

 

 

Meanwhile, Kiyoshi-chan was having the time of his life. It was Saturday afternoon, and he had taken Knuckleball to school with him that morning. His teacher Takashima-sensei had trouble keeping other students focused on their work with the strange
gaijin
boy in the back of the classroom. They kept swarming around Knuckleball all day, touching his yellow hair and laughing as if he were an especially clever animal in the zoo. They ooo'd when he took a bite of cookie and aahh'd when he drank his milk, and then kept asking him for his autograph on their school notebooks. Knuckleball pulled his battered cap down over his eyes as if to hide from his celebrity status, but Kiyoshi-chan couldn't help reveling in this new glory, added on to his great sumo victory earlier in the week.

But the real fun came in the afternoon, when the two boys ran up the walled street and into Kiyoshi-chan's yard for a whole half-day of freedom. It had taken almost no time for them to discover that they were friends, and they had already found many points of common interest. Kiyoshi-chan had borrowed a Knuckleball-sized baseball glove from one of his friends and they had already played an endless game of catch in the tiny yard, counting in Japanese up to six hundred forty-six catches without a miss and having to start over. "On Sunday," Kiyoshi-chan said afterward, "we will play baseball with my friends, at the school ground."

Now, though, on Saturday afternoon, the game was sumo. They drew a ring in the smooth-swept dirt of the yard, and then the lessons began. First, Kiyoshi-chan tried to teach Knuckleball the differences among the seventy
kimari-te
, or proper winning techniques, of sumo.

"Techniques? I thought it was just two big blobs running into each other, like in football," Knuckleball said. For him, baseball was the only true sport on earth.

Kiyoshi-chan laughed, and taught him yorikiri, and
uwatenage
, and
kawazugake
, and
uchimuso
, and
yobimodoshi
, and
hatakikomi
. He taught him the advantage of
sukuinage
, which is done from an inside gripping position, over tsukiotoshi, which is done from outside. He taught him the difference between
oshidashi, tsukidashi, waridashi
, and
okuridashi
.

"Can't I just make up my own way?" Knuckleball asked. "Some of my own
kimari-te?
" Somehow he couldn't get Kiyoshi-chan to understand the question. There seemed to be seventy
kimari-te
and only seventy. When Knuckleball repeated the question, Kiyoshi-chan was still bewildered, so Knuckleball tried to demonstrate.

"What if I just do this?" he asked, faking one way with his head, sidestepping, and pushing Kiyoshi-chan out from behind.

Kiyoshi-chan stood with his hands on his hips, looking hurt. "That is
tricky
sumo," he said. "Tricky sumo is not good sumo. It is not worthy of a true
yokozuna
"

"That's
weird
" said Knuckleball. "In basketball we trick people all the time. It's called faking the guy out of his sneakers."

"This is not basketball," said Kiyoshi-chan, offended now. "This is
sumo
."

"Wow," said Knuckleball, laughing. "Can't you even compromise a little? Let's just have some fun with
tricky
sumo."

"No!" said Kiyoshi-chan.

Knuckleball shrugged, realizing that Kiyoshi-chan was serious. "OK," he said. "Sorry. Teach me more."

So Kiyoshi-chan taught Knuckleball to do
tsuridashi
, which is when a wrestler lifts the other up by his great belt and sets him down outside the ring. To demonstrate, Kiyoshi-chan managed to lift Knuckleball up an inch or two off the ground by his belt loops and wobble over to the edge of the ring. Knuckleball whooped and wrapped his legs around Kiyoshi-chan's so he couldn't be put down. They wavered there, swaying with laughter, until they both finally collapsed in a giggling heap.

"Whoo-boy,"said Knuckleball, picking up his glasses and putting them back on. They were so bent by now that they made his whole face look lopsided. "Ouch. I'm gonna have to call that a
wedgie-dashi
."

"What is wedgie?" asked Kiyoshi-chan.

"Never mind," said Knuckleball. "What's next?"

But after three or four more kimari-te, Knuckleball threw himself down on the doorstep of the house.

"I can't remember all of these," he said, laughing. "Can't we just
sumo?"

Still Kiyoshi-chan was firm. "You must learn it
properly
" he said. "Let me just teach you one more thing. Without this we can't sumo at all."

But this one thing was the hardest of all. He tried to teach him the proper way to do the tachi-ai, the first great charge of the wrestlers.

"First you squat down," he said, "like this."

They did so, sitting on their haunches with their backs straight and their hands on their knees.

"OK," said Knuckleball. "That's easy. Now who says Go?"

"No one says Go," said Kiyoshi-chan.

"Oh, you can," said Knuckleball, misunderstanding. "I don't care who says Go. Or Annie will come out and say Go for us. Hey, Annie!"

"No one says Go," said Kiyoshi-chan.

The door slid open and Annie stepped out. "What's up, Knuckler?" she asked. "I'm helping with dinner." There was the smell of meat and other things cooking, a special meal of
katsu-donburi
for the two foreign guests.

"No one says Go," said Kiyoshi-chan, for the third time.

"What do you mean, no one says Go?" said Knuckleball to Kiyoshi-chan. Annie waited, sensing something between the two friends.

"No one does," said Kiyoshi-chan. "The two rikishi must harmonize their readiness together. They must both sense when the other is ready to fight, and after they both touch their fists to the ground, they begin."

"No one blows a whistle?" asked Knuckleball.

"No," said Kiyoshi-chan.

"No gun, or buzzer?" asked Knuckleball. "Doesn't the referee stamp his foot, or clap his hands, or yell, or
something
?"

"No," said Kiyoshi-chan. "True sumo wrestlers are able to know the proper moment. Without this, you cannot be a true sumo wrestler."

Knuckleball hesitated. "But," he said, "we aren't true sumo wrestlers. We're just two kids sumo wrestling in your backyard. Can't Annie just say Go
this time?
"

"No, please," said Kiyoshi-chan. "When I sumo, I am no longer Kiyoshi-chan. I am Taiho himself."

"So who's Taiho?" asked Knuckleball. "I've never heard of him." Annie shrugged and turned to go back into the house.

"Of course not," said Kiyoshi-chan. "Americans know nothing of sumo."

"That's not true," said Knuckleball. "I watch sumo on TV and check it online lots of times when there's a tournament going. I like Akebono, the
yokozuna
. He's about seven feet tall and weighs a ton. And two other
yokozuna
are Taka-somebody and his brother Wakasomebody. I can't remember their whole names. And Musashimaru is almost a yokozuna. So there."

Kiyoshi-chan looked sideways at Knuckleball, wondering if he was joking." "There is no Akebono," he said. "Or Taka-Waka-somebody. Only Taiho and Kashiwado."

Annie turned slowly back from the door, unable to break away from the conversation. A vague disquiet stirred somewhere inside her. She sat down on the doorstep to listen.

Knuckleball stared at Kiyoshi-chan. "That's strange," he said. "I guess I was confused. Sorry."

But Kiyoshi-chan was upset. He was upset at himself for spoiling this afternoon with his passion for the dignity of sumo, and he was upset with Knuckleball for not caring about the spirit of a true sumo wrestler. Maybe no foreigner could be a true
rikishi
, but Knuckleball didn't seem like a
gaijin
, he seemed like a brother.

"Listen, Knuckleball," he said. He had trouble with this nickname, which came out with a couple of extra syllables, no matter how hard he tried.
Na-ku-ru-ba-ru
. "Try to understand. What if the great Yazu of the Boston Red Sox tried to play left field with a glove this big?" He stretched his arms out to their fullest extent. "Would you think he was playing with the spirit of a true baseball player?"

Knuckleball tilted his head as if to look at his friend from a new angle.

"Well?" said Kiyoshi-chan.

"Who is Yazu?" asked Knuckleball.

"Who is Yazu?" cried Kiyoshi-chan. "How can you say who is Yazu?"

Knuckleball shrugged, avoiding Kiyoshi-chan's eyes. He didn't know how to escape this conversation. "I've never heard of Yazu" he said.

Kiyoshi-chan stared at Knuckleball, dumbfounded. "Didn't you say you came from Boston?" he said. "Didn't you say how you love baseball?"

"Yes," said Knuckleball. "And yes."

"Haven't you been to
Fenway Park?
" shouted Kiyoshi-chan. He said the name with a sort of passionate reverence, as if it were a temple or a sacred mountain like Fuji-
sama
.