Deshi by John Donohue

Author:John Donohue [Donohue, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: YMAA Publication Center
Published: 2013-11-12T00:00:00+00:00

15

ARROW

The dojo was silent, and you could hear the whisper of fabric as Yamashita untied the ribbon on his inka. He unrolled it, placing it with reverence on a square of silk so dark and blue that it looked black against the wood of the low table he had set in the training area.

I had seen it before. Every New Year, my sensei holds the traditional dojo ceremony, honoring the art he serves and the memory of the masters that stretch behind him like a chain forged to link the past with the present.

The scroll is covered with calligraphy that details the history of the Yamashita-ha Itto Ryu, my master’s style. And mine. The inka is long and old. When you reach a certain level of proficiency in Yamashita’s art, you are given a certificate attesting to your training, but also bearing his seal and a hand print as a mark of authenticity. A ryu is a style of martial art, and the word literally refers to a flow of tradition through time. On assuming mastery of the ryu, Yamashita had received the historical document that bore calligraphy, seals, and hand marks that stretched back generations. It’s not just one scroll, but many, each representing a stage in the art’s propagation.

We were alone in the cavernous hall. We had discussed my attempts at unraveling the mystery of Sakura’s last message and had agreed to set aside the nagging problem of the meaning of shumpu for now. I had told my sensei about the murders in Georgia and Queens and the growing idea I had that the inka Sakura sent was somehow the key to unraveling the murders. But the question lingered: what could have been contained in the document? It was not tremendously valuable in objective terms, but if I was right, it had spawned three murders.

He had sighed and motioned me to follow him. Now, we sat on our heels in the formal seiza position, looking at his scrolls. It felt good to be barefoot and in the dojo. Even the sensation of the wood floor on the tops of my feet was a familiar, welcoming one. They say that a younger generation of Japanese is losing the ability to sit like this: it’s an anachronism in a world where people use chairs. But I had been sinking down to the floor to sit this way for years, and it felt right.

We looked at the scrolls quietly for a time. Then Yamashita spoke. “Why do people write things down, Professor?”

I looked at him, but his eyes told me nothing of what he was getting at. “Many reasons,” I said. “It makes things… concrete. Visible. When you write things down, they are fixed on the page.”

My teacher nodded. “This is true. A document such as this one, for instance,” he held his hand palm up and gestured gently across the table, “is a way to fix a line of transmission. The writing makes it public. And immutable.”

“It also tells something important about you,” I added.

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