by Alex Archer
“Suicide?”
Ken shrugged. “It’s not as bad as when I was growing up, but it can still get pretty crazy.”
Annja shook her head. “But I saw schoolgirls earlier who looked like they didn’t have a care in the world.”
Ken smiled. “You saw some schoolgirls. There are plenty who stress just like these guys. But there are also plenty of other schoolgirls who don’t. Some are actually prostitutes—some just don’t care. Even the ones who graduate high school, if they’ve got the looks, can go get jobs with the airlines or marry a rich guy.”
“Nice bit of equality over here.” Annja frowned at the thought of wasting her life like that.
“Japan doesn’t claim to be equal. Japan just is. That’s what screws up so many foreigners who come here. They think they know what Japan is, what the society defines itself as. They take great steps to try to become Japanese, but it can never be.”
“Why not?” Annja asked.
“Because Japan simply doesn’t care. Our society is such that it take no pains to explain itself. It’s as if the culture is one massive ball of who-cares-what-other-people-think. Japan couldn’t care less if foreigners understand what makes us tick. We are enigmas unto ourselves. And Japan hides its true nature even from itself. The best way to survive in such a place is not to try to figure it out, but to simply accept. And if possible, manipulate that acceptance so you prosper.”
“Manipulate it?” Annja shook her head trying to imagine how that might even be possible. “How?”
But Ken only smiled some more. “Well, that takes a bit of practice. But if you look at how we emerged from the ashes of World War II saddled with the strict regulations imposed by the Allies, and rose to become an economic powerhouse, that’s one glimpse into how our leaders were able to do it.”
“I thought Japan’s economy was in trouble,” Annja said.
“It is,” Ken replied. “I think someone tried to figure us out and ruined what we had. But I’m not concerned. Something will happen to bring us around again.”
The train chimed twice and the doors slid shut. Annja looked at Ken. “Where are we headed?”
“Out of the city. We’re going to a small town about twenty minutes outside of Kashiwa.”
The train streamed out of the station, and Annja marveled at the smoothness of the ride. She felt a curious sensation; her buttocks were warm. She shifted once and then looked at Ken who smiled.
“They heat the seat here,” he said.
Annja raised her eyebrows. “No wonder those guys are asleep.”
Ken nodded. “It does seem to promote that, doesn’t it?”
“I might fall asleep myself if I’m not careful.”
“I’ll wake you if you do. Don’t worry.”
But Annja had no intention of falling asleep. The city disappeared and an urbanized sort of suburb followed. Open fields clogged with rusted bits of farm machinery shot past her window. Smaller wooden homes replaced the high-rise apartment buildings.
Eventually, Ken nudged Annja, who jolted. “Huh?”
“You started to doze. Come on, this is our stop.”
Annja followed Ken off the train, and her nostrils were immediately assaulted by a strange scent that seemed somehow familiar. “What is this smell?”
“Soy sauce. There’s a big factory—one of the world’s biggest companies—just on the other side of town. The air here is forever stained by it. You get used to it pretty quick, but I’ve been kind of turned off to soy sauce ever since I started coming here.”
They ducked out of the station and turned left. Ken crossed the train tracks they just rode across and then turned left again. Annja saw a sea of bicycles parked in neat lines.
“Is this common?”
“Sure. People park them here all the time and ride the train into Tokyo proper.”
Annja pointed. “But none of them are locked up.”
Ken shook his head. “No one’s going to steal them. There’s no point to it.”
Ken threaded his way through the small passage between the bike wheels and Annja twisted to do the same. She spotted some pimped-out bicycles and couldn’t help but think that in America, these would have been stolen in no time flat.
They cleared the bicycle labyrinth and walked on. Ken smiled at Annja. “Tonight is likely to be very busy.”
“Busy?”
“The dojo is small. Real estate prices being what they are, it was almost impossible for the grandmaster to find anything affordable that would still serve well as a dojo. Some of his senior students pitched in to help him buy this place. But it’s still small by Western standards. Ordinarily, the size wouldn’t be an issue but people journey here from all over the world. Numbers add up.”
An open field that had recently been mowed sat on their left. Ken nodded at it. “This used to be full of tall reeds. We had a saying that we’d dump the bodies of annoying Americans into the swamp and let them rot there.”
Annja didn’t know if he was serious or not. “Did you ever really do that?”
“Of course not.” Ken chuckled but then stopped. “Well, actually, there was this obnoxious fool named Pritchard Magoof. For him, we made an exception. He came over here as the student of a very accomplished teacher in America. And of course, he promptly let his ego explode and became rank hungry without having one ounce of technical skill. Now he mostly hangs around the dojo looking like a little puppy dog. We humor him, but he’ll never amount to anything.”
“Sounds like a real prize.”
Ken’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe if he’s there tonight we’ll let you train with him.” He laughed. “Now that’d be entertaining.”
Annja shook her head. “I’m not here to be anyone’s entertainment.”
“True, true. We have more important things to do than beat Magoof into smithereens. He’ll do that himself anyway. Rumor is it’s only a matter of time before he gets thrown out for being such an idiot.”
They passed a ramshackle hotel. Ken pointed it out. “This is where the rowdy foreigners stay when they’re over here making asses of themselves.”
Annja frowned. “Forgive me for saying so, but it seems like you don’t think too much of the non-Japanese who train with you.”
Ken shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t. Most of the people who come here to learn this art are too full of themselves to ever become truly good at it. There are exceptions and certain dojos that produce decent people. They are, unfortunately, the rarity rather than the norm.”
“Is it really that bad?” Annja wasn’t sure she was going to fit in with this crowd.
“Worse, actually. There are hotels in Tokyo that refuse to host foreigners associated with this dojo because in the past, those who stayed there trashed their rooms and partied and destroyed furniture. Maybe they’d never been away from home before—maybe they’re simply immature fools. But whatever the case, they have marred the reputation of the school.”
“And the grandmaster? What does he do about it?” Annja had images of this wizened old man beating the snot out of people who disgraced his name and style.
Ken smiled. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Ken stopped. “Annja, you have to realize that this art is ninjitsu. Ninjitsu is something entirely Japanese but at the same time it is something wholly un-Japanese. By virtue of its very nature, the art can seem to contradict itself constantly. What is expected is what never occurs. And the unexpected is routine. Only by accepting that you’ll never know what to expect will you be able to glimpse what the art can truly accomplish.”
“Expect the unexpected, then. Is that it?”
“Maybe. But it’s more like don’t expect anything. Because there’s no rhyme or reason to any of what happens inside the dojo. Or for that matter, outside of it, either.”
“That’s a terribly confusing way to go through life,” Annja said.
Ken nodded. “Remember, this is a martial art. Ninjitsu teaches you to be prepared for warfar
e. And there’s nothing sacred in war. The moment you think you’ve got it figured out or that you know what’s coming, a good enemy will use that against you and kill you.”
“Good point.”
“The grandmaster believes that it’s his responsibility to convey that as best he can to those who wish to study with him. So he deliberately does things that seem completely bizarre. For those who get it, the lessons are priceless. For those who don’t…well, who really cares about them?”
Annja smiled. “You’re going to tell me that most of these people don’t get it, right?”
“Yes. For the majority, this is just a fun way to show off. What they don’t realize is they are showing off exactly how little they truly know.”
“And the grandmaster’s not concerned about them leaving with this information?”
“Nope. He knows that when he’s gone, these fools will fade away. They’ve got no real skill to fall back on. The few who do sincerely study will know how to carry on. That’s it,” Ken said.
“It all seems rather Darwin.”
“It is. Because it has to be. Ninjitsu has survived for so long, much of that time in secret, solely because it was carried on by the sincere. The idiots were disposed of long before they ever got close to being a threat.”
“Buried in the swamp reeds, I suppose,” Annja said.
Ken’s smile twitched and he chuckled. “Exactly. Now come on, let’s introduce you to the real art of ninjitsu.”
8
The outer shoji rice-paper screen slid back smoothly on its runners. Annja could hear the raucous sound of laughter spill out from within the dojo about the same time as two bodies fell back on the small stoop and nearly crashed into her.
“As I said.” Ken glanced at her. “Looks like it’s busy.”
They had to push their way into the dojo proper. Students of almost every ethnicity jockeyed for training spots on the tatami mat floor. Ken pointed to the right side to a small doorway.
“You can get changed in the bathroom.”
Annja noticed that many of the students simply dropped their trousers wherever they stood, unconcerned about displaying their underwear or lack thereof. She frowned and found such displays tasteless and crude.
The bathroom itself was small, but spacious enough to get changed into her black training pants and top. When she emerged, Ken had already changed. He wore a heavy gi, and around his waist he wore a black belt that was fraying almost white in many areas.
“That looks like you’ve been wearing it for years,” Annja said.
Ken smiled. “I have been.” He nodded to the main floor. “Let’s try to find a spot to train.”
They stepped over the outstretched legs and arms of students engaged in limbering themselves up before class. At the far end of the dojo on a shelf looking down over the entire expanse, Annja could see a small temple.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The kamidana. It’s the spiritual seat of power for the dojo. Special items are placed up there for the benefit of all students. Those are pictures of past grandmasters, special rice and plantings to help bless the environment.”
Annja looked around some more. On the walls were racks with various weapons, mostly padded for training. “I’ve never even seen some of these weapons before.”
Ken nodded. “We have an assortment of strange tools, taken not just from ninjitsu but from all Japanese martial arts. The grandmaster also likes to borrow the weapons from other cultures and apply the ninjitsu skills to their use. Makes for an interesting class. Painful, but always fascinating.”
Annja looked at the students. “And all of these people are here to see him?”
“Well, some are here to train. Some are here to be seen. And some are here for grade.”
“Grade?”
“Testing at the end of the class. For the fifth degree black belt—the godan—test. It’s a very special test, or at least, it once was before every Tom, Dick and Harry came waltzing through on a whim.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see the test at the end of the class and maybe later when we get something to eat, I’ll explain it a little bit more.” Ken nodded toward the door. “Sensei’s here now, so class will start soon.”
Annja turned, possibly expecting to see some powerhouse of a figure striding into the dojo. Instead, she saw a diminutive man perhaps five feet tall, with a bit of a potbelly. His smile was huge, though, and he certainly seemed to be jolly. From what Ken had told her about ninjitsu, however, Annja suspected this was merely for show for those who needed a smile to reassure them.
The grandmaster walked past Ken, who bowed low and said something in Japanese. The grandmaster patted him on the arm and kept walking toward the kamidana shelf.
Ken nudged Annja toward the back of the room. Someone clapped and instantly, all talk ceased. All the students lined up. Annja got several frowns from some of the black belts who were forced to bow in to her left. She had no idea whether she’d just violated some unspoken rule or not, but tried her best to blend in.
In front of the huddled crowd that knelt on the floor, the grandmaster wove his fingers together and muttered something low and unintelligible. Then his voice barked out nine syllables and everyone around Annja shouted the same. The grandmaster and all the students clapped twice, bowed low, clapped again, bowed once more and then the grandmaster turned to face everyone.
From her right, someone said, “Sensei ni rei.” Annja knew that meant bow to the teacher.
Everyone bowed and said “Onegai shimasu.”
The grandmaster sprang to his feet and instantly started demonstrating techniques using a small knife. As he taught, someone with an Australian accent translated from one corner of the room for the benefit of the non-Japanese speakers like Annja. On the other side, someone else was translating into Spanish, of which there seemed a fairly large contingent in attendance this evening.
“Let’s go,” Ken said. He led her toward the front of the room and produced a small training knife from his gi pocket. His eyes twinkled. “Ready?”
Annja nodded and Ken came at her with the knife. Annja tried to remember what the little man had done to evade the attack and disarm his attacker. Ken’s knife stabbed her in the stomach.
“Not quite,” Ken said. “Try it again. But sink your hips first.”
Annja did as he instructed and when he attacked again, Annja found the movement easier to perform. The knife stabbed past where her midsection had been seconds before.
“Now bring your hands up to guard against the back slash. My tendency will be to cut back in a real situation, so you need to be prepared for it.”
Annja brought her hands up and saw how much easier it was to effect a disarm when they were properly positioned. After a few more tries, she and Ken switched roles with Ken assuming the defense and Annja attacking.
As she slashed in, Ken deftly evaded her attack and Annja found her knife had vanished, followed by her legs being swept out from under her. Unlike the other martial arts she’d experimented with in the past, this time when she hit the floor, there was no time to regain her breath. Ken quickly used her arm to rotate her around from her back onto her stomach, effectively pinning her before she could react.
“Do gaeshi. It means body reversal. Pretty cool, huh?”
Annja smiled. She could see how devastating it could be if applied with full force. “You could have broken my arm.”
Ken nodded. “And once you were on your stomach, I would have broken your shoulder girdle, as well. Nasty stuff, but fun.”
Annja handed him the knife. “I’m ready to try again.”
Ken flew at her faster this time, but Annja felt her body relaxing as she dropped her hips and evaded the knife stab. This time she saw an opening for a punch and let her hands fly out after she’d disarmed Ken.
She heard him mutter, “Oof.” And then saw him break into a wide grin. “Nice one,” he said.
The class fl
ew by quickly. Annja was sweating but enjoying herself so much, time really seemed to cease to exist. The nature of the class also impressed her. Unlike many other martial arts, there was no rote memorization of technique. The grandmaster seemed to stress the feeling behind the techniques more than anything else.
He would demonstrate techniques on various partners, always changing the flow, never staying the same. As he demonstrated, he would discuss what he was doing, how he affected the attacker’s body so that a counterattack was almost impossible or at the very least incredibly painful.
Then he would look at the class and smile and shout, “Play!”
The only measure of time was a small but fancy clock high on the wall above them. Every fifteen minutes it would gong. Annja found it annoying after a while, but Ken seemed to take no notice of it.
Finally, after a short break and another forty-minute stretch, the grandmaster clapped his hands. “Godan test.”
Everyone scrambled for the back of the dojo. Ken led Annja to where they had bowed in earlier. Ken’s voice was soft in Annja’s ear. “Just watch. Say nothing.”
From directly under the kamidana shelf, the grandmaster took what looked like a padded training sword wrapped in golden foam and held it above his head. He bowed to the kamidana.
Then he turned around.
Annja noticed that there were several students lined up to the right along the wall. The grandmaster nodded at the first one, and the student scampered out and sat with his back to the grandmaster.
The student closed his eyes. Annja could see he was breathing fast.
What?
Ken placed his hand on hers. Annja watched as the grandmaster placed the sword on the student’s head and then lifted it high above. The grandmaster closed his own eyes. For what seemed an almost interminable amount of time, everything went still.
Then the grandmaster swung the sword down as if he intended to cut the student in half with it.
In the blink of an eye, the student launched himself forward and to the right in a shoulder roll. The sword cleaved air where the student’s body had been a millisecond before.
