Deshi (15 page)

I had called Micky with the license plate number and told Sensei about my day. He, too, considered my performance in silence. Then he noted that although it was still drizzling, it would nonetheless be a nice night to see some arrow work.

A typical dojo for the Japanese art of archery has an outdoor shooting area. Kyudo’s targets sit almost one hundred feet away, embedded in sloping banks of sand. Here in the heart of the city, outdoor ranges were non-existent. Seekers found different ways to follow their paths. At DC, the cavernous basement had been converted into a shooting range and bales of hay covered with dark cloth had been set up to stop the arrows. A rectangular grid of plywood flooring marked the shooting platform. It was big enough to hold three archers at one time. Small bull’s-eye targets waited at the far end of the area, staring at us with blank expectancy.

The interesting thing about kyudo is that all the emphasis is placed on the method of shooting. Kyudoka like to hit the target, of course, but they are even more focused on the esthetic of the actions that lead up to the shot.

As we came down the stairs, I heard a noise. It was masked at first by a group of round-eyed Buddhists chanting in a big room on the main floor, but eventually it became clear. The sound of the chanting died away as we got closer to the lower level, and I picked up more familiar, percussive sounds. Somewhere down there, weapons were hitting things.

Japanese archers often practice by shooting at head-high targets placed about six feet in front of them. The thudding was the sound of arrow shafts burying themselves in round straw bales, sent there by intent archers firing at point-blank range.

There are as many Ways, it seems, as there are people.

I asked Yamashita about this on the subway ride from Brooklyn. I’ve spent years following what the Japanese call a
Do
, a Way. And, I watch Yamashita, who has walked the path of his particular Way for so long and with such conviction. But I know other people who cling to other paths with as much ferocity. Who was right?

My sensei looked calmly at me, his eyes slightly wide. It was an unusual expression—he usually gazes at the world through narrowed lids, all focus and intensity.

“That is an excellent question, Professor,” he replied. “And I will have it answered, but not now.”

“Then when, Sensei?”

He rocked back and regarded me. “Why, when I die, of course.” He smiled a little and continued. “You ask something any intelligent and sincere person would ask. In so vast a world, which path should I take? Each of us makes a choice we hope is correct. But we have no way of knowing. I suspect that all true Ways lead to the same destination.” He probably saw the disappointment on my face. He put out a hand and touched me. “Some Ways are more direct than others. Some take you through different terrain. And at different times, each of us is more receptive to the possibilities of some pathways than to others. It is what I hope for you with the Rinpoche.” He saw my look of skepticism and held up a finger in admonition. “Do not be so closed to things. This way, that way. What is important, I think, is the goal.”

It was a wise statement, but I was focusing a little more practically on things. I asked him about kyudo. When he responded, comparing it to our discipline, a tone of chauvinism crept into his voice. He was, after all, human. The martial arts stem from many of the same sources, but their modern expressions have evolved in different ways. Yamashita’s training harkened back to a time when aesthetics and functionality were not considered inseparable. Kyudo had opted for different sensibilities. Yamashita valued not only the form of his art, but its utility. In this, he departed from the kyudo sensei. “The trick, after all, Burke,” he had said quietly to me, “is not to look like a warrior. It is to be a warrior. You may find kyudo somewhat… different.”

Sarah Klein met us as we came down. “Hey,” I said. For someone who reads so much, I’m a disappointing conversationalist.

But she didn’t seem to notice. “Hey yourself.” She reached out to gently touch the side of my face where the scrapes were. Her eyes looked concerned. “What happened?”

I brushed it off as a collision involving a bike rider and laughed to show there was no real damage done. And then we stood, frozen for a minute, and looked at each other.

Sarah was pert in her neat uniform—a black
hakama—
and a white practice top. Her fine, dark hair danced around her shoulders and she smiled guiltily as she realized we were standing there saying nothing while Yamashita waited. She grinned and bowed to him, then introduced us to the head instructor.

“Hello,” her teacher said, bowing to us. “Sarah told me you might drop by. Always a pleasure to have people from other arts come to watch.” I gave Sarah a quick wink and then gave the kyudo sensei my attention.

Sarah’s teacher pointed at the activity behind him. “Right now, a few of the students are warming up, checking equipment,” he explained. “That kind of thing. The Dharma Center sponsors us, and I emphasize the meditative aspects of archery. We’re expecting a visit from Changpa Rinpoche tonight—he’s been very supportive of getting the kyudo classes going at the Center. You’ll also get to see some distance shooting as well as the more usual activities.”

I looked around. “I was wondering if the Rinpoche would be here.”

“Oh, he’ll be here,” Sarah promised, “but he’s at a meeting crosstown—visiting another Buddhist center. Well, I better get ready.” She smiled and wiggled her fingers in farewell as she and her instructor headed back to the performance area. I watched her appreciatively. There was a sense of life to her that was engaging. She was a woman, and I surely responded to her in that way, but there was more to it than that. When I looked at Sarah Klein, I got the sense of a person who was truly comfortable with herself. And that was a rare thing. Part of what we all seek in a Way is a path to become more truly ourselves. It was a pleasure to see the hope made visible.

I sat silently during the practice, my head swiveling from one archer to the other, observing, trying to weigh competence. For me, seeing the archers move to and from their shooting positions was the most interesting thing. Stillness tells you much, but I train in an art where motion is also a central concern. Motion brings targets to you. And you to targets. The way you move determines how effectively you wield a weapon. Your opponent’s movements telegraph intent. Expose weaknesses.

The kyudoka were not like the blue clad trainees in Yamashita’s dojo. I suppose it was an unfair expectation. But it seemed to me that they didn’t move like people who actually fought. The balance wasn’t there, nor was the feeling of power driving out from the hips. The archers instead seemed focused on managing their weapon, and it wasn’t until they settled into a shooting posture that they seemed grounded in any way.

Once there, however, their movements became elegant. The Japanese bow is asymmetrical: the bottom half is short and the top stretches out in a long, gentle curve above the archer’s head. The arrows are long, too. It makes managing the whole thing complicated. Archers stand perpendicular to the target, the tip of the bow pointing to the floor in front of them and two arrows grasped in the right hand. Then, with a minute settling of the balance, they begin the sequence known as the
hassetsu
, the eight fundamental stages in shooting.

It takes less than a minute to do. As I sat and watched, accomplished archers made the sequence flow in a gentle, graceful series. The bow is brought up. The arrow nocked. They turn their heads left to regard the target and their rounded arms bring both bow and arrow up in front of them at head height. Then, the slow draw, apart and down to the chest. A moment of focus, then the release of the arrow. The
kiai
, or shout, rings out, the echoing merging with the slap as the arrow hits the practice target. Then the bow is brought down and the sequence begins again.

There was a hypnotic cadence to it. It’s the psychic spin-off you feel when actions with high mind-body integration take place. There are subtle differences in quality depending on what art you’re watching. But I’ve been in a lot of dojos and recognized the sensation in most of its manifestations. Yamashita would have picked up on it, too, of course. I saw an older Japanese man sitting on the sidelines, his tanned face creased with years, watching intently. He was deeply still, like a man basking in the heat of a wood fire.

At one point, Sarah Klein joined the other shooters before the hay bales. I had to admit, my focus on her was not driven entirely by curiosity about archery. I was sure she was aware of my presence, but there was no wink or a nod in my direction, and I liked that. Sarah was focused on her art. She slid forward to her space and set the bow, tipped forward by the left hand at her hip, before her in the prescribed manner. She wore a brown suede shooting glove on her right hand, with a long inch-wide purple strap that wound around her wrist. Then, in unison with the two other archers, she moved slowly through the hassetsu.

The arrow thudded into the target. She moved to it, gliding in an unhurried rhythm, and grasped the shaft. Sarah rotated it toward her in three measured twists, then pulled the arrow free. Then she set herself to shoot again.

I continued to observe them. There was a grace here, a thing of importance in the archers’ action. But was it martial? Or was the doubt just because I was blinded by my own type of training?

After a time, Changpa arrived to a general murmur and beaming acknowledgment from the kyudoka. Then the most advanced practitioner there engaged in a ceremonial series of shots at the more distant targets. There were noises drifting down from upstairs: footsteps and voices calling, the murmur of chanting, and the constant faint hum of traffic that is present in any city. But as Sarah’s instructor slipped one arm free from his top, baring the left shoulder as the ritual prescribes, the spell of his movements seemed to draw your attention, making other things seem faint and unreal.

Changpa watched the demonstration with lively interest and, when it was over, got up to speak briefly with each of the archers. His voice was low, and he touched each person gently as he spoke to them.

The lama turned to those of us watching. “We know that the path to enlightenment is eight-fold. It contains right view, right thinking, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right diligence, right mindfulness, and right concentration. How interesting,” he smiled, “that kyudo has eight fundamental steps in its method as well. There are many paths, but often the same goal.” He looked right at me and I got the increasingly familiar sensation that he was aware of things in my mind.

Sarah approached, carrying her long bow. “It’s a lot of equipment to manage,” I commented to her. “What’s the bow made of?”

“The really good ones are bamboo,” she said. “But they’re very temperamental. Mine is fiberglass. It’s a bit more resilient.” She shrugged. “Appropriate for a beginner like me.”

“I enjoyed the archery,” I said. “The esthetic.” I got a mental image of her, delicate yet intent, drawing the bow and arrow apart.

She bobbed her head in acknowledgment. “But it’s different from what you do, isn’t it?” I looked at her and she smiled. “I saw you watching us,” she replied in explanation.” The expression on your face told me a lot.”

“Did it?” I asked. “What did it tell you?”

“You watch things very… intently,” Sarah said.

“Only when I’m really interested,” I replied and smiled.

Yamashita, too, seemed engaged and in a mood to talk. He was discussing the different approaches to the martial arts with a few of the archers. I had been so focused on Sarah that I hadn’t really heard the first part of his comments.

“Consider this…” Yamashita was saying. He caught the motion of our approach out of the corner of his eye and turned. He smiled at Sarah Klein, dressed in hakama and carrying her bow and arrows. She bowed to him.

Yamashita smiled, as well. “Perhaps I can ask Ms. Klein to help me demonstrate something to you all.” Her eyes got wide with surprise and she looked at me.

I made a little shooing motion with my hands. “It’ll be fine,” I assured her.

Sarah approached my teacher and bowed again. Yamashita bowed back and gently pried an arrow from her grasp. “Consider the arrow.” He held it up to show us. “See its thinness. I could break it easily. Yet it is a fearsome weapon. Not because of the strength it possesses by itself, but because of the union with the bow. The unity of strength with technical refinement makes it a good weapon. But see.”

Yamashita murmured quietly to Sarah, then gestured for her to place herself on the shooter’s platform. She looked doubtful, but obeyed. Sensei motioned us all to the sidelines, then placed himself at the opposite end of the room. There was about ninety feet between them.

“This is the optimum range for this weapon,” Yamashita said, and his voice carried easily across the open space. “But even so…” He set himself and you could see the breath flowing in and down, grounding him to the earth. Sarah, her left side facing Yamashita, began the hassetsu, and there was a mirror image of a type there, as another person began the small motions of integration. She raised the bow, drew the arrow, and held it, aimed directly at my teacher. You could see her eyes widen slowly as she faced him. There was a slight tremble in the arrow’s tip.

Yamashita nodded, and, with a cry, Sarah released the arrow. It streaked toward Yamashita, a grayish blur shooting through the air. I saw Yamashita jerk his hips around as he reached out. I had involuntarily started forward, but there was no need. My master had caught the arrow. Beside me, someone grunted involuntarily.

I had seen pictures of arrow blocking, but always using arrows with padded tips. I had never seen anything like this before.

Yamashita seemed calm. “Even a good weapon can be countered,” he said. “Even when used properly.” He bowed toward Sarah.

“And once this has happened, the weapon becomes a liability… So,” he said and gestured for Sarah to prepare to fire her second arrow.

But he didn’t wait for it. Yamashita began to churn across the floor toward her. She saw him approach, and nocked the arrow as quickly as she could, but it was no use. Before she could draw the bow, he was upon her.