Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky (14 page)

‘
Fierce Frog
,’ said the
old man from behind, translating the
kanji
.

Jack looked over his shoulder to see that
the old man had returned with a bowl of fresh noodles and a pot of steaming green tea.
He knelt and handed Jack the bowl and a pair of chopsticks. With a grateful bow, Jack
tucked into the simple yet welcome meal.

Pouring the tea, the old man explained the
meaning of the scroll. ‘Many years ago, a
daimyo
was leading his troops
to battle when he noticed a tiny frog on the road puff up in readiness to attack the
intruders on his territory. Impressed by the frog’s fighting spirit against such
odds, the
daimyo
urged his men to display similar courage in facing their foes.
That same determination and strength is represented in the brushstrokes of this
calligraphy.’

Jack took the tea that was offered to him.
‘That’s one brave frog,’ he agreed.

‘Brave as you are,’ stated the
old man, toasting him with his own cup. ‘My name is Shiryu and you’re
welcome in my home.’

Jack bowed. ‘I can’t thank you
enough for saving us, Shiryu. My injured friend is Benkei and I’m –’

‘I know who you are,’ he said
with a kindly smile. ‘The
shouts of your pursuers made that
clear enough. Jack Fletcher, the
gaijin
samurai. Why do you think I opened the
gate in the first place?’

Jack was taken aback. ‘So you know by
sheltering me you’re defying the Shogun?’

Shiryu nodded without concern. ‘I owe
the Shogun no allegiance. Not since the death of my wife.’

‘I’m sorry to hear of your
loss,’ said Jack. He put down his tea, wondering how many more lives the
Shogun’s rule would destroy. ‘What happened?’

Shiryu’s gaze fell upon the white lily
in the alcove. ‘My precious Yuri was burned at the stake for her Christian
beliefs,’ he explained, his voice subdued with sorrow. ‘Her spirit lives on,
though. And, while I’m not of that faith, I consider it my duty as her husband to
help her fellow Christians.’

‘I appreciate the risk you’re
taking,’ said Jack, thinking how awful it must have been for Shiryu to watch his
wife die in such a gruesome way. ‘If we can just rest tonight, we’ll move on
tomorrow.’

‘I won’t hear of it,’
Shiryu insisted. ‘You must stay until your friend is healed.’

‘But my enemy doesn’t give up
that easily. Once Kazuki can’t find me in the forest, he’ll come back
here
.’

Shiryu shook his head confidently. ‘I
sent them north to the caves. In that region, there are many ways you could have
escaped. Besides, I’m well known and respected in these parts. No one will
question my word.’

Shiryu finished his tea, then showed Jack to
a spare room.

‘Sleep soundly, Jack Fletcher.
You’re safe in my house.’

Jack woke to fierce shouting. Fearing the
worst, he snatched up his swords and burst from his room to fend off the intruders. The
hallway and reception room were deserted. Another battle cry issued forth from the
garden. Throwing open the
shoji
, Jack charged out into the bright morning
sunlight. Expecting to confront Kazuki and his Scorpion Gang, he was surprised to
discover the garden empty and undisturbed.

Lovingly tended, the walled garden was a
miniature landscape of pruned trees, bushes and ornate rocks. A trickling stream flowed
into a pond filled with a circulating rainbow of koi carp. In the centre stood an
open-sided pavilion with a simple arched roof of green tiles. Only now did Jack spot
Shiryu kneeling inside, an ink brush in his hand. With a terrific shout, the old man
launched himself at the paper scroll spread over a low table. Black ink flew as high as
the ceiling as he wielded the brush like a sword. He moved with grace and fluidity, each
stroke executed with complete commitment and certainty. Once finished, Shiryu knelt back
to regard his work.

Relieved to discover the old man was the
cause of the disturbance, Jack resheathed his swords and made his way over a narrow
stone bridge to the pavilion. Shiryu smiled at his approach and held up the finished
scroll. A powerful scrawl of ink marked the surface, two energetic
kanji
characters joined by a single straight line.

‘Stillness in motion,’ he
translated.

The calligraphy looked impressive, but Jack
didn’t understand the title’s contradiction.

‘Observe the pond,’ said Shiryu,
noting his puzzlement. ‘The koi are active this morning, yet the surface of the
pond remains calm.
Dochu no sei
. Stillness in motion. The lesson
being: no matter how fast the movement, it must originate from a calm
and quiet centre. This is the essence of
Shodo
, the path of writing.’

He laid the scroll back on the table.

‘Like the koi-filled pond, the
kanji
sit in repose on the paper, but appear as if they are
moving.’

Jack nodded in agreement. There was a
definite dynamism to Shiryu’s calligraphy, like the imperceptible stirring of
leaves on a tree or the reflection of oneself in the water.

‘For an artist to create such work,
the brush has to flow in a free and easy manner. As you may already know, each
kanji
has a set number of strokes that must be inked in a precise order.
The brush has to move smoothly from one stroke to the next. This creates a
“rhythm” in the calligraphy, a flow of concentration that must not be broken
if the character is to take on a dynamic appearance.’

‘So what’s all the shouting
for?’ asked Jack. ‘I thought
Shodo
was meant to be
meditative.’

‘That’s to focus my
ki
,’ explained Shiryu. ‘
Shodo
is rooted in the heart. One
must let life flow into the brush. By doing so, you produce a vivid movement in the
brushstroke that reveals your
ki
, your inner energy, in the form of the
jet-black ink.’

He directed Jack’s gaze to two scrolls
hanging in the pavilion. One bore a dynamically inked
kanji
; the other, a more
gentle inscription:

‘The need for a shout depends entirely
upon the subject. Certain words like “Courage” require the additional
emphasis of a
kiai
,’ he explained, pointing to the first
kanji
.
‘While
others, such as “Harmony”, call for a more
graceful and balanced approach, the
ki
generated silently within.’

Shiryu selected a fresh sheet of rice paper
and loaded his brush from the inkstone.

‘Whatever the subject, an artist must
never go back to touch up a character, so the completion of each stroke has to be
performed with the
full
force of one’s mind, body and spirit, as if
one’s very life depended upon it.’

Shiryu held his brush above the paper and,
in a single silent sweep, prescribed a large circle

‘This is
ensō
. It symbolizes
absolute enlightenment, for a circle is empty yet full at the same time. Zen Buddhists
believe that the character of the artist is revealed in how they draw an
ensō
.
Only a person who is mentally and spiritually complete can create the perfect
ensō
.’

He offered Jack the brush.

‘Would you like to try?’

24
 
 

Jack knelt before the table, shaded from
the morning sun by the pavilion’s roof. A crisp sheet of rice paper lay in front
of him, blank as the sky. Beside it was a small rectangular black stick, the solid lump
of ink decorated in the form of lotus leaves and flowers. Its end was shiny and wet,
having been rubbed and mixed with water in the well of a large square inkstone. Jack
picked up the bamboo brush, grasping its shaft midway between his thumb, index and
middle fingers. Akiko had taught him how to hold a calligraphy brush and write the most
commonly used
kanji
. But with tens of thousands of characters to master,
compared to the mere twenty-six of his own alphabet, Jack was still very much a
novice.

‘Sit up straight, not too close to the
table,’ advised Shiryu. ‘Arm out, brush perpendicular to the paper. Left
hand rests on the table, keeping the paper still. As in Zen meditation, remember to
breathe steadily and on the
push
of the stroke. Your aim is to become one with
the brush, ink and paper. Think of yourself as a
single
wave of
motion.’

Heeding Shiryu’s advice, Jack dipped
the white goat-hair tip of the brush in the inkstone, then boldly drew upon the
rice paper in one unbroken movement. The resulting circle was roughly
symmetrical – but at the end of his stroke he lifted the brush too early and left a
gap.

‘Wonderful!’ proclaimed Shiryu,
much to Jack’s surprise. ‘Many
Shodo
beginners lack the spiritual
strength to paint an
ensō
so decisively. To do so reflects the samurai
swordsman in you.’

‘But I didn’t complete
it,’ said Jack, considering the praise to be polite rather than truthful.

‘That is telling in itself.’
Shiryu looked him in the eye as if assessing his soul. ‘An
ensō
is the
expressive movement of the spirit at a
particular
moment in time. The opening
left in your circle suggests your spirit is not separate but part of something greater.
That it requires something, or someone, to complete it.’

Jack felt Shiryu touch upon a truth. His
thoughts immediately turned to Akiko … then Yori, Saburo and
Miyuki … and finally Jess. He realized that without his friends and family, he
was like an incomplete
ensō
. Yet that was one circle that could never be whole
again –
unless
he managed to get home.

‘I should check on Benkei,’ said
Jack, not wishing the old man to sense his sadness.

Shiryu nodded sagely. ‘I understand.
We’ll continue the lesson later. You show
great
potential.’

‘Please don’t cut my leg
off,’ groaned Benkei, his forehead perspiring and his eyes bulging fearfully.
‘I know it smells like rotting fish, but I’m quite attached to
it.’

Jack smiled reassuringly and mopped his
friend’s brow with a cool cloth. ‘That’s just the medicine that
stinks.’

Benkei breathed a sigh of relief. ‘For a
moment, I thought my dancing days were over!’

Jack helped him drink some soup.
‘Shiryu made this especially for you. It contains herbs to reduce the
pain.’

‘Shiryu!’ said Benkei, his eyes
widening. ‘I’ve heard of him … he’s the most famous
Shodo
master in all of Kyushu.’

‘Well, he’s also a talented
herbalist,’ replied Jack, lifting the bowl to his friend’s lips. ‘He
says your wound will heal within a week. And you’ll be back on your feet the week
after.’

‘But … we can’t risk
staying that long!’ spluttered Benkei. ‘They’re sure to find
us.’

‘Shiryu says there are many samurai
patrols scouring the forest and caves, so lying low is the best plan for now. Besides, I
need the time to practise my sword work.’