OF VIOLENCE
(Taiyō no Kisetsu)
Eiko fascinated Tatsuya in the same way that boxing did. She caused him the same mixture of shock and pleasure that he felt whenever he was knocked down in the ring.
If he had taken a hammering from an opponent, he would immediately assume the correct stance again; then at the end of the round he would sit glaring at his enemy in the other corner, too excited to listen to his seconds. He could hardly wait to start fighting again. The thrill was unique and never palled.
As soon as the next round started he was his old self again, jabbing confidently at his opponent. The spectators never failed to be impressed by the resolute smile he wore as the other boxer came weaving towards him.
But Tatsuya was never a natural boxer. He looked cool and calm during his fights, but his enthusiasm outweighed his skill and experience. It was just that he liked sports, and boxing in particular. He had been on the basketball team for a year because of his height and ability. But he would never pass the ball once he had hold of it, and his selfish play often spoiled the teamwork both in practice and in real games.
Tatsuya had once seen foreigners bamboozle a Japanese team in an international match by various tricks and feints. He had applauded vigorously, but when he tried the same tactics himself, his side accused him of grand-standing.
He first put on boxing gloves during his second year at college. One afternoon when there were no classes he went along to the gym to collect his winnings from a mah jong game. Eda, a classmate of his who ran the boxing club, owed him the money. It was early for training and only two or three boxers were warming up in the gym. There were sandbags hanging from the ceiling and shoes and gloves on the wall. Tatsuya smiled at a skull and crossbones painted on someone's locker. Everything was spotlessly clean and the atmosphere was calm, but the place reminded him of a slaughter house.
Sahara was shadowboxing by the ringside and had obviously skipped English class in the morning. He wore a dark blue track suit with the school colors in stripes across the chest. The action of hitting out at nothing and from time to time bending down, looked strange. His legs moved quickly in their tight trousers, and his arms delivered sudden punches as if driven by some mysterious force.
Tatsuya knew that Sahara was surprisingly strong for his size. The autumn before, a group of students had met for the annual matches and afterwards had made the rounds of the night clubs. An elderly passer-by—a graduate of their rival school—had told them to quiet down when they laughed drunkenly at him. He finally got angry and knocked one of them down. Sahara stepped forward and gave him a hard punch in the stomach. The man groaned and fell forward. As he fell, Sahara hit him in the face so hard that he shot over backwards and lay quietly sprawled on the floor. The others had been disappointed by the shortness of the fight, but Sahara was immediately accepted as a member of the club.
Sahara caught sight of Tatsuya and grinned at him. It reminded Tatsuya of something that had happened in spring. Tatsuya was taking his brother's dog for a walk along the beach early one morning. He had seen a man in a red track suit with a white towel around his neck running along the shore, shadowboxing as he went. It was the Hawaiian world champion. Tatsuya knew the champion was almost at the end of his career, and he was in fact defeated by a Japanese boxer in the title match a week later. When he saw Tatsuya on the deserted shore, his dark face lit up in a broad grin. Tatsuya grinned back. When the boxer passed him again, after running to the end of the beach, Tatsuya flung his hands above his head in a gesture of triumph and shouted: "Hey, good luck!" He had seen two boxers greet each other like that in an American film.
The champion waved to Tatsuya and ran past. As he watched him go, Tatsuya felt impressed and somewhat moved. He also felt pleased with what he had done. "I'm sure he'll remember this morning, even if he loses the fight," he said to himself.
Tatsuya, who had been a supporter of the Japanese challenger, now found himself on the side of the older foreign champion. He was moved by the boxer's lonely self-discipline. He had the same feeling as he watched Sahara.
He went over to the club room where Eda was playing poker with friends. Eda asked him what he wanted.
"Oh, I'm just killing time really, but I also came to collect the money I won the other day," Tatsuya replied.
"Well, you picked a fine time to show up. Come on, you can sit in and see if your luck repeats."
Tatsuya joined them and was dealt cards.
He had the ability to learn quickly, but he stopped when he learned all he thought there was to know. He played well enough not to lose even when playing against someone with a run of luck. Actually, cards bored him unless he was playing against a really good player. He regarded small games only as a means of making pin money, and that wasn't much of a challenge—that couldn't be called gambling.
As time went on, more members arrived at the club. Some changed into their boxing gear without saying a word; others just stuck their heads inside, made some joking remark, and left. Tatsuya was winning as usual, but his mind was not on the game. He was embarrassed at winning in a group of which he was not a member.
"What class do you figure I'd be?"
"Of what?"
"Of boxing, of course!"
"If you were fit, I should think you'd be fighter than a featherweight," someone said, patting him on the shoulder.
"Why not let me have a go at it?"
"Stop kidding. You're in the basketball club, aren't you? Boxing's a lot different from your sexy-pants basketball, you know."
"Yeah, I know, but basketball doesn't suit me. It's not my style."
It was almost time to start training. They began to put the cards away.
"Hey, Eda, just one round? It won't cause you any trouble."
"Don't be crazy. You might get hurt and then what?"
Sahara came over and asked what was going on.
"He wants to do some sparring," said Eda. He turned to Tatsuya. "You're a fool to fight without any practice. If you get killed, don't blame me."
"It's all right. Basketball's made me pretty tough, and anyway, I won't go too far. If you let me into the ring, I'll forget about the money you owe me and what I made today."
"Let him have a go. I'll go into the ring with him and try to take it easy on him," said Sahara.
"Well, don't blame me afterwards. A good thing the captain's not here today. Here, put on these sweat pants."
"Come on, those pants are grim. Can't I wear your shorts. They're sharp?"
"This isn't a real match, you know. Don't forget to warm up."
The gloves on his hands looked incredibly large.
Mitsuda, who was exercising with a skipping rope, saw Tatsuya coming and asked him what he was doing.
"I'm fighting Sahara for the title," he replied and gave the sandbag a hearty punch. The bag was more responsive than he had expected. It made him feel excited.
A number of students gathered around to watch the "title match." Tatsuya's stance resembled a basketball player's.
"Bravo,
