with a half-tot, chuckling as he did. “So you see, your master wasn’t as virtuous as he likes to make out.”
I sipped the burning liquid, wishing I could have water instead, and wondered idly if I would ever get the chance to see my sensei in action. Miyagi was a man of such quiet dignity now that I couldn’t imagine him doing the same today. Then I remembered the primal rage in his eyes when he’d broken the makiwara and wondered how completely such an instinct could ever be contained.
At school, Mr. Kojima could barely contain his excitement. We hurried through the morning ritual of bowing to the emperor and when we were all seated and silent, he waited an extra moment before making his announcement. There had been an incident at the Roko Bridge near Peking. On the night of 7 July 1937, a Japanese soldier had been held captive illegally by the Chinese forces and there had been a battle. This had escalated and now Japan had declared a seisen on China. Seisen was a Holy War, which, Mr. Kojima explained, marked the first step in our destiny to bring the four corners of the world under Japanese rule.
Over the following months, we received daily updates on the progress of our imperial forces across the sea. The port of Shanghai had been captured after a long battle. The Chinese capital Nanking had fallen soon after, and our troops were busy bringing order to the city. Enemy forces were on the retreat all over China.
Mr. Kojima explained it was our divine duty to bring Japanese civilization to the rest of the world. Our English classes were canceled in favor of Japanese history and culture. We sang patriotic songs and recited heroic poems, and all the while, a steady stream of young men left Okinawa to go to war.
My mother and my sister Yuka sewed senninbari for the soldiers on the front. These good-luck belts were supposed to be made by the mothers, sisters, or wives of the soldiers, but in practice most were sewn by high-school girls. They also put together ration packs known as comfort-bags filled with tins of food, razors, cigarettes, and sake, and decorated the outsides with messages of encouragement. I wondered whether one day in the future, I too would receive a good-luck belt and a comfort-bag in some faraway corner of Asia.
Yuka joined a local girl’s brigade called the Wild Lilies and trained in first aid. They would go to Naha port to cheer the departing troop ships with cries of Banzai! (Hurrah!) Sometimes I would go with her to watch the new soldiers who were grinning inanely at their newfound hero status, at least for a day. Mr. Kojima was often there too, his eyes alive with joy at the sight of so many brave young fellows going to war, envious of their chance to serve the emperor. I looked forward to the day that I might be on one of those ships, holding my head high as pretty, young girls waved me off from the quayside, but there seemed little hope of that.
When I left school, I worked full-time on my uncle’s boat, and no call-up papers ever arrived at my door. Uncle Anko began to give me a little money at the end of each week. Soon I was accompanying him on trips to the outlying islands. It seemed my life on Okinawa was set, never to change. I wasn’t unhappy, but at night I lay awake, rocked by the gentle swell of the ocean in Naha harbor, and wondered whether this was all life held in store.
It was a baking hot day when I found myself waiting nervously outside the gate to Miyagi’s house. I’d been invited to join the classes in his private dojo, a small building in his garden, and not wanting to be late on my first visit, I’d arrived half an hour early. The gate was shut, but unlocked. I wondered whether to go through to the house or wait by the gate. I peered through the bars, trying to decide. Miyagi lived in a grand house, with a tiled roof and ample gardens surrounded by a high wall. The trees and bushes were neatly trimmed. The flowers were in perfect bloom and a pile of chopped wood had been stacked neatly beside the house. It was clear that Miyagi had no shortage of students to perform chores for him.
A woman in a colorful kimono appeared at the gate. “You’re here for to-te?” she asked.
“Master Miyagi invited me,” I said, “My name is Kenichi Ota.”
“You’re eager Kenichi, that’s good,” she laughed, her voice rich and deep “My husband likes students who’re eager, but there’s no one here to teach you, not yet. Miyagi is out and about, so why don’t you come inside and have something to drink? It’s hot today.”
I accepted gratefully and Mrs. Miyagi led the way to the house. She wasn’t as I’d imagined Miyagi’s wife, tall and haughty, she was small, with a round face and warm eyes that danced with mischief. Her hair was piled on top of her head and pinned in the traditional style, and she wore a necklace made of different colored precious stones and coral pieces.
“Come in,” she said, stepping into the entrance hall. The lofty room was cool after the heat outside. My eyes were drawn to one wall hung with portraits of what must have been Miyagi’s ancestors, fine gentlemen and ladies in old-fashioned dress. Some were photographs, professionally taken and of high quality, but the older ones were paintings, and from the quality of the brushwork they had been done by a master. On the opposite side of the room stood a cabinet filled with fine ornaments: lacquerware boxes with unusual designs that didn’t look Okinawan but rather Chinese or Japanese in origin, incense burners of a design that could have been Malayan or Indonesian, and fearsome looking warrior masks that could have been from Borneo or the South Sea islands.
Mrs. Miyagi showed me into the lounge and urged me to sit. I was apprehensive, imagining Miyagi returning home to find me seated on his favorite couch and chatting with his wife on my very first visit, but Mrs. Miyagi insisted I should sit, so I had little choice. She brought sweets and a glass of juice and I munched on the sweets guiltily as she demanded to know about my family, the names of my brothers and sisters, the health of my parents and relatives. By the time I’d finished my juice, she knew all about me. Was I polite to my parents, she demanded. I was about to reassure her on this important matter when I heard a soft footstep behind me and turned to see Miyagi in the doorway. I sprung up and thanked Mrs. Miyagi for her hospitality. Miyagi turned without a word and I followed him out of the house to the dojo, wondering if he were annoyed and whether I should explain that Mrs. Miyagi had insisted. In the end I said nothing.
Only three other students turned up that day. It was mid-summer and the humidity was dreadful. Miyagi’s private dojo was tiny compared to the one in the elementary school, and there was no air in the room. Nevertheless, no allowances were made for the heat and we performed the usual warm up and conditioning drills. To my regret, I’d abandoned wearing the headband that my father had given me long ago—Shinzato didn’t wear a headband so neither did I. The sweat stung my eyes so badly that I blundered around half blind. I was afraid Miyagi would never ask me back, but instead, he took me aside and taught me a new kata. It was very different to the slow, heavy movements of Sanchin. This kata was called Saifa. It was filled with explosive punches and strikes using the back-fist and hammer-fist, kicks and knee-strikes, sweeps and stomps, rips and tears. A guttural shout called a kiai was required in two places. Miyagi demonstrated this martial roar and the little room shook with thunder. I sensed a frisson of violence running through the kata and felt the violence running through my veins as I performed it. Later, Miyagi demonstrated the meaning of certain movements. I learned to tear free from a grab on the wrist or lapel, deflect a punch or kick and respond with one of my own, to lock the wrist and elbow and throw a man to the floor.
Miyagi had finally begun to teach me the devastating secrets of his art and I returned to his home for training at every opportunity. My nervousness at being in such a grand household was soon lost as I got to know the rest of his family. He had nine children and there was always a happy atmosphere in the Miyagi household, with much laughter and joking. Mrs. Miyagi was
