did as his master had ordered. When he set foot on Okinawa again, the angry young man had returned a master, and he found the desire for revenge had left him. He had found the true art. He had mastered his own spirit.
“Despite his ability, he was very humble and, at first, didn’t seek to promote his martial arts. Instead, he trained alone and returned to his work as a sailor on the yanbarusen. Nevertheless, his ability soon became known and his fame spread throughout Okinawa. The police would often ask him to help them apprehend dangerous criminals, which he usually did with a lightning-fast kick to stun them while the police moved in and made their arrest.
“Higaonna was an excellent sailor and navigator and had no trouble finding a crew for his boat. He borrowed money to buy a cargo of lacquerware to trade in the outlying islands, but lost his cargo not once, but twice, in two successive typhoons. The second time he was blown miles off course and drifted for a week before finding his way back to Okinawa. By the time they reached Naha, they were so hungry they had eaten the rope from the boat. It was a disaster in one sense, since he had no means of earning a living or repaying his loan, but in another it was a blessing. He was forced to fulfill his real destiny and become a karate teacher.
Miyagi sat silent for a minute, reliving his years of training with his master, then shook his head slowly. “I was twenty-seven when he died. Since then I have been without a sensei.”
It was incomprehensible to me that a master of Miyagi’s ability should still feel the need for a teacher. Miyagi must have sensed my confusion and put his hand on mine and squeezed it affectionately.
“A sensei is more than a teacher, Kenichi. He is someone who has trodden the same path that you now tread, someone to guide you on every stage of your journey. Karate isn’t a short thing. It isn’t something you can study for a time and then know completely. The true essence of karate is as deep as an abyss. It can take a lifetime to fully know all its secrets—perhaps even longer.”
“What kind of secrets?” I asked, unable to resist.
Miyagi shook his head. “So many questions, Kenichi! Always questions.’
I’d annoyed Miyagi and felt ashamed for my rudeness, but he sighed good-naturedly. “It isn’t something that is easy to put into words. It’s something that can only be drawn deeply into the center of your being through constant training.”
“I see,” I said, hoping to please him, but Miyagi continued without hearing me. “When Higaonna was alive, he taught me everything he knew. He filled me with knowledge until I could take no more. But now, after so many years, I have so many new questions for him.”
“What type of questions?” I asked.
He looked at my expectant face and smiled. “In recent years I have begun to discover connections that I missed earlier.”
“What type of connections?” I asked, hungry for insight into the higher levels of karate.
“What you might call the universal principles of karate,” he answered, searching for words to explain the unexplainable. “Ultimate truths that never change. Once a principle is grasped, countless things become clear.”
I begged Miyagi for an example. He picked up a rock and held it at arm’s length before him. “What happens if I let go?”
“It falls.”
“How do you know?”
“Gravity.”
“Gravity is a principle. Do you know who first put it into words?”
To my shame, I couldn’t remember.
“It was an Englishman named Isaac Newton. Newton summed up all the motions of heaven and earth into three simple laws. Can you believe that Kenichi. Three laws?”
I nodded, recalling dimly a lesson from long ago.
“Karate obeys the laws of the universe, Kenichi. For every thousand days I train, a new one reveals itself like a precious jewel hidden in the rock. A thousand days is a long time to wait before learning something new, don’t you think?”
I couldn’t imagine a thousand days of training. I hadn’t trained half that amount. Miyagi went on: “Several years after Higaonna’s death I visited a great master from Shuri called Itosu. He refused to teach me, saying that all I needed was contained in Higaonna’s kata. I was furious, until several years later when I began to discover certain connections running through all the kata. I returned to Itosu and he confirmed that my analysis was correct. It was a special moment for me, but Itosu died shortly afterward, and I haven’t been able to find another master of his standing to be my mentor.”
Miyagi rose with a sigh and we left the cemetery together, walking in silence. The monsoon clouds held back and the sun shone but I felt a somber mood descend on me. When Miyagi had begun to speak I’d felt happy at being taken into his confidence, but now, hearing of his lifelong struggle to grasp the ethereal nature of karate, I felt perplexed. If Miyagi couldn’t grasp the deeper meaning of karate, what hope was there for anyone? What hope was there for me?
It was another stifling evening in Naha as we packed into the town hall. The doors and windows had been opened wide, but there wasn’t a breath of wind to circulate the air. In the eager press of bodies, the sharp smell of fresh sweat stung my nostrils, but I was too excited to care. I was with the other boys from my karate class and we were in high spirits. The reason for this excitement was a visit from the founder of judo, Dr. Jigoro Kano.
Judo was a new and popular way to develop fitness and fighting ability, and with its exciting competitions, it was already being considered as an Olympic sport. Tonight, Dr. Kano himself would be demonstrating his art. As one of the foremost citizens of Okinawa, Miyagi had a seat on the front row next to the mayor. Beside them, a clutch of journalists and photographers were well-placed to capture the evening’s events. I’d managed to get a seat only a few rows back from Miyagi, along with the other boys from the karate club. We chatted eagerly as a group of young judo-men in crisp white suits laid mats down in the center of the hall.
The head of the Naha Judo Club strode into the center and the crowd fell silent. He gave a short speech welcoming Dr. Kano, and when Kano stepped out to join him there was rapturous applause. To my surprise Kano was an old man—far older than I’d imagined—with a thick grey moustache and a down-turned mouth, though his stride was sprightly and he bristled with energy.
He was joined on the mat by his senior assistant, whom he introduced as Mr. Nagaoka. I expected Kano to call his students out to demonstrate, but instead he proceeded to perform a flowing two-man drill using only Mr. Nagaoka as his partner. Despite his scholarly appearance, Kano spoke little during his demonstration, offering no more than the name of the technique he was using, or a simple introduction to a new theme such as locks or chokes. He demonstrated his throwing techniques in groups based on the direction of the opponent’s force: throws for an attacker moving toward you, throws for an attacker pulling backward, throws for an opponent moving sideways. Kano and Nagaoka performed a seamless demonstration of the wonderful throws and submissions of judo. It went on for almost an hour and the power and beauty of their actions spoke louder than any words.
In those days, judo was considerably more brutal than its present form. Kano added many subtle strikes into his techniques. The intensity of their performance was incredible and relentless, and the hall
