Читать книгу Traditions. Essays on the Japanese Martial Arts and Ways онлайн

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I had not been training in karate for too long when Mr. Yanagi, a friend of my sensei, came for a visit. Mr. Yanagi was a gem buyer from Naha, Okinawa, when he was not practicing karate. He was an expert in pearls, and over dinner, he explained to me how pearls are cultured and how they can be “fixed” to make them look better than they are. I learned how a tincture of Merthiolate can give a substandard pearl a pinkish luster, or how pearls that have a sickly yellowish cast about them can be bleached. I was later able to use a lot of what he told me to impress girlfriends when we were visiting jewelry stores.

Yanagi-san did not look like a gem buyer. He was short and thick and powerful. At my sensei’s suggestion, after dinner our visitor took me into our dojo to work with me on basics. Against my oi-zuki (stepping-in punch), he shifted like he was on ball bearings and countered with various techniques. We’d been at this for about an hour, gradually increasing our pace. I was still not posing any great threat to him, but Yanagi-san was having to move just a bit faster to avoid my attack. That is when he miscalculated, just fractionally. He pivoted and snapped out his fist as I moved in—and he caught me squarely on my nose with the back of his knuckles. There was no kime, no focus, to the blow. If there had been, my head would have come off. The strike was more just a kind of slap. But Mr. Yanagi’s timing was perfect, even if there was no force behind it.