Young Samurai _ The Way Of The Dragon - Chris Bradford [50]
‘Mokuso yame!’ announced Sensei Yamada as the last piece of ash fell from the stick of incense. Laying his hands in his lap, he waited for an answer to his koan.
The students all sat there, mute.
‘Does anyone wish to make a suggestion?’ Sensei Yamada asked. ‘Kiku-chan?’
Kiku shook her head.
‘Emi-chan, perhaps?’
The daimyo’s daughter bowed apologetically.
‘How about you, Takuan-kun? It’s a good opportunity for you to make your first contribution to my lesson.’
Jack looked over his shoulder at Takuan, who was sitting between Emi and Akiko. All the girls in the class were watching him and listening expectantly. For once, Takuan didn’t appear comfortable with all the attention.
After a long pause, he finally answered:
‘An empty cup waits:
Filled to the brim with thought
now too full to drink.’
There was some respectful applause at Takuan’s answer, though many were bemused that he’d replied to a koan with a haiku.
‘That’s a very imaginative way of saying you don’t know,’ Sensei Yamada chortled. ‘But I was looking for an actual answer.’
The girls gave a disappointed sigh. Jack offered Takuan a sympathetic shrug. Since Yori’s chat with him, Jack no longer felt threatened by Takuan. Even though it still bothered Jack every time Takuan asked after Akiko, the boy had really helped him with his horsemanship. In the past month, Jack had learnt to canter and soon, Takuan promised, he would be galloping. Not that this made the slightest impression on his kyujutsu teacher, who still insisted he train on the wooden dobbin, much to his continued frustration and embarrassment.
‘Doesn’t anyone have an answer?’ Sensei Yamada asked, looking around hopefully.
Greeted with silence, the Zen master turned to Yori.
‘Yori-kun, what do you think?’
‘Does it really matter?’ Yori replied grumpily.
Sensei Yamada’s eyes almost disappeared into his head as his face crinkled in utter astonishment. The monk hadn’t expected his most promising student to respond with such discourtesy. Nor had the rest of the class, who stared aghast at Yori’s attitude.
‘We’re going to war! What’s the point in answering a koan, or composing a haiku,’ Yori continued, picking angrily at the sleeves of his kimono. ‘Shouldn’t we be learning to fight instead?’
Sensei Yamada took a long slow breath and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. The class waited on tenterhooks for his response.
‘I appreciate your concerns, Yori-kun,’ he said, fixing Yori with a steely glare, ‘but I am surprised that you of all my students question the purpose of my classes.’
Yori swallowed guilty and looked as if he was about to burst into tears.
‘Let me make clear the crucial importance of these lessons.’ The Zen master’s tone was measured but severe, delivered like a rap across the knuckles. ‘The Niten Ichi Ryū does not train ignorant thugs. You are following the Way of the Warrior and this entails mastering all the Arts. You’re not a mercenary. You’re not a dim-witted ashigaru. You are samurai. Now act like one!’
Yori bowed his head in shame, his little rebellion over. Sensei Yamada turned his attention upon the rest of the class.
‘That goes for all of you. A nation that draws too broad a difference between its scholars and its warriors will have its thinking done by cowards and its fighting done by fools!’
The Zen master stood up and strode over to a large bowl. Made of hammered bronze, the singing bowl was seated upon an ornamental cushion and red lacquer stand. When struck, the bowl rang like a heavenly gong, its resonance pure and rich. Jack had heard its harmonious tones during the Ganjitsu celebrations at New Year.
‘Perhaps you need a more practical demonstration of the esoteric spiritual