Chojun - Goran Powell

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together by the back wall.

      It seemed word had got around fast that Miyagi was about to perform a demonstration and the hall had filled to an even greater capacity. In the past, Miyagi had always had his students demonstrate his karate, but after the elderly Dr Kano’s impressive personal demonstration, he could hardly refuse to perform himself.

      When Miyagi stepped onto the center of the mats, a hush fell over the crowd. He called us forward and guided us through a brief warm-up before demonstrating our conditioning exercises with traditional equipment. Next, we performed Sanchin and Miyagi commented on its importance to the audience. After this, we sat down, and Miyagi had Jinan Shinzato perform Sanchin alone while he tested him. Shinzato’s hard body was covered in a thick sheen of sweat that splashed as Miyagi struck, the crack of his iron palms echoing around the hall. I’d never seem Miyagi test Shinzato with such venom, and could only imagine how hard Shinzato must have fought to conceal the pain from his face.

      When the dreadful testing had finally finished, Miyagi prepared to perform Sanchin himself. He was considerably taller and bigger than Shinzato, and when he removed his jacket, his body resembled nothing more than a huge bull that had wandered in from the cane fields. He pressed his palms together in readiness to begin and his eyes went to a distant place, as if preparing for battle. In that instant I knew where he was. He was on the cliffs of Itoman Bay—and I was filled with such happiness that I struggled not to cry out.

      His arms crossed before him and he stepped forward, breathing loudly. Despite the slow nature of his movement, the audience fell silent and watched spellbound. Rooting his feet into the ground, his huge body became one of the giant boulders on our rocky shoreline. As his arm went back and pushed forward, his limbs became the branches of the Ryukyu palms. As his stance sunk and rose, he carried the power of the ocean swells in his every movement. The elements of Okinawa had come together in the form of a man.

      I glanced at Dr. Kano and saw him watching Miyagi with undisguised wonder. Miyagi dipped and turned to face the back of the hall, then rose and locked into his stance once more. “Ha!” Kano exclaimed, noticing the classic judo footwork at play.

      Miyagi turned once more. His body was dripping in sweat now and the sheen made it all the more incredible to behold. His hands came forward together and drew back three times, then he finished with two backward steps and wheeling blocks. There was a long moment as the audience waited, uncertain how to respond—then rapturous applause. Miyagi’s performance was just beginning. He called for two volunteers from the audience and handed each of them an oak staff, inviting them to strike his body while he performed Sanchin once more. Their blows had no effect. “Harder,” he urged with a smile, and they swung with all their might, though it made no difference.

      Next, he demonstrated two beautiful kata that flowed from slow, deliberate movements into explosive punches, kicks, and stomps, punctuated by fearsome kiai that sent tremors through the benches where we sat. If Sanchin had been nature’s elements at play on a fine day in Okinawa, these kata were storms that left devastation in their wake, and when Miyagi had finished, the hall was held for a moment, suspended in awe before erupting into thunderous applause.

      To end the demonstration, Miyagi had us bring our assortment of props onto the mats. I saw my master perform feats that I would not have thought possible. He smashed a giant stack of tiles with his fist, chopped a thick block of wood in half with a knife-hand strike, and thrust his fingers into a tight bundle of bamboo to snatch a single stick from its center.

      Two of my companions brought out a table and Shinzato placed a huge slab of beef on it. Miyagi tore it into small chunks with his bare hands. Then he pointed at me. I hurried out with the tall ceramic jar that I’d brought from his garden. Miyagi lifted it onto the table and turned it around so the audience could see it wasn’t broken. He stood before the jar in silence for almost a minute, as if summoning a special strength from somewhere—despite his humble manner, my teacher was a quite a showman when he wanted to be—then suddenly, with a sharp cry, he struck the jar. I’d expected a shower of flying shards to fill the air, so I was shocked to see he’d failed to break the jar, or even move it. The audience was equally surprised. There was an embarrassed silence, until Miyagi spun the jar around to reveal a hole, two inches across, drilled through the clay. It was almost a perfect circle. The audience was too stunned to clap or cheer.

      Another student brought out a kerosene can and a basin for Miyagi, and the silence remained in the hall. Miyagi lifted the kerosene can and spun it around so we could see each side, then made to open it. The top was too tight. He tried once more, this time with all his might, but the top wouldn’t budge. Knowing the strength of his grip, I found it hard to believe he couldn’t open the can. He replaced it on the floor and spread his hands in despair. It seemed his demonstration would end with a whimper. Then to everyone’s surprise, he turned and kicked the can in anger. The action seemed so out of place for Miyagi that the audience didn’t know how to react. He stooped and picked up the can. Tipping it onto its side, a stream of kerosene poured out from a hole in the side into the basin at his feet. Miyagi had punctured the can with his toe.

      “How did you do it?” I asked in wonder, as we walked on the hard-packed dirt road toward Shuri.

      “Do what?” Miyagi asked.

      “Kick the hole in the can!”

      “With my toe.”

      My questioning was getting me nowhere, but it was a fine day and a long walk to Shuri, and Miyagi seemed to be enjoying our conversation, so I persisted.

      “When will we learn to do that?” I asked.

      “You already know how to do it.”

      I turned in exasperation to Shinzato, who was walking with us. Shinzato ignored me. “Do you know the answer, Sempai?” I demanded.

      “Practice.”

      “Jiru is right,” Miyagi said, “Practice is the key to this and all things. Didn’t you know that already?”

      “I suppose so,” I admitted reluctantly.

      “Good, because I cannot tell you the answers to everything,” he smiled. “You must learn to find them for yourself. Once you know where to look, they are easy enough to find, most of the time.”

      “Where should I look?” I asked.

      Miyagi stared out to sea. The road was getting steep and he took several breaths before answering. “All the secrets of karate are in the kata. Learn the universal principles that make the techniques work and you have learned everything there is to know. Then simply practice, as Jiru says.”

      What are the secrets?” I demanded, unable to resist.

      “Ah, Kenichi,” Miyagi said sadly, “I knew you would ask me this. Why can’t you be more like Jiru, who never asks any questions? Jiru does the training I set for him with every ounce of his heart and soul. That is why he is so good. That is why he is the sempai.”

      “I can never be as good as Jiru,” I said. It was a cheeky thing to say because Jiru was a nickname used only by Miyagi and by rights, I should have referred to Shinzato as sempai, but fortunately Miyagi chuckled at my remark. Shinzato didn’t seem annoyed either. Ever since knocking me out, his attitude to me had softened, from a haughty disdain to a more general indifference. He even called me by my name, on occasion, and whenever he did, I felt an inexplicable joy.

      “So tell me,” I persisted, “the secrets…”

      “There are so many that I can’t even begin to count them,” Miyagi said evasively.

      “Do you know them all?” I asked.

      “No I don’t,” he said, and I got the feeling I’d touched on something that troubled Miyagi. I didn’t press him, but after a few more paces up the winding road to Shuri, he began to speak again.

      “When my teacher, Master Higaonna, was getting old, we spent many hours

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