THE ART OF SUMAI by Victar (vctr113062 [at] aol [dot] com) https://www.vicfanfic.com Edmond Honda was ready. All of his life, he had been training, purifying both his body and mind for this moment. As a youth, he had been introduced to the way of the sumotori (or, more inaccurately, "sumo wrestler") and, with neither hesitation nor indecisiveness, he had chosen that way of life for his own. Not to imply that he had crossed paths with his future discipline entirely by accident; many generations of his forefathers had numbered sumotori among them. His family line had abandoned their dwelling amidst the rice paddies almost a millennia ago for a home in the mountains, where almost all sumotori must train if they truly seek to become champions. Honda trained _hard_, both physically and mentally. Physically, he worked long, intense hours to build up his body. It helped that he resided in the mountains, for life there promotes vigor and health. Over the course of years, he built up his hip muscles by wading through deep snow, and pounded his arms against teppo [wooden poles] to harden the skin. And he had striven to build up his weight. No man in the world was capable of cooking chanko-nabe better than he. [Chanko-nabe is the traditional sumotori diet staple: a stew made of cabbage, carrots, onions, and bean curd, flavored with soy sauce and sugar, and with fish added for further enrichment.] In accordance with the harmonious path he had chosen, he ate twice a day, always supplementing each meal with vast quantities of rice. Spiritually, he had dedicated the total of his life and being to the study of sumai. To him, wrestling was everything. Here, a clear distinction must be kept between sumai and sumo wrestling. Sumai is the ancient Art that repute hearkens back to a match held in 22 BC [as measured by the Gregorian calendar]. In sumai, the goal was no less than to slay one's opponent, in a no-holds-barred combat that employed crippling locks and potentially deadly blows. Recognition of the needless waste and inefficiency that comes with senseless death caused the most dangerous holds to be forbidden by the eighth century, and the more civilized and stylized Art of sumo wrestling gradually evolved. Honda had learned of both sumo wrestling and sumai from his sensei [teacher], always with the understanding that the two were never to be mixed. "Before I teach you of sumai, Honda Edmond," the sensei had once said to his most recently acquired pupil, "you must swear, both to me and to yourself, never to use it to take a life. You must never break the laws concerning the shobu [sumo wrestling match] that safeguard the sumotori's well-being, of course. Yet that is not all that I demand of you. Even if you find yourself in competition or combat outside of the dohyo [sumo wrestling ring], you are not ever to use even one move of sumai without the express realization that you _may not_ kill or permanently injure your opponent. Nor may you ever slay an enemy of any kind, should you use even one technique of sumai to subdue him or her. Even if another man tries to kill you, even if you, for whatever reason, choose to participate in a genuine sumai contest where your opponent seeks to take your life--still, you may not use sumai to kill or to cause lasting harm. Do you understand the conditions under which I am willing to teach you the Art of sumai?" "Hai, sensei." "Do you understand what you must swear to uphold?" "Hai, sensei." "Repeat my words then, please." Honda had done so, dutifully. "Good. You shall not swear now, but rather take the rest of the day to consider the import of this matter. Tomorrow, be prepared either to swear by this code and hold to it always, or to leave these grounds in search of a new teacher, never to return." "Hai, sensei." "Do you have any questions?" "Hai, sensei. One question exists. Why?" "Because there is already far too much death in the world." The sensei had looked very old, when he said that. "I am sorry, sensei, I was not clear. What I meant to ask was, 'Why must I wait for the span of one whole day before I swear?'" "So, do you despise indecisiveness that much? It is probably for the best if you do. Still, in some matters, one simply must take time to strengthen one's resolve, even if the decision itself is already made. You must purify your soul before you speak the words that will bind you. And should you ever choose to instruct others in the Art of sumai, you must first give them one day to meditate upon precisely the same oath." "Hai, sensei." And so Honda had sworn. He had not fully understood the purpose of the portion of the oath concerning battles that might take place outside the dohyo, for he did not intend to take part in competition other than the shobu. Still, he trusted his sensei's wisdom. The Shinto religion that he followed, and that governed sumo wrestling, places a great deal of emphasis upon ritual and moral standards. As with most sumotori, Honda did not have elaborate philosophical beliefs; rather, he had faith that kami [the gods] inhabit all things in nature. He had been quick to learn the traditional, Shinto-based ceremony that all sumotori must execute before initiating a shobu. His will to learn was very strong. He fervently studied the nature of the shobu, which might, in essence, seem very simple at first. Two contestants squared off under the roof of a 15' wide dohyo. (The roof, which was intended to make the dohyo similar to a shrine, used to be held aloft by pillars; in modern times, it was typically suspended from the ceiling.) The wrestlers were permitted to grab any part of one another's upper body or mawashi [the stiff, silk loincloth that is the sumotori's only clothing]. The shobu would be won when either opponent was forced out of the ring, or touched any part of his body other than the soles of his feet to the ground, and the small size of the dohyo ensured that even a small mistake would send one grappler out of the ring, ending the match. There were many more subtleties to the actual sport, of course. Each throw and hold had its own, meticulous definition and structure. Well over 48 of the classical throws were fully documented. Perhaps Honda's most powerful single technique was the crushing Bear Hug. If he could manage to seize even a formidable opponent, then only the strongest of men stood a chance to escape before their breath would be cut short as his mighty arms constricted the ribcage. In close, Honda could use leverage from his legs to heft a trapped opponent off the feet, and then hurl him at whim. The laws of the shobu were very precise, and rigidly enforced. Every basho [shobu tournament] had one referee and up to five judges. These people monitored the legal actions: punching with the heel of the hand, tripping, slapping, straight arming, pushing against the jaw, or grabbing the mawashi. They were also quick to disqualify forbidden actions: punching with a closed fist, hitting below the belt, bending back the fingers, clapping both ears at once, pulling hair, breaking bones, gouging eyes, or choking. Sumotori had no right to protest the verdicts of judges and referees, although the option might remain to redo a shobu should the outcome be too close to accurately determine the winner. After all, the intent of a shobu was not to inflict grievous damage to the foe, but rather to prove one's superiority in mind and body in a highly regulated and disciplined match. Despite the relatively strict rules and the arbitrators who stringently enforced them, there remained a good deal of leeway, so that no sumo match was without its perils. For example, the open-handed slap, while generally less damaging than a strike with the closed fist, could still be enough to render even an experienced sumotori unconscious. Anyone who trained to be a sumotori had to be conditioned to absorb strikes, ignore pain, and be prepared to take a fall properly. After completing his apprenticeship, Honda had sought the thrill of competition upon the sumo wrestling circuit. His sensei had wished him well, and well he did perform. The first true basho he entered was quite modest; no more than a local tournament with one judge and six participants. He had emerged triumphant, thus earning the right to be called an ozeki [sumotori winner]. Much more time, wins, and losses passed before he had amassed enough victories among various basho to be known as a maku-uchi [proficient wrestler]. Only after he achieved this rank did tradition permit him to tie up his hair in the inherited top-knot style. He would not have it cut until such a time came when he would be ready to retire in the formal ceremony of danpatsu-shiki, when a lock of his hair would be symbolically severed. Now, before him, was the chance to seize the highest honor. This was not the first basho of great size that he had entered, but it _was_ the first in which he had lasted throughout all of the gruelling lower matches. Fifteen days the basho had lasted, each day bringing new eliminations, and still Honda had remained unbeaten. Only one opponent remained: Kurudo, the yokozuna [grand champion] of this basho for three years. Spectators watched avidly from the rush-matted boxes surrounding all sides of the dohyo. Most of them kept teapots or bottles of osake [ceremonial rice wine] nearby, for many shobu had taken place that day and the rising excitement with each successive match whetted one's thirst. There might or might not have been a few wagers among the crowd as well. Kurudo was favored because of his size, speed, and fluid technique. He was especially known for his supremely powerful lock-holds, with which he could trap an opponent's center of gravity, and then force him off balance, driving him back in such a manner that he could not resist. Sometimes Kurudo would go so far as to hurl a lighter antagonist out of the ring with apparent ease. Kurudo's challenger, on the other hand, was a shinjin [newcomer] to this particular annual basho. Few present had heard much about Edmond Honda personally, although his family name was common enough. At a height of 6' 0.8"--barely above the typical requisite for a sumotori--and weight of no more than a mere 302 pounds, Honda held a somber disadvantage against the massive Kurudo [height 6' 3", weight 470 lbs]. By sumotori standards, Honda was quite simply not a big man. All of those present, however, knew well that size alone does not determine the outcome of a sumo wrestling match (although size is indeed important--so much so that it is a common misperception for a westerner to mistake the bulk of a sumotori's mass for fat.) Before the excitement could begin, there first had to come a metaphorical duel of minds, as Kurudo and Honda performed the ritual shobu ceremony. For this moment, Honda was _ready_. First came the actions of purification. Honda washed out his mouth with water, sipping and spitting out the life-giving fluid in such a manner that his inner evils might be expelled as well... if only for a little while. Once cleansed, he was able to claim a small handful of salt from his few belongings, and scatter grains into the dohyo, thus purging the site of his upcoming struggle as well. On the other side of the all-too-small circle, Kurudo mimed the same pattern, except in the respect that he used generous handfuls of the salt conveniently provided in a nearby barrel. Perhaps Kurudo was being a tad excessive; then again, perhaps Honda's low personal funds and habit of using only his own salt had forced him to be unusually conservative with the smattering that remained. There could be no regrets now; only strength, and the will to win. In keeping with the ceremony of old, both sumotori entered the dohyo, squatted, and clapped their hands together soundly. So would the attention of the gods be called to the match. Since Kurudo was of higher rank, he was the first to extend his arms slowly towards his antagonist and rotate his palms, in order to clearly show that he carried no weapons. Honda waited for him to finish the gesture prior to copying it, making clear to all present that he, too, was armed with naught save his body and mind. The two strong men stamped the ground repeatedly, all the better to drive away any evil spirits which might have thought to affect the outcome of the shobu. At last came the first true conflict: a battle not yet of muscle, but of ki [inner energy, spirit]. The crowd fell quiet upon the onset of the invisible psychic duel between yokozuna and maku-uchi. Kurudo, the older of the pair as well belonging to a higher division, did not deign to honor his unknown opponent with a glance. Honda felt the pressure of consternation building within, but he fought to harness and mold it into strength rather than simply keep it held in check. He watched Kurudo carefully, seeking for evidence of an exploitable weakness. Hold for one moment... There! Kurudo's right foot, and only his right foot, was tightly wrapped and bound. Such bandaging did not necessarily signify injury; in fact, it was common enough a worn enhancement among the disciples of many Arts. Still, why would such a distinguished sumotori engage in the practice by halves...? By wordless, mutual agreement the clash of wills became a clash of bodies. Both men drew to their full heights and rushed to meet each other with astounding speed, given their great masses. Because his eyes had never left his opponent, Honda possessed the initiative by the slightest of margins. Knowing that every passing second decreased his odds of victory against the bigger man, he shifted his weight, seeking to set Kurudo up for a powerful heave. He executed his strike flawlessly--and yet, the yokozuna before him was a veteran of many shobu. Despite the significant lag time in his reaction, Kurudo still possessed greater mass, and grace in using it. He blocked Honda's attempt with even less of a shift in balance, his sheer ponderousness giving him more than enough room for error against the challenger less than two thirds his weight. While Honda recovered from the failed attempt, Kurudo made his move, grasping Honda in a lock of paralyzing power and straining terribly to lift the maku-uchi off the floor. Honda struggled against the relentless grip. Kurudo's lock was not yet applied at full force, as Kurudo would need the space of a heartbeat to completely reorient his body from his former block into an optimum attacking position. As soon as that happened, Honda would be forced to the floor. There existed enough time for exactly one action, and Honda performed it. Reacting on his inner suspicions, and taking a great risk with such a committed tactic, he wrenched his entire body to Kurudo's right, adrenaline and desperation magnifying his great strength. Kurudo's arms held, but his right leg buckled just enough for Honda to force his center of gravity back low to the ground. Honda could not afford to relish the success of his gamble, for now Kurudo took a step forward and seized Honda's blue striped and patterned mawashi. Honda saw the action coming; he had suspected that Kurudo would be chagrined enough at the failure of his lock to attempt a hurling maneuver. Bracing for the momentum of the charge, he brought his powerful right arm full to bear against Kurudo's exposed face for a thunderous, stunning slap. Had Kurudo been just a little less single-minded in his drive to throw his opponent from the ring, he might have had a chance to roll with the force of the blow. As it was, he had allowed himself to be distracted one time too many. For just a single, fleeting instant the world reeled about him-- --and then he was tripping backward, clutched in Honda's crushing Bear Hug. Honda arched his back, striving mightily to raise the larger man off the floor, and succeeding. Then, before Kurudo could adjust, he reversed the direction of the force, and the senior sumotori fell upon the mat with a heavy, resounding thud. It had been a long match--nearly 12 seconds in length--and Honda had won. (I have won), he thought, allowing himself the luxury of psychological reflection in the form of words for the first time since the start of the shobu ceremony, which had taken place a few fleeting moments ago. And yet it had also taken place a lifetime ago, for this was the beginning of a new life for him--the life of a yokozuna. (I have won the battle), he thought again, for it might be that some tiny fraction of his being could not believe the victory. All his work, all his years of toil and strength and effort, had returned dividends far beyond such crude things as monetary price. At long last, he had achieved his dream. There would be time enough later for him and the worthy Kurudo--who had fought hard and well against him--to clap each other on the back and drink water in mutually respectful camaraderie. There would be time enough later for ceremony and celebration of his achievement. There would be time enough later for him to do as he would with his transformed life. The new yokozuna is at peace. Let us leave him there, for a time... surely, there must exist more than enough strife in the world to justify doing so.