Free Legends of the Martial Arts Masters by Susan Lynn Peterson

man rose and headed back to his garden. “First, help me bring in enough cabbage for our supper.”

 
    G ichin Funakoshi is best known as the man who brought Okinawan karate to Japan. The style he founded there has become known as Shotokan karate. Funakoshi was a small man, but physically strong from his karate training and mentally strong from his studies. It is because of those strengths and his remarkable selfcontrol that h e was chosen over men much more powerful than he was to bring karate to Japan.
     
     
     
     Great Power, Great Control
     
     
    Funakoshi wrestled with the tatami mat he was carrying. The long, narrow straw mat was several inches taller than he was and awkward to carry. When the storm blew against it, the mat bent like a bow. When the wind let up a little or changed direction, the mat sprang straight again, throwing Funakoshi off balance. It was going to be tricky getting the mat onto the roof. Especially tricky given that the rain seemed to be picking up, too.
    “Funakoshi-san,” a neighbor shouted over the howl of the wind. “What are you doing? Are you having trouble with your roof? Is it leaking? Maybe you should just let it leak. It’s not safe to be up patching your roof with a typhoon blowing in.”
    “The roof is fine, Hanasato-san. Thank you for asking,” Funakoshi called back. He laid the tatami flat against the tile of the roof and scrambled the rest of the way up.
    “If the roof is fine, what are you doing up there in your underwear?” Hanasato shouted.
    “Just a little exercise,” Funakoshi grinned at his neighbor who was squinting over the side fence, trying to keep the blowing rain out of his eyes.
    “Is it one of those martial arts things?” Hanasato asked. “I suppose it is,” Funakoshi said.
    Hanasato shook his head. “Does your wife know you’re up there?” he called.

    “Oh, yes,” Funakoshi answered. “She’s inside, though.”
    “Most sane people are,” Hanasato replied. “Do be careful.” He pulled his jacket more closely around him and trotted back to his house.
    Funakoshi climbed to the peak of the house. From there he could see that the sky had turned a sickly shade of gray-green. A branch blew off a nearby tree and struck him in the chest. He looked down. No blood but a large red mark. The wind blew hard against his face, making it difficult for him to catch his breath.
    Stability, he told himself, is partly a matter of body, but partly a matter of mind. If a man thinks he will fall over, he will. Slowly, carefully, Funakoshi bent over and picked up the tatami. The wind tugged at it, trying to rip it from his grasp, but Funakoshi held tight, bringing it up edge on to the wind. He took a solid horse straddle stance and turned the tatami flat to the wind.
    The wind caught the tatami and lifted Funakoshi up off the roof. His feet scrambled against the wet tiles, trying to find footing, but the wind was in control. A powerful gust grabbed him and threw him off the end of the roof. He landed in the mud, the tatami on top of him.
    “Are you all right?” his wife called from the door.
    “I’m fine,” Funakoshi answered, standing. “I just need to take a stronger stance before I tip up the tatami.”
    “Come inside,” his wife shouted.
    “In a minute,” Funakoshi replied. “I know what I’m doing.”
    The door to the house closed, and Funakoshi tucked the tatami under his arm and started up the ladder. It was a matter of using the strength of the stance, he thought to himself. He needed to stand sideways to the wind.
    Funakoshi squinted against the wet sand, branches, and other debris that beat against him. The wind was picking up. He would have to go inside soon. He took a low stance on the peak of the roof, spread his feet wide apart, tightened his leg muscles, pictured himself gripping the roof with the center of his body. When the straddle stance was the best he could make it, he flipped the tatami up. The wind hit it hard. Funakoshi