Free Legends of the Martial Arts Masters by Susan Lynn Peterson Page A

stutter-stepped back, then caught his balance again. The force blew the tatami hard against his shoulder. The top of it flapped stiffly against his face. Slowly, his muscles straining, he pushed the mat away from him, then let the wind push it back. Again he pushed it away from him, tightening his legs against the force, forcing his arms to hold against the raw power of the wind and rain.
    Gradually, still holding against the wind, he shifted his stance—front, back, straddle stance again. His body strained. He fought to keep his mind focused. Slowly, he lowered the mat to the roof. It was a mess, covered with mud, bent and broken in places. Funakoshi smiled to himself. He wondered if he looked that bad. Carefully he climbed down off the roof and entered the house, dripping and cold.
    His wife met him at the door with a towel. He wiped off the mud and debris before stepping up onto the tatami floor of the living room.
    “Was it worth it?” his wife asked, an amused look in her eye. “Oh, yes,” he replied. “Most definitely.”
     
    Funakoshi dropped his books and shoes inside the front door of his house. On the way to the closet, he stripped off his uniform. Hanging it carefully in the closet, he put on his good kimono and checked his hair in the mirror. The school where he taught was out for the day. His wife and children were already at her parents’ house, and he wanted to get there in time for dinner. Quickly he snatched up a couple of small cakes to offer at the family altar when he got there. It was a two-mile walk, and he didn’t have time to waste.
    After a day in the classroom, he enjoyed the late afternoon air. The road to his in-laws’ village took him through pine groves and farmland. He breathed in the smell of the trees and the crops. The cool breeze felt good against his face. It would be good to see his father-in-law again.
    A rustle in the bushes brought Funakoshi out of his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw three shapes half-hidden behind the trees of a small pine grove. Keeping his eyes forward, he continued to walk. Behind him he heard the sound of footsteps on gravel. He stopped and turned around. Behind him stood two men. A third was making his way out of the woods. All three had towels tied over their faces.
    Funakoshi stood quietly assessing the situation. They didn’t move like martial artists. They didn’t seem to be trying to surround him. He guessed that they were thugs, not trained fighters. He could probably handle all three if it came to that.
    “What’s wrong?” one of the thugs said loudly, approaching Funakoshi with a swagger. “Don’t you have any manners? The least you could do is wish us a good evening.”
    “Good evening,” Funakoshi said simply.
    “That’s ‘Good evening, sir,’” the other thug said. “Good evening, sir,” Funakoshi repeated.
    “Kind of scrawny,” the first thug said, loudly. “He isn’t going to be much of a challenge.” The other two laughed.
    “I’m sorry, sir,” Funakoshi said politely. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m not looking for a fight. I’m just traveling to my in-laws’ house in Mawashi. So if you’ll . . .”
    “Shut up,” the largest of the three commanded. He picked up a stick that was lying beside the road and slapped it into his other hand. “I ought to beat you over the head just because I find your voice so annoying.”
    “You could do that,” Funakoshi answered. “But it wouldn’t prove anything. As you’ve pointed out, I’m a lot smaller than you. You have a stick. I don’t . . .”
    “So you’re saying you’re a coward, that you don’t want to fight.” “Why should I fight a fight with such lopsided odds?”
    Funakoshi replied.
    “Never mind the fight,” said the loud one. “He’s not worth it.”
    “Just give us your money,” said the big one, poking Funakoshi in the chest with the stick.
    “Terribly sorry,” Funakoshi replied, turning the large pocket