Free White Crane by Sandy Fussell

instead.”
    “I’ll take two. They’re very good swords.” Onaku guffaws and pats his large belly.
    The two old friends tell the same stories all the time, sharing the shade under the cherry tree. Sensei crosses his chopstick-thin legs and tucks his beard into his belt. Onaku squats on trunk-thick legs and scratches his bald head.
    We try to get them to talk about the samurai kids who studied at the Cockroach Ryu in the old days, before we came. I like to hear about Mitsuka Manuyoto. His name is carved in the wood above my pillow. He’s an old man now, living as a hermit somewhere by the ocean. But once he was a samurai kid like me and slept in my bed.
    “Mitsuka was a great warrior,” Onaku begins. “His skills were famous far and wide. He went to serve the Emperor.” Pausing, the Sword Master scratches behind his ear. “I seem to remember Mitsuka wasn’t a good horseman. He was always falling off. In fact, Mitsuka was the clumsiest kid I’d ever seen. He kept dropping his sword. I had to make him a special one with a sticky grip on the hilt.”
    “All my students have something to overcome. It leads them to great things,” says Sensei.
    Onaku nods. “Mitsuka grew into greatness under your master’s teaching. When Mitsuka raised his sword, it was like lightning in his fingers. Single-handedly, he protected the Emperor from six ninja assassins. He became a national hero, and the Emperor declared him a Japanese treasure.”
    I remember seeing Mitsuka when I was young. Mother and Father took me to the ceremony where the Emperor rewarded his samurai bravery.
    Onaku continues with his story. “‘Thank you,’ the Emperor said, kneeling before his defender.
    “‘No. I am your servant.’ Mitsuka helped the Emperor to his feet.
‘Chi. Jin. Yu.’
    “‘You are well trained, Samurai Warrior,’ the Emperor said.
    “‘My teacher was the great Ki-Yaga.’ Mitsuka bowed.
    “The Emperor hesitated for just a moment. ‘I thought he was dead.’”
    Onaku laughs at his own telling, and we all join in.
    “Enough stories,” declares Sensei. “It is time. Gembuku has come.”
    Mrs. Onaku has a razor in her hand. I reach up and run my fingers through my long, dark strands. I will never look or feel the same again. I am about to become a man.
    “Who’s first?” she asks.
    “Me,” volunteers Taji.
    She undoes Taji’s ponytail. Jet-black hair gleams in the sun as she shaves a strip on each side of his head. Then Mrs. Onaku reties the ponytail and winds it into a knot, pinned with a bamboo clip.
    “How do I look?” Taji asks. It’s important to answer right. Taji will never see his transformation into a samurai warrior, except through our eyes.
    “You look older,” I say.
    “You look brave,” Yoshi says.
    “And honorable,” says Mikko.
    Taji smiles, pleased.
    “You look handsome,” says Kyoko.
    He turns bright red, but he’s still smiling.
    Mrs. Onaku finishes the boys first. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I see that I am older, brave, and honorable, too. And handsome. The White Crane preens its feathers.
    Last it’s Kyoko’s turn. Pale hair falls onto the pile of black, like powdery snow on rock. But there’s nothing gentle about a samurai girl. The bruise on my arm from wrestling Kyoko yesterday throbs when I touch it.
    We follow Mrs. Onaku to our room to change into our new kimonos. While Kyoko disappears behind her screen to dress, we struggle with the wraps and ties. At least it’s only one layer. For special occasions we just wear our kimonos.
    At Gembuku, students in less old-fashioned
ryu
get a new name. Not us. Sensei says sometimes the old ways have to give way to the new, and sometimes new and old have to live together.
    “You will not be a new person, so you do not need a new name. You were samurai long before a sword told you so,” says Sensei. “It is hard enough for me to remember the names of all my students, without giving them new ones halfway through their