Chapter 32 Present Day
PRESENT DAY
OSCAR
Oscar thought that when the Missoula Kendo Club ran the trail to the “M,” the concrete marker set on the mountain overlooking the University of Montana, with six hundred fifty feet of elevation gain and a mile and a half long steep trail up and back, they had accomplished something.
So, when the Berkeley team arrived at the North Gate of Mount Diablo at five in the morning, Oscar had little expectation of what lay ahead.
After all, he’d run ten miles before with no difficulty, but his roommates were unusually quiet until Ashely broke the silence, handed him a water bottle and said, “Drink up, Gaijin. You’re about to learn what you’re made of. ”
“Thanks,” Oscar said, took the bottle, and glanced around the van—surprised that only ten of the black belts had come.
Joseph suggested that Buki should stay home as the road would get hot by the end of the run.
Tom had whispered to him when they got into the van that it was an “invitation-only torture session.” Oscar was satisfied that, indeed, Buki would be better off at home.
An older, gray-haired student drove the van.
The only person who had anything to say during the ride was Sensei, who sat in the front passenger seat, and chirped on and on about the weather and how he could remember every one of the Mount Diablo runs.
Sensei was not happy that he would have to use his scooter that they had carefully loaded into the back of the van.
He claimed it was one of consequences he hated about growing old.
Joseph had already warned Oscar not to tease Sensei about the bright teal scooter or his matching helmet.
Joseph told him that Sensei joined in the run well into his seventies, but after he had both knees replaced, and according to doctor’s orders, the club had bought him the scooter.
Doctor Jō seemed truly despondent about not running with the group.
Once they parked and everyone piled out, they unloaded the scooter. They then formed a circle, and Joseph led the group in warm-up exercises, counting each movement loudly in Japanese.
In the early morning light, the outline of the mountain range came into focus. Oscar stood, squinting at the view until he felt a hand on his shoulder. “No worries, it is only three thousand five hundred feet of elevation gain,” Tom said and chuckled.
“Okay, we will stop every two miles or so with the van.” Sensei instructed.
“Everyone, be sure to drink plenty of water. It is fifty-three degrees now, but by the time we get to the top, it will be closer to eighty. Everyone have their lights turned on? Please watch for cars. Your families would never forgive me if you got squashed,” Doctor Jō said as he put on his helmet.
“Everyone makes it, or no one makes it,” he added and zoomed off on the scooter.
* * *
The group finished the run in less than three hours, and they all seemed happy about it. Oscar was relieved he was not the last one up—although, second to last didn’t make him feel much better. He had only vomited two times, but he was not the only one.
After arriving at the top, drinking two bottles of Gatorade and consuming three power bars, he started to feel better. Besides, the view from the summit of Mount Diablo was incredible—three hundred and sixty degrees of the San Joaquin Valley, the East Bay, Sacramento, and everything in between.
Pacing to release the lactic acid build-up in his legs, Oscar read the placards, explaining that the Standard Oil Company had installed the Eye of Diablo, the beacon on the summit, as part of the Transcontinental Airway System to guide aircraft.
First lit by Charles Lindbergh in 1928, it was extinguished in 1941 during the West Coast blackout after the attack on Pearl Harbor.
It stayed dark until Pearl Harbor Day, 1964, and is illuminated every December 7 to honor those who served and sacrificed.
Sitting in the shade of the beacon’s tower, the group of ten students gathered around Sensei.
“I was born during World War II, a year before Pearl Harbor. I was five when the atom bombs exploded. What a terrible time in our history. Thank God that so much has changed since then. Forgiveness has brought much healing,” he concluded in reverence, closed his eyes, and paused.
Oscar remembered what he had learned in school—over twenty-four-hundred people killed at Pearl Harbor when the Japanese attacked, one hundred times that killed in retaliation by the U.S.
atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and estimates of fifty to eighty million dead from the totality of the world war.
Sensei breathed deeply, then said, “We must know our history, both personally and of the world around us. To understand where we came from is to understand ourselves. I think much of this is echoed in our subconscious and our genetics without us even realizing it. Our newest family member, OsCar, has been researching his family, and I think that is a good thing. He also brought us a sword, reminding us of our heritage as kendōka.” He nodded at Oscar in affirmation.
“It has also made me homesick for Japan.”
Doctor Jō stretched his leg and rubbed his knee.
“I am and will always be an American down to my bones and thankful for what this country has done for me and my family. But I am also Japanese and love Japan as well. It is hard for us to understand or even explain these things. I know those of you originally from Japan understand these things and how difficult it is to balance this identity. And those of you born in America, it is important for you to know your heritage. Everyone here came from somewhere.”
“What part of Japan were you born in, Sensei?” Joseph asked.
“Just north of Kyoto,” Sensei said. “It was a small fishing village when I was born but became famous because of the forty-fourth U.S. president, Obama.” Sensei laughed.
“The city of Obama looks out into Obama Bay and then to the Sea of Japan. Very much like Berkry, maybe why I feel so at home here. My father was a fisherman, but because of our samurai family heritage, he started me early in kendo.”
There it is, Oscar thought. Everyone else seemed to think the same as no one said a word.
Sensei looked around at his students, nodded, and smiled.
“Yes, it is time I talk to you about this, so you know who you are as my students. But first, to understand the samurai, it is important you understand a little Japanese history. Way back in time, Japan was a very tribal nation that grew in unity under the imperial dynasty somewhere between the fourth and ninth centuries. Which, of course, the Emperor led. The birth of the samurai followed to protect the Emperor. But like in so many cases, the warrior party grew in power and set up a new military government led by the Shōgun…I believe in the late twelfth century…which lasted for the next seven-hundred years until 1867 when Tokugawa Yoshinobu surrendered the shōgunate back to the Emperor.” Doctor Jō looked around the group. “Everyone understand?”
“Yes, Sensei,” they answered in unison.
“The samurai, led by their Shōgun, fought the battles between the various landowning clans. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Japan splintered into many independent areas. Because of constant war, the samurai were in great demand. Both the warrior and the sword stayed sharp.” Sensei chuckled.
“During the Tokugawa Shōgunate, what is called the Edo period from around 1600 to when Yoshinobu surrendered the shōgunate, there was relative peace. And as the skill of the samurai declined, kendo was born. And when the shōgunate dissolved, so too the samurai, and in 1868, during the Meiji period, the government banned swords. Even today, carrying a sword by the general public is prohibited.”
“Can you own a sword in Japan?” one student asked.
“Yes, but it is only legal to possess with a special license for purposes like historical preservation or martial arts practice. But this is actually the point I want to make. Being samurai means more than carrying a weapon. It is how one lives. We have talked before about the code of bushidō, and the seven principles of righteousness, loyalty, honor, respect, honesty, courage, and consistency. Of course, we train to become better swordsmen, but my hope for the students who come through our program is that their lives are grounded with these principles.”
Sensei looked from student to student as they nodded.
“For me, I would consider another quality…creativity. Many of the samurai excelled in art and literature. Some excelled in the more delicate activities, like the tea ceremony or flower arrangements. Beauty in life is important for our spirit.”
Sensei paused, closed his eyes again, and inhaled deeply.
Oscar searched the horizon. It’s true. The more kendo and art I do, the more my life seems in balance.
“My great-grandfather is of the last generation to carry a sword in Japan,” Sensei said.
“Sword work is in my blood, I guess. My family served the Tokugawa Shōgunate under the Order of Musashi Shinobi Samurai. Musashi is the area around modern-day Tokyo, or what was called Edo during that time, the shōgunate capital. The Emperor’s capital was Kyoto.
Shinobi means ‘one who sneaks.’ Shinobi were the undercover agents…
the spies. You might know them as ninja. ”
Doctor Jō searched the faces of his students and laughed. “You have seen too much Hollywood. But it is true that the Shinobi passed down many things besides martial arts. Things like performing and equestrian arts and even medicine.”
“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” Ashley said, making them all laugh.
Sensei ignored her comment and continued, “Japanese family history can be complicated through marriages, adoptions, and name changes. But my family was closely associated with the Shibata Clan, who were the main family of this Order of Musashi. It is why Oscar’s sword is so meaningful to me.
The sword was made for the Shibata family.
And speaking of family, for me, it is my Christian faith and my family that are most important.
And of course, you are part of that as well. ”
A shadow of sadness crossed Sensei’s face, and he continued, “I am old now, I know that…but you young men and women will carry on what I have started.”
“Yes, Sensei,” they all answered.
“You cannot bury me yet, but I will hand over the steering wheel to Joseph and the rest of you instructors this next year. Lizzy and I will go to Japan in the spring next year for an extended time and a chance to see the cherry blossoms one last time.”
A shadow of sadness fell over everyone, including Oscar.
“Okay, enough lamenting from an old man as we have exciting times ahead.” He looked directly at Oscar.
“First, we must go to the World Kendo Championship next week. OsCar, you have been added to this team of ten men and women, some fighting for individual medals and five of you for the U.S. team event. You, OsCar, are the fifth member of the team competition.”
Perspiration broke out on Oscar’s face and back, and he swallowed hard. “Are you sure, Sensei?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “But you are the one who needs to be sure.”
Oscar didn’t know what to say except, “Thank you, Doctor Jō.”
“Okay, we have had our run and our talk…now we go to fight. Now we go to France.”