Chatan Yara grew up in the village of Chatan in Okinawa in the late eighteenth century. When he was a boy, his parents began considering what would be a good career for him. Because he was large for his age and strong, they sent him to China to learn martial arts. He lived there for twenty years, studying withWong Chung-Yoh. When he returned to Okinawa he made his living as a Chinese translator, teaching martial arts in the evenings.
Though Yara studied bo and broadsword in China, when he returned to Okinawa, he began practicing with sai, the short-handled trident. Soon he achieved a reputation for being one of the finest sai artists in the country.
Yara returned from his daily walk. In front of his house stood a young man holding a pair of sai. The young man’s shoulders and chest were broad, and he was a good three inches taller than Yara, whom most people considered huge.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the young man called to Yara. “Are you Chatan Yara?”
“I am,” Yara replied.
“I am Shiroma,” the young man said bowing deeply. “I am from the island of Hama Higa.”
Yara glanced at the young man’s sai. They were beautifully crafted, as were all the sai made on Hama Higa. But they were badly banged and rusted in places. Shiroma had obviously been using them much more than he had been caring for them. “What brings you to my home, Shiroma?” Yara asked.
“I am looking for a teacher,” Shiroma replied. “I have heard you are one of the best. I am already a very capable sai fighter. Most of the teachers I’ve talked to couldn’t teach me much. So I’ve come to you.”
Yara smiled. The young man reminded him of himself when he was that age. He was strong, sure of himself, perhaps a little too sure of himself. He might make a good student, but Yara had no time for new
students. His translating work and the students he already had kept him constantly busy.
“I’m sorry,” Yara replied. “I only take students who have been referred to me.”
“What kind of referral do I need? Perhaps I can get it.”
“Please don’t bother yourself,” Yara replied. “I’m not taking new students at this time. Good afternoon.”Yara turned to unlatch his front gate. “Wait a minute!” the young man shouted, then realized he was shouting. “Pardon me,” he said more quietly. “I haven’t come all this way just to be told that you aren’t taking students. Let me prove that I’m as good as I say I am.”
“I’m not taking new students, even ‘good’ ones,” Yara said patiently. “Then why don’t you prove to me how good you are?” The young man’s eyes locked onto Yara’s. Yara looked into them, and saw the challenge there. Perhaps this young buck needed at least a lesson in manners. “All right,” Yara said. “I will fight you. Meet me just before sunset on the top the hill just outside town.”
The young man bowed again. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I have been working on sai technique and strategy all my life. I think you will find me a good challenge.”
That evening, Yara walked slowly and steadily up the path to the top of the hill. He was typically able to spar with his young students without actually hurting them. His skill and size allowed him to dominate the fight, and his students rarely received more than bruises and sprains at his hands. But it would be difficult to fight someone as strong as Shiroma without seriously hurting him. Yara knew all too well how much damage a sai could cause. He hoped he wouldn’t have to maim Shiroma to humble him.
When Yara crested the top of the hill, Shiroma was waiting for him. The beads of sweat on Shiroma’s brow said that he had been practicing and warming up.
“Hello,” Shiroma called. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Yara squinted into the sun to see Shiroma coming toward him. “Would you like some time to warm up?” Shiroma asked.
Yara shielded his eyes with his free hand. “No,” he said. “I’m quite warm from the climb.” He pulled his sai from their carrying bag, and took out a cloth to wipe the oil from them. His master had always taught him to respect and care for his weapons. He checked the surface and grip of his sai, then put away the cloth.
“Are you ready?” Shiroma asked. Yara nodded. The two bowed formally to each other. Shiroma transferred a sai to his left hand and flipped both blades open. Yara also transferred one sai, but kept his closed, the blades tight against his arms for blocking. The two circled, sizing each other up.
Gradually, Shiroma worked his way around Yara, positioning himself so the sun was at his back and in Yara’s eyes. Yara quickly sidestepped, clearing his view. It was a time-honored strategy that Shiroma was using—take advantage of the sun to blind your attacker momentarily, then strike before his vision clears. Yara himself might have used such a strategy at that age. Shiroma faked high and tried to punch low, but Yara slipped the attack. Shiroma was punching hard, with all his muscles tight. Yara would have to block him hard, perhaps even break his arm just to stay safe.
Again Shiroma began circling. The strategy had worked for him in the past. He hoped it would work again. Yara squinted as the sun came into his field of vision. Shiroma smiled and shifted slightly so the sun was directly at his back. He saw Yara blink and took the opportunity to attack. Suddenly, everything went bright. A powerful flash filled his vision. Instinctively, he pulled his attack and tried to move backward out of range. But it was two late. He felt the cool point of Yara’s sai at his throat.
“Enough,” Shiroma said, blinking to clear his vision. “You win.”Yara took a couple of steps back and bowed.
“What happened?” Shiroma asked.
Yara held up a sai. It caught the light of the setting sun. Yara directed the reflection first onto Shiroma’s chest, then up into his eyes.
Shiroma bowed. “I’ll be leaving now.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Yara replied. “Thank you for the fight.” “Thank you for the lesson,” Shiroma said. “I see I still have a few things to learn.”