Legends of the Martial Arts Masters (14 page)

One day, a few months after the ban began, Hue Lim came to Duk with news.

“I’m leaving,” Hue Lim informed his pupil.

“Where are you going?” Duk asked, trying not to let the shock and sadness creep into his voice.

“I’m going to a Buddhist temple not far from here. I’ve heard rumors that some Taekyon fighters have gathered there to study and teach.”

“You’re leaving to teach someone else? You won’t be teaching me any more?” Duk’s voice quivered, despite his best efforts.

“Well, I was hoping you would come with me. We would live at the monastery, and you would train as my apprentice. Someday when the ban is lifted, you can teach Taekyon.”

“And if one person is willing to teach, and another person is willing to learn, the art will continue to live, right?”

“Right,” said Hue Lim. “Go pack your things.”

Taekyon continued to be outlawed for thirty-six years. Duk Ki Song continued to study, then to teach. In 1945 the ban was lifted. By that time, he was one of only two Taekyon teachers still living. He began teaching in public again. Koreans began studying martial arts again, but most of them studied Chinese and Japanese arts.

Shortly after the ban was lifted, Duk Ki Song gave a Taekyon demonstration at a birthday party for South Korean president Sung-Man Yi. Korean martial artists who saw the demonstration were impressed with Taekyon’s powerful circular kicks. Within twenty years, tae kwon do had incorporated those kicks into their arsenal. Though Taekyon has died as a separate martial art, it lives on as a part of tae kwon do.

K
yudo is traditional Japanese archery.
Kyudo archers use a very long bow—some kyudo b
ows are seven and a half feet
long. They
shoot long, lightweight arrows a
t a stationary target between 85 and
180 feet away.

Kyudo, like ma
ny of the martial arts, trains
students not just in technique but in awareness
and spirit. A kyudo archer strives for
a calm, balanced exterior and a powerful, single-minded
spirit. Students of kyudo believe that an archer’s spirit is reflected in the sound the bow makes
when the arrow is released.

 
A Kyudo Master Makes a Bet

For as long as he could remember, all Saito ever wanted to do was to become an expert archer in the service of his lord. For ten years, since he was three years old, he had been practicing with the bow. Soon he would be old enough to join his father in the daimyo’s fighting forces.

One afternoon, Saito was in a meadow outside town shooting with two of his friends. The meadow was ideal for shooting because it lay at the base of a tall cliff. If the arrows missed the target, they would bounce off the cliff and not be lost. The boys took turns naming a target and trying to hit it. Saito was happy. Nothing made him feel better than the sound of his arrow hitting the target, and that day his arrows were hitting nearly every time.

As the boys practiced, a stranger walked by on the road. He spotted the three boys, waved, and stopped to watch.

Saito loved an audience. He winked at his friends and quickly—one, two, three—put three arrows into the tree he was shooting at.

“That’s very accurate shooting,” the stranger called out as he walked toward the boys.

“Yes,” said Saito.

The stranger raised an eyebrow at Saito’s reply. “Are you always that accurate?” he asked.

“Almost always,” Saito replied. “I am studying to be an archer in the service of my daimyo. Accuracy is crucial in battle.”

“I see,” said the stranger. “And have you ever been in battle?”

“No,” Saito admitted. “But I can shoot from atop a horse. I can shoot birds in midflight. I always hit what I aim at. I’ll do fine in battle.”

“Mmm,” said the stranger neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Let’s see you hit that tree.” He pointed at a tree about fifty feet away.

Saito pulled an arrow from his quiver and hit the tree easily. The stranger walked over to the tree, pulled out the arrow. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small piece of cloth, which he wedged into a space in the bark. Returning to Saito, he handed him the arrow. “Follow me,” the stranger said walking still farther from the tree. When they were about 150 feet away, the stranger said, “Shoot from here.”

Saito set the arrow on the string, pulled it back, and without even a pause for aim, released it. The arrow flew true and pinned the cloth to the tree.

“That was easy,” Saito said. “Let me do a harder one.” He scanned the meadow until he saw a rock sticking up a few feet above the grass. Trotting off, he climbed the slippery surface. Perched atop it he fitted another arrow. He fired, and again hit the cloth squarely.

“Would you like to see me shoot a bird?” Saito asked. “A target’s a lot more fun if it’s moving.”

“No,” said the stranger. “But there is something I’ll bet you can’t shoot.”

“What?” said Saito. “If it can be hit with an arrow, I can hit it.”

“I’ll bet you can’t hit the trunk of that tree over there,” the stranger pointed to a large tree with a wide trunk over by the base of the cliff. “I’ll bet you can’t hit it from a hundred feet.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Saito said. “What are we betting?” “I get to choose where you stand,” the stranger said.

“Yes, yes,” said Saito, “no problem. What are we betting?”

“If you hit the trunk of the tree below the lowest branch with your first arrow, I will buy you a new bow. If you do not hit the trunk with your first arrow, you will come to my house every afternoon for a year, and I will put you to work.”

Saito grinned then bowed. “You, sir, have a bet,” he said. “Very well,” said the stranger, “follow me.”

The three boys were huffing and panting by the time they reached the top of the cliff. They looked down over the meadow they had just been in, down over the town and the surrounding area. Saito saw the target tree about seventy-five feet below them. The trunk was clearly visible. The stranger had underestimated him. He’d shot from heights like this before. It would be no problem hitting the trunk from this distance.

“The new bow is as good as mine,” he whispered to his friend. His friend smiled back and nodded.

“Very good,” said the stranger looking over the cliff. “This will do nicely.”

“All right,” said Saito, pulling an arrow from his quiver and setting it on his string. He was about to pull it back when the stranger put a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” he said. “Remember, I get to choose where you stand.” Saito returned the arrow to his quiver.

The stranger walked along the edge of the cliff, obviously looking for something. A small, flat boulder caught his attention. He nudged it with his foot. It rocked slightly. He stepped up onto it. It shifted and slipped. Saito caught his breath, fearing it would topple over the edge. It held, but barely. The stranger stepped down.

“This is the place I choose,” he said, point to the boulder. “Shoot from here, atop the rock.”

Saito’s smile faded. He walked to the edge cliff and looked down. His toe caught some loose gravel. It clattered over the edge and bounced down the cliff. The tree looked suddenly smaller. “But if I fell,” Saito said, “I might be killed.”

“Oh, yes,” the stranger said. “I’d say you would certainly be killed.” Saito stared at the rock. He tested it with his hand. It rocked, its front edge dipping down over the precipice. He shot a glance at his friends. They stood motionless, their eyes wide. A look of resolution came over Saito’s face.

“I’ll do it,” he said. Slowly, deliberately he approached the rock, drawing the arrow from his quiver again. He stepped his first foot onto the rock. The wind caught the tip of his bow and tugged at it gently. The boulder shifted slightly under his weight. Saito froze.

“There’s the whip of the string to think about,” he said, his foot still gingerly resting atop the boulder. “Let me think for a moment here.”

“Yes,” said the stranger. “There is the whip to consider. But it would be no different from the shot you took from on top of the rock down there.” Saito’s eyes again went to the meadow. It seemed to swim below him.

Carefully he edged his second foot into place. Slowly he drew his bow. The wind gusted. Saito scrambled back to safety.

“It was a silly bet in the first place,” he muttered putting the arrow back in his quiver.

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” the stranger replied. “But that doesn’t really matter given that we both gave our word.” Saito looked into his eyes. He was serious.

“Yes,” Saito said. “I gave my word. I will come to your house each afternoon for a year to work for you. It beats falling over this cliff.”

The stranger smiled. “I suppose it does. Now before we go down, may I ask a favor?” he said. “May I borrow your bow and an arrow?”

Saito nodded and handed him his bow and the arrow he had just put back into his quiver. The stranger bowed deeply as he received it. He turned, walked to the edge of the cliff, and climbed atop the rock. Carefully, he drew the bow, then paused and waited. Almost imperceptibly, the string released itself. It whipped against the upper part of the bow with a crisp, clear sound. The arrow flew.

Saito and his friends stepped to the edge of the cliff and cautiously peered down. There was the arrow protruding out of the exact center of the tree trunk.

“All this time you have been shooting to improve your aim,” said the stranger backing away from the cliff. “Come to my house tomorrow when the sun is low on the horizon. I’ll introduce you to my other kyudo students. Then you can begin shooting to improve yourself.”

F
ifty Thousand High Blocks” is a modern
story. It is based, however, on
an ancient practice—a test of the student’s pa
tience.
Some teachers made students wait weeks or even years before they w
ould take them on as students. Other teachers would
ask students to do chores for several weeks or months before teaching them ma
rtial arts. Other teachers would ask students to repe
at a single technique over and over before giving them a new technique
. These tests were not as cruel as they may seem
at first glance. They were, rather,
the teachers’ way of seeing whether the new
student had the patience and selfcontrol to begin learning the martial ar
ts. They knew that the martial arts, like many new skills, requi
re years of patient repetition to master. They knew that to lea
rn to fight meant first to learn perseve
rance.

 
Fifty Thousand High Blocks

A young woman who wanted to learn to defend herself sought a martial arts teacher to teach her. She rode her bicycle to a nearby kung fu school, and asked the teacher for lessons.

“Are you willing to practice?” the teacher asked. “Of course,” said the young woman.

“Good,” said the teacher. “Your first task is to learn to punch. Do it like this.” He showed the young woman the first basic punch. He worked with her until her technique was correct. Then he stepped off the training floor. “What I want you to do is practice the punch fifty thousand times. When you have finished, let me know.”

The young woman watched the teacher leave. Fifty thousand times! That would take her days. When the teacher was out of sight, she snuck out the door, got on her bike, and rode down the street.

After a short ride, she saw a tae kwon do school. She parked her bike, went inside, and asked the teacher to teach her.

“Are you willing to practice?” the teacher asked. “Of course,” said the young woman.

“Good,” said the teacher. “Your first task is to learn to kick. Do it like this.” She showed the young woman a basic front kick. She worked with her until her technique was correct. Then she stepped off the training floor. “What I want you to do is practice this kick fifty thousand times. When you have finished, let me know.”