Murder on the Cliff (12 page)

As Charlotte looked on, he enveloped Spalding in a bear hug. Spalding introduced him as Lani Kanahele, the Hawaiian sumo wrestler whom Spalding had written the book about and the first American to make it big in sumo. Despite their disparate backgrounds, the two men had a similar mission: the promotion of sumo wrestling. During his years in Japan, Spalding had developed a love of sumo, and was considered one of the foremost Western authorities on the sport.

Spalding’s face beamed: he was obviously very fond of this amiable bear of a man. “Lani retired several years ago to serve as the international good will ambassador for the Japan Sumo Association. His job is promoting the internationalization of sumo,” he explained. “This tournament is his baby, one of the first professional tournaments to be held on American soil. We’re hoping to make it an annual event, aren’t we, Lani?”

“Yes, we are,” the wrestler agreed.

“If it weren’t for Lani, I doubt we’d be having a sumo tournament here today,” Spalding continued. “Lani’s the one who made all the arrangements from the Japanese end. And you can take it from me that arranging to import thirty-four of Japan’s top professional sumo wrestlers wasn’t easy.”

“Nor was it easy from this end,” said Lani. His voice was surprisingly soft for so large a man. “Spalding made all the arrangements for room and board. And sumo wrestlers can pack away a lot of food. The meals have been supplied by the local restaurants, and they’ve been very good.”

Charlotte had seen an account in the local newspaper of one meal: five courses, several tubs of rice, and as much as twenty cans of soda—per sumo wrestler. To say nothing of beer, sake, plum wine, and tea.

“The food wasn’t a problem,” Spalding replied. “It was the damned dirt. We had a devil of a time finding fifteen metric tons of just the right kind of clay for the ring. To say nothing of getting it here.”

“Is it unusual for sumo wrestlers to travel outside Japan?” asked Charlotte.

“It used to be,” Lani replied. “Five years ago, you could only see sumo in Japan. But it’s becoming more international. The Japanese would like to see it become an Olympic sport. In the last few years we’ve held exhibition tournaments in Korea, Brazil, Argentina, Mexico, France, Germany, Great Britain, and, of course, the United States.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about sumo,” Charlotte said.

“That’s okay, most Americans don’t. But it’s easy to catch on. The goal is simply to get your opponent out of the ring or down on the ground. Out or down—it’s that basic. Whoever steps out of the ring or touches the ground with any part of his body except the bottoms of his feet loses. It’s very fast—the average bout only lasts thirty seconds.”

“But sumo is much more than just wrestling,” said Spalding. He was speaking in part for the benefit of a reporter who had appeared at Lani’s side, notebook in hand.

“Oh yes,” Lani replied. “The history of sumo goes back two thousand years. It’s deeply rooted in the Japanese national religion, Shinto. Originally sumo was a fertility ritual. As you’ll see, elements of Shinto still figure heavily in sumo. It’s the ritual that appeals to Westerners. Except maybe for the lighting of the Olympic torch, Western sports are pretty devoid of ritual.”

The reporter introduced himself as being from a local newspaper. By now, a knot of listeners had gathered around Lani. The other sumo wrestlers stood nearby in little clusters, isolated by their lack of English. Among the listeners was Marianne, Lester at her side.

“Is that the reason for the peculiar hairstyle?” the reporter asked.

“The
chommage
,” said Lani. “Yes, the
chommage
is worn by
rikishi
…”

“
Rikishi
is the preferred name for a sumo wrestler; it means strong warrior,” Spalding interjected.

Lani continued: “It’s worn by
rikishi
in the top two divisions. Wearing the
chommage
is synonymous with being a sumo wrestler. The
chommage
was once the universal hairstyle of Japanese men, but today only
rikishi
still wear it. It’s a symbol of a way of life in which the
rikishi
follows a strict code of conduct and ethics similar to the samurai’s code of
bushido
.”

“A
rikishi
can never go incognito the way even a movie star”—Spalding nodded at Charlotte—“or a politician sometimes can. The
chommage
always identifies him as a
rikishi
, and as long as he’s wearing it, he’s expected to behave in accordance with the sumo creed.”

“The first sentence of which is ‘Carry yourself with pride at all times because you are a
rikishi
in Japan’s national sport of sumo,’” Lani added.

Charlotte thought of Shawn’s dignified responses to Marianne’s advances. Anyone else would have shown annoyance—if they hadn’t been interested, that is—but Shawn had behaved like a perfect gentleman.

“In fact,” Spalding continued, “the
chommage
is so important to the
rikishi
that one of the few forbidden methods of attacking your opponent is by pulling his hair. If a
rikishi
pulls his opponent’s hair, he automatically loses. Likewise, fans are permitted to touch the
rikishi
—it’s a way of vicariously sharing in his power—but they may not touch his hair.”

“Ordinarily, the
chommage
is tied in a topknot and then pulled forward, but for tournaments, the
chommage
of
rikishi
in the two top divisions is fanned out into the shape of a gingko leaf,” Lani added.

Charlotte noticed that the sumo wrestlers at the casino wore their hair differently from the way in which Shawn had worn his at the party. The front part was fanned out stiffly, almost like a hair ornament. She also observed that Marianne was taking note too; it was an easy bet that the models in her next big show would be wearing their hair in the gingko-leaf style.

“Why don’t you have a
chommage
?” the reporter asked Lani, whose dark brown hair was combed straight back.

“My
chommage
was cut off in my retirement ceremony,” he replied. He proceeded to describe the day-long ceremony before an audience of twelve thousand fans in which his
chommage
was cut off strand by strand by the hundreds of people who had been part of his sumo career, from the lowliest worker to the master of his sumo stable.

Producing a wallet from the leather pocketbook that hung from his wrist, he showed the reporter a photo. “This is my stable master making the final cut,” he said. He then showed the reporter another picture. “And this is my
chommage
.” The photo showed a shiny
chommage
dressed in the gingko-leaf style displayed on a red velvet cloth in a Plexiglas box.

Charlotte thought it was grotesque-looking. Had the skin been attached, it could have been mistaken for an Indian scalp.

“It was the saddest day of my life,” Lani continued, still speaking of his retirement ceremony. “But I wasn’t in shape anymore. I was losing most of my bouts. I couldn’t go on forever.” Flipping once more through his photographs, he turned up one of a pretty young Japanese woman and her baby. “My wife and daughter,” he said, showing the picture to the reporter.

“Mr. Kanahele, can you tell us a little about this tournament?” asked the reporter, after admiring the photograph.

“Well, this is a
jungyo
, an exhibition tournament. What happens here in two days is similar to what takes place in fifteen days every other month in Japan. Technically what happens here doesn’t count in the official rankings. But just because it’s an exhibition tournament doesn’t mean the
rikishi
don’t take it seriously. I think we can expect to see some, exciting sumo.”

“Are there any wrestlers we should be keeping an eye on?”

“Well, of course everyone’s eye is going to be on Akanohana.”

“Is that Shawn Hendrickson?” the reporter asked.

“Akanohana is his professional name,” Spalding explained. “It means red flower. Sumo wrestlers’ names often end with the suffix
hana
, which means flower. In Japan, the word flower carries the connotation of perfection.
Akano
means red, which stands for the red stripes in the American flag.” He continued: “As you probably know, Akanohana is Mr. Kanahele’s protégé.”

To Charlotte, the sumo wrestlers’ names all sounded like the names of sushi bars on New York’s upper East Side.

“Yes,” said Lani. “One of my missions as foreign minister for the sumo association is to find foreign wrestling talent. I discovered Shawn Hendrickson at an Ivy League wrestling tournament three years ago. He was a natural for sumo. A lot of Western wrestlers who try sumo drop out—the discipline is too rigid—but Shawn took to it like a duck to water.”

More like a water buffalo than a duck, thought Charlotte.

“Naturally, I’m very pleased that he’s done as well as he has,” Lani continued. “It’s every scout’s dream to discover a star.”

“Why is everyone’s eye going to be on him?”

“Akanohana has advanced through the sumo ranks more quickly than any
rikishi
before him. Last month, he was promoted to
ozeki
, which is the second-highest rank in sumo. He’s only the second foreigner to reach such a high rank. And there’s a very good chance that he’ll be the first foreign
yokozuna
in the history of sumo.”

“What’s a
yokozuna
?” asked the reporter, still writing away.

“
Yokozuna
means grand champion; it’s sumo’s highest rank. There have been only sixty-one
yokozuna
in the three-hundred-year history of professional sumo. At the moment, there are two
yokozuna
, but only one, Kotoyama, is participating in the Black Ships Festival Tournament. The other wasn’t able to attend because of an injury.”

“What does Hendrickson have to do to become a
yokozuna
?”

“He has to win two consecutive grand tournaments. He’s already won one: the grand tournament earlier this month. As I explained, the Black Ships exhibition tournament doesn’t count toward his ranking. But it does offer a preview of the kind of performance that can be expected of him at the fall grand tournament. One of the men he has to beat is his rival
ozeki
, Takafuji.”

“What about the
yokozuna
, Kotoyama?” asked the reporter. “Wouldn’t a grand champion be favored to beat a lower-ranking sumo such as Akanohana?”

“Akanohana is a
rikishi
, not a sumo,” Lani corrected with a warm smile. “Or, you could call him a sumo wrestler. Never just a sumo. To call a sumo wrestler a sumo is a little like calling a baseball player a baseball.”

“Sorry. I thought this was a Meet the Sumos reception.”

“That’s all right. That’s my job, to promote the international understanding of sumo.” He looked over at Spalding, his warm black eyes smiling. “Looks like I still have some work to do.”

“We talked about calling it a Meet the
Rikishi
reception, but somehow it didn’t have the same ring,” said Spalding.

“To answer your question,” Lani continued. “Not necessarily. Unlike the
rikishi
in the lower ranks, a
yokozuna
can’t be demoted. Kotoyama hasn’t been performing well for some time. He’s thirty-three, which makes him the oldest wrestler in the top division. Let’s just say that it’s about time he started planning for his retirement.”

“You mean, it’s about time for the
rikishi
to cut off his
chommage
,” said the reporter, proud of his use of sumo jargon.

Lani’s warm black eyes crinkled in a smile.

“What are the chances that Akanohana will beat Takafuji?” the reporter continued.

“Very good, I’d say. As you may know, Akanohana won his last forty-three consecutive bouts. He’s also favored to win the match today. If he does, he’ll be pitted in the playoff against Takafuji, who won yesterday’s match. Takafuji has pledged to beat Akanohana in the playoff, breaking his winning streak. We’ll see what happens; it’s bound to be a very exciting event.”

The tournament began shortly after the reception. After a drink at the casino restaurant, Spalding and Charlotte, along with Marianne and Lester, joined the throngs that were pouring into the casino for the event. The match would be held in the casino’s Center Court, usually the site of professional tennis tournaments. The capacity of the stands was nearly five thousand, and it appeared that they would be full. In addition to Americans who were curious about sumo wrestling, the event seemed to have drawn every Japanese or Japanese-American in New England. Having thirty-four of Japan’s “best and the biggest,” as the posters put it, wrestling on American soil was an event that was not to be missed. Outside the entrance to the stands, the Black Ships committee members were doing a brisk business in commemorative T-shirts emblazoned with the red handprints that sumo wrestlers called
tegata
, and that were the sumo equivalent of the autograph. Also on sale were the
tegata
themselves: the red handprints of a
rikishi
on a piece of square white cardboard, signed with a brush in black ink. Not surprisingly, it was Akanohana’s
tegata
that were selling the most briskly.

Inside, the smooth grass of the Center Court had been covered with the sumo ring: a two-foot high, eighteen-foot square of hard-packed clay coated with a thin layer of sand. Embedded in the surface was a circle of straw rope that delineated the ring, which was fifteen feet in diameter. The ring was sheltered by a vaulted wooden roof similar to those of Shinto shrines. Supporting the roof were four colored poles symbolizing the cardinal directions and the seasons of the year: green to the east for spring, red to the south for summer, white to the west for autumn, and black to the north for winter. Apart from the ring and roof, it was like a sports stadium anywhere. In addition to the flags of the United States and Japan, the stadium was decorated with banners representing the sponsors of the Black Ships Festival: Suntory, All Nippon Airways, Honda, and Tanaka’s Yoshino Electronics, whose logo was a branch of cherry blossoms. Television equipment was set up everywhere. Fuji Television would be beaming the match back to Japan.