Chapter 1
Each student, wishing to win the approval of the Grand Master, was required to find his or her own style. It was the final exercise to graduate from his school. Grand Master Pi taught the original Empty Hand style, enhanced by his own original Flowing Water style. Each student, ready for graduation, was sent on pilgrimage for one year, carrying only the clothes on their back, their bedroll, and a single ball of rice with meat. Many … most … never returned.
Yokuso remembered her departure as she washed dishes in a small village inn. Grand Master Pi had stood before her – a small man, completely still, his small black eyes pools that took everything in, and seemed to let nothing out. His face seemed expressionless unless you knew to watch the left corner of his mouth. At her departure, the sign, hidden by his long mustache, was turned down in sadness. Sometimes, out in the real world, she dreamed Grand Master Pi’s final words – “Your style must be an extension of you - your spirit, your strength, your vision – it is not something you learn. It is something you find within yourself – a harmony with your world. Watch your world and find yourself.”
Yokuso looked at her hands, wrinkled with near constant immersion in water. It seemed her world was nothing more than a copper kettle of boiling water on a fire in the back of the building. That and stacks of plates and bowls. Her pride and confidence had taken a near fatal beating. There was nothing here to find to take back to her Sensei.
Was her lesson only that she had wrinkled rather than empty hands? That there was nothing within her self – no vision, no harmony – no worth? She only had three months left – she who had had such high hopes. She had always been light on her feet – a natural acrobat and lover of dance. Her studies had made her ever more graceful and strong. She had always been quick, one of the fastest and most accurate of students. She knew her Sensei had expected much of her.
Upon leaving the school, she had gone to watch acrobats and dancers, certain her style would come from one of many performances. What she sought was not there. Now, empty hands meant empty-handed. Now, hungry and penniless, she was reduced to menial labor. Just surviving left no time to continue her search.
All was not bad here. She had shelter and food, and she had made a friend – Taching. He was not bright, but his honest, friendly smile and constant good nature cheered her. His was the task of clearing the tables and bringing bowls, plates, and spoons back for her to wash. When clean and dry, Taching would carry the tableware back to store in cupboards for use of the cooks. When the evening’s labor was done, Yokuso would practice her forms and Taching would watch. She altered her forms to make a dance for him. This had given the simple man great joy in return for his cheerfulness. It had been easy at first, but with the passing weeks, it was harder to find the joy.
A rattling, clanking sound told Yokuso Taching was coming with yet another stack of dishes. She turned to see his bright smile, and thus, receive the courage to summon up one of her own. Instead, she watched in horror as Taching tripped and fell. With a desperate dive of her own, Yokuso managed to catch several plates as they fell together.
One plate, with a mind of its own, eluded her fingertips and rolled on its edge into the open alley behind the inn. Before beginning the circular leaning motion that would signal its final stop, a gust of wind blew under the plate. It staggered upright to roll a little farther, start to circle again, only to have another gust straighten it and send it on. Taching laughed – “See Yoku? See the plate dance? It thinks it is you.”
Yokuso laughed with him as the plate finished its antics and finally came to a rest, unbroken. Leaving Taching to finish gathering up the other dishes, Yokuso walked out and picked up the escapee, only to freeze as she touched its rim.
“See the plate dance? It thinks it is you …” merged with “Watch your world and find yourself.”
She replayed the plate’s dance in her mind. She hurried back and placed the plate in her blanket roll. She washed the remaining dishes quickly. No longer was she depressed; instead, she was eager for the day’s labors to be complete. She had much to do.
One year to the day of her departure, two weary travelers approached the school complex. A determined Yokuso stood before the gates of the school, knocking for admittance. Taching stood behind her, whispering encouragement. When the door opened, she stood face to face with Grand Master Pi.
She held up the plate, and he beckoned her to enter. Beseeching the spirits for a helpful breeze, she rolled the plate over the soft ground. The School Kami heard her plea and sent the plate cavorting across the practice yard. Yokuso followed, cartwheeling with the plate in bewildering circles, sometimes almost lying flat before springing up on hands or feet, sometimes on a side, to cartwheel in another direction. She imagined with each move the adversaries that would be confounded by her apparently random motion.
“HAI!” split the courtyard silence, startling students gathering to watch. Grand Master Pi leapt into one of Yokuso’s circles to attack. Each punch, strike, and kick was parried by a flashing hand or foot. To the amazed students, it looked like a graceful flashing dance.
The School Kami tired of their play with the plate, and it came to a rest on its back. Yokuso paused with feet firmly planted, bent over backward with her hands touching the ground behind her. Slowly she lifted her feet into a handstand and then folded to place her feet on the other side. She rose to settle into horse stance in front of Grand Master Pi.
Her Sensei studied her serene face. Behind the mustache, the corner of his mouth curved upward as he brought his hands together in front of him and bowed low to her. “Welcome home, Master Yokuso of the Dancing Plate style.”
