James Axler – Keepers of the Sun

“Sure.”

“Like to try it?”

Jak shrugged, his long white hair moving about his narrow skull like sea spray. “Wouldn’t mind.”

“See what I can do.” Ryan sat back, smiling to himself. It might be another blow in his feud against Yashimoto. But the moment had to be right.

Eventually both the fighters would decide that the time had come and they would charge together, slapping, pawing and pulling, trying to grab each other by the cloth bindings around their thighs and loins. The object of the match was to either throw your opponent from the basho , over the layer of rope, or push or pull him out or throw him off his feet so that he fell in the middle of the basho .

Generally speaking, the bouts were decided within about ten seconds, more often than not by one of the fighters staggering out from the ring.

That was when the honorable front-row seats could become positively dangerous, with several hundred pounds of out-of-control wrestler landing in your lap.

Konishiki’s opponent in the final bout contrived to hurtle from the raised platform, straight at Ryan, who had been anticipating something of the sort and was able to get out of the way before being injured by the huge man.

The incident raised much laughter from the watching Japanese, led by Yashimoto.

Ryan resumed his seat as Konishiki was still walking arrogantly around the ring, slapping his chest, calling out what seemed to be some sort of challenge in his native tongue.

“You were nearly caught out there, gaijin ,” Yashimoto mocked. “Our men are too big and strong, and all you can do is try and skip from their path.”

“I got a man could beat that lump of overblown lard,” Ryan called.

“Yourself?” Mashashige asked, instantly fascinated by the idea of a contest between one of the top visiting sumo and one of his guests.

“No. Not me.”

“Me,” Jak said, taking his cue, standing and shrugging off his jacket. “I’ll beat him.” He pointed at the puzzled Konishiki.

“You will die,” Yashimoto said, forcing out the words between tears of merriment.

“We all will one day,” the albino replied.

IT TOOK more than an hour of argument and bickering before the bout was finally agreed.

The owner of the traveling sumo circus was extremely reluctant to allow her most valued wrestler, Konishiki, to compete against someone who stood only five feet five inches tall and would hardly have shifted the scales much above one hundred pounds.

“The gaijin will die and he is guest of honored shogun, Lord Mashashige,” said the manager, a chubby woman with pebble glasses. “It will be a bad joke and cause loss of face to my fighters.”

“We set aside all responsibility,” Ryan insisted. “Jak will fight on your rules and terms. No weapons. Winner throws loser out of the basho or topples him on his back. That it?”

“That is it,” the woman agreed.

The shogun had taken her to one side and engaged in a long whispered conversation. Shortly after, Yashimoto had approached her, and there had been the chink of jack changing hands.

And it was agreed.

But with reservations.

Konishiki had strode down to confront Jak. The wrestler was wearing a flowing robe, with foxes embroidered all over it in gold-and-silver threads. He had pointed a strong, stubby finger at the young man.

“You know might die?” he asked.

Jak nodded. “Sure. Be good clean fight. Best man win.” And he shook hands, his own white fingers disappearing inside the hamlike hand of the sumo star.

IT PROVED IMPOSSIBLE to find a sumo costume anywhere near small enough for Jak. One had to be improvised by the sewing women of the ville, from a length of stout white linen. It was then wrapped around Jak’s waist and knotted in the approved manner.

“Looks like a chicken against a rhinoceros,” Doc muttered, as everyone took their seats again. “Not quite a balanced fight.”

“But who would you put your money on, Doc?” Mildred asked. “My jack goes on the chicken.”

He smiled at her. “I rather think that I must perforce agree with you, ma’am.”

Ryan had taken the chance to snatch a few quick words with Jak before the commencement of the bout.