White Crane by Sandy Fussell Read Free Book Online

is happening!” I shout.
    One by one they open their eyes to stagger out of bed and sniff. Taji has the best nose. Without eyes, he uses his nose and his ears twice as hard as the rest of us. “It’s definitely dinner,” he announces.
    Together we roll Mikko out of bed and onto the floor. His nose twitches. “What’s that smell? Where’s breakfast?”
    “That’s what we’re trying to tell you!” Kyoko yells in his ear. Mikko’s wide awake now.
    It’s not easy for a samurai kid to get dressed in a hurry. Lots of layers go over the cotton loincloth I sleep in. First, a kimono with a long sash to tie the folds together. Then a short jacket, with another sash. Finally, I drag on big, baggy trousers. Samurai are fashionable warriors. It’s not enough to die honorably. You have to look good, too.
    “Let’s go.” My crutch flying, I race toward the kitchen. The others soon pass me. Taji veers in front of Kyoko in the lead, and we all fall in a heap, arms and legs flailing.
    “Watch out where you’re running next time, Bat Boy.” Kyoko pins Taji in a playful headlock.
    “How am I supposed to see where I’m going?” Taji is our best wrestler. He can hear a move before it’s made and easily flips Kyoko over, to hold her shoulders against the ground.
    “I give in,” she pants. “But you’re still a lousy runner.”
    “Oww. Who’s shoving their foot in my ear?” I yell. It’s not Taji or Kyoko, and it’s not big enough for Yoshi. It must be Mikko. I give his ankle a yank, and he moves his foot into my mouth. Remembering what Sensei said about teaching teeth, I take a small bite. Now Mikko will watch where he puts his feet!
    “Yow-ow. Oww!” It’s Mikko’s turn to yell.
    “Early morning wrestling practice. Excellent.” Sensei nods approvingly from the kitchen doorway. “Double dessert for everyone.”
    Sensei has dinner bowls set out on the table — noodle bowls, little soy sauce dipping bowls, and, most important, bowls for pudding.
    “Hurry, hurry,” he says. “We have much practicing to do. In three days you leave to journey to the Games. Eat quickly, for soon it will be lunch and then it will be breakfast. Today we eat backward.”
    “Why are we doing that?” I ask.
    “So when we get to breakfast, there will still be plenty of time left to practice. Chop, chop, Little Cockroaches.”
    “A master walks a fine line between wisdom and insanity,” Sensei once told me. I think he just fell headfirst over the line.
    “A samurai must discipline himself so his body does not question what his mind decides,” Sensei continues.
    I always think with my stomach. It never listens to my head, and nothing will change that.
    Yoshi isn’t convinced, either. “What if it gets dark? We can’t practice in the dark.”
    “Why not?” Taji grins. “Makes no difference to me. I’m always in the dark.”
    If Taji can do it, then so can I. My head tells my gut to stop rumbling and rudely interrupting.
    Sensei picks up a glass and drinks half the plum juice.
    “Is the glass half empty or half full?” He holds it up for us to see.
    My stomach knows this one. Before I was dying of hunger; now I’m dying of thirst.
    “The glass is half full,” I say, wishing I was drinking the rest now.
    “You could say the glass is half empty,” Kyoko muses. “If you wanted more.”
    I do want more. She’s right, the glass is half empty. Suddenly it makes sense: I can choose.
    “So is it dinner or breakfast?” Sensei asks. “Will the mind tell the body pudding or pancakes?”
    It’s an easy choice. “Dinner,” we chorus.
    We shovel down our food. Halfway through my second pudding, Sensei bangs on his drum. Dinner is over.
    “Stop eating now. More practice!” Sensei waves us toward the door.
    No way! I’m not leaving my dessert. I empty my soy sauce into a nearby bonsai plant, then wipe the bowl clean with the corner of my kimono. Then I tip the pudding into the bowl and gently place it in my pocket. I’ll