"Waldrop, Howard - Man Mountain Gentian" - читать интересную книгу автора (Waldrop Howard)

Man-Mountain Gentian
By Howard Waldrop
Just after the beginning of the present century, it was realized that some of the wrestlers were throwing their opponents from the ring without touching them."
-Ichinaga Naya, Zen-Sumo: Sport and Ritual, Kyoto, All-Japan Zen-Sumo Association Books, 2014.
It was the fourteenth day of the January Tokyo tournament. Seated with the other wrestlers, Man Mountain Gentian watched as the next match began. Ground Sloth Ikimoto was taking on Killer Kudzu, They entered the tamped-earth ring and began their shikiris.
Ground Sloth, a sumotori of the old school, had changed over from traditional to Zen-sumo four years before. He weighed one hundred eighty kilos in
his mawashi. He entered at the white-tassle salt corner. He clapped his huge hands, rinsed his mouth, threw salt, rubbed his body with tissue paper, then began his high leg lifts, stamping his feet, his hands gripping far down his calves. The ring shook with each stamp. All the muscles rippled on his big frame. His stomach, a flesh-colored boulder, shook and vibrated.
Killer Kudzu was small and thin, weighing barely over ninety kilos. On his forehead was the tattoo of his homeland, the People's Republic of China, one large star and four smaller stars blazing in a constellation. He also went into his ritual shikiri, but as he clapped he held in one hand a small box, ten centimeters on a side, showing his intention to bring it into the match. Sometimes these were objects for meditation, sometimes favors from male or female lovers, sometimes no one knew what. The only rule was that they could not be used as weapons.
The wrestlers were separated from the onlookers by four clear walls and a roof of plastic. Over this hung the traditional canopy and tassles, symbolizing heaven and the four winds.
Through the plastic walls ran a mesh of fine wiring, connected to a six-volt battery next to the north-side judge. This small charge was used to contain the pushes of the wrestlers and to frustrate help from outside.
A large number of 600x slow-motion video cameras were strategically placed around the auditorium to be used by the judges to replay the action if necessary.
Killer Kudzu had placed the box on his side of the
line. He returned to his corner and threw. more salt onto the ground, part of the ritual purification ceremony.
Ground Sloth Ikimoto stamped once more, twice, went to his line, and settled into position like a football lineman, legs apart, knuckles to the ground. His nearly bare buttocks looked like giant rocks. Killer Kudzu finished his shikiri and squatted at his line, where he settled his hand near his votive box and glared at his opponent.
The referee, in his ceremonial robes, had been standing to one side during the preliminaries. Now he came to a position halfway between the wrestlers, his war fan down. He leaned away from the two men, left leg back to one side as if ready to run. He stared at the midpoint between the two and flipped his fan downward.
Instantly sweat sprang to their foreheads and shoulders, their bodies rippled as if pushing against great unmoving weights, their toes curled into the clay of the ring. The two of them stayed tensely immobile on their respective marks.
Killer Kudzu's neck muscles strained. With his left hand he reached and quickly opened the votive box.
Man-Mountain Gentian and the other wrestlers on the east side of the arena drew in their breath.
Ground Sloth Ikimoto was a vegetarian and always had been. In training for traditional sumo, he had shunned the chunkonabe, the communal stew of fish, chicken, meat, eggs, onions, cabbage, carrots, turnips, sugar, and soy sauce.
Traditional sumotori ate as much as they could hold twice a day, and their weight gain was tremendous.
Ikimoto had instead trained twice as hard, eating only vegetables, starches, and sugars. Meat and eggs had never once touched his lips.
What Killer Kudzu brought out of the box was a cheeseburger. With one swift movement he bit into it only half a meter from Ground Sloth's face.
Ikimoto blanched and started to scream. As he did, he lifted into the air as if chopped in the chest with an ax, arms and legs flailing, a wail of revulsion coming from his emptied lungs.
He passed the bales marking the edge of the ring one foot dragging the ground, upending a boundary bale-and smashed to the ground between the ring and the bales at the plastic walls.
The referee signaled Killer Kudzu the winner. As he squatted the gyoji offered him a small envelope signifying a cash prize from his sponsors. Kudzu, left hand on his knee, with his right hand made three chopping gestures from the left, right, and above thanking man, earth, and heaven. Kudzu took the envelope, then stepped through the doorway of the plastic enclosure and left the arena to rejoin the other west-side wrestlers.
The audience of eleven thousand was on its feet as one, cheering. Across Japan and around the world, two hundred million viewers watched television.
Ground Sloth Ikimoto had risen to his feet, bowed, and left by the other door. Attendants rushed in to repair the damaged ring. Man-Mountain Gentian looked up at the scoring clock. The entire match had taken a mere 4.1324 seconds.
It was three-twenty in the afternoon on the fourteenth day of the Tokyo invitational tournament.
The next match would pit Cast Iron Pekowski of Poland against the heavily favored Hokkaidan, Typhoon Takanaka.
After that would be Gentian's bout with the South African, Knockdown Krugerrand. Man-Mountain Gentian stood at 13-0 in the tournament, having defeated an opponent each day so far. He wanted to retire as the first Grand Champion to win six tournaments in a row, undefeated. He was not very worried about his contest with Knockdown Krugerrand slated for later this afternoon.
Tomorrow, though, the last day of the January tournament, his opponent would be Killer Kudzu, who after this match also stood undefeated at 14-0.
Man-Mountain Gentian was 1.976 meters tall and weighed exactly two hundred kilos. He had been a sumotori for six years, had been yokozuna for the last two of those. He was twice holder of the Emperor's Cup. He was the highest paid, most famous Zensumotori in the world.
He was twenty-three years old.
He and Knockdown Krugerrand finished their shikiris. They got on their marks. The gyoji flipped his fan.
The match was over in 3.1916 seconds. He helped Krugerrand to his feet, accepted the envelope and the thunderous applause of the crowd, and left the reverberating plastic enclosure.
"You are the wife of Man-Mountain Gentian?" asked a voice next to her.
Melissa put on her public smile and turned to the voice. Her nephew, on the other side, leaned around to look.
The man talking to her had five stars tattooed to his forehead. She knew he was a famous sumotori, though he was very slim and his chon-mage had been combed out and washed, and his hair was now a fluffy explosion above his head.
"I am Killer Kudzu," he said. "I'm surprised you weren't at the tournament."
"I am here with my nephew, Hari. Hari, this is Mr. Killer Kudzu." The nephew, dressed in his winter Little League outfit, shook hands firmly. "His team, the Mitsubishi Zeroes, will play the Kawasaki Claudes next game."
They paused while a foul ball caused great excitement a few rows down the bleachers. Hari made a stab for it, but some construction foreman of a father came up grinning triumphantly with the ball.
"And what position do you play?" asked Killer Kudzu.
"Utility outfield. When I get to play," said Hari sheepishly, averting his eyes and sitting back down.
"Oh. How's your batting average?"
"Pretty bad. One twenty-three for the year," said Hari.
"Well, maybe this will be the night you shine," Killer Kudzu said with a smile.
"I hope so," said Hari. "Half our team has the American flu."
"Just the reason I'm here," said Kudzu. "I was to
meet a businessman whose son was to play-this game. I find him not to be here, as his son has the influenza also."
It was hot in the domed stadium, and Kudzu insisted they let him buy them Sno-Kones. Just as the vendor got to them, Hari's coach signaled, and the nephew ran down the bleachers and followed the rest of his teammates into the warm-up area under the stadium.