White Lion Rising

Chapter 6

"The painting is from the 18th century," a voice called out with a grated and guttural tone.

Lleó turned to his left and saw a bald, heavily aged Japanese man with blotched skin dressed formally in a black cotton gi. "Takagawasan," he said in disbelief. Immediately he kneeled to his patron, placed his hands on the ground, bowed his head until it touched the ground, and turned his palms up. Takagawasan took several steps toward Lleó and said, "Rise."

Lleó did as commanded and stood at full attention before Takagawasan noticing that he was barefoot.

"You look to my feet?"

"Yes ... yes, Takagawasan," he nodded.

"An old habit," he smiled. "I like to feel the earth beneath me. Reminds me to stay grounded in truth ... in reality. Tell me, do you like the painting?" He pointed to the artwork.

"Ah ... yes, yes I do," Lleó nodded again.

"You lie," he shook his head with disappointment. "Never lie to me, Lleónart. Never lie to me."

"I'm–I'm sorry, Takagawasan. Truly, my apologies, I did not mean to offend you."

"No, no you did not," he said with a grin. "Too many times have I seen so many, so eager to please me by only offering what they think I would like to hear in vain efforts to ..." he looked up searching for the words, "to gain my favor. But what I need is the brute and honest truth.

"Tell me, Lleónart. What do you think of me?" He looked directly into Lleó's eyes.

"You're ..." he hesitated.

"Tell me!" he shouted with a vitality that could not have been expected from a man of his age.

"Elusive," Lleó blurted.

"Ah," he nodded. "Is that it?"

"And dark," Lleó added.

"Good, good, Lleónart. You see the ancient part of my soul. You sense the shadow there deep in the heart of me," he pressed his right index finger against his chest.

He walked toward the painting and stopped before it. He looked at the villagers scattering away from the great wave and looked down. "You and I have met many, many times."

Lleó's brow furrowed as he gave a confused look to the back of Takagawasan.

"Something you would like to ask?"

"Yes, Takagawasan," Lleó replied.

"Then ask."

"This is the first time we've ever met, Takagawasan."

"Although I have kept a very careful eye on you ever since I acquired you for the track, you are true. This is the first time we have met ... in this life," he smiled to himself.

"What ... what do you mean?"

"I am a Buddhist, Lleónart. You should know what that means."

"But I am not, Takagawasan. I've never been religious."

"And why should you after the loss of your parents. You are still young. Feelings of invincibility still flow through your veins. Tell me. Why do you race? What type of person puts himself in such a position? Twenty-five pilots raced each year with the expectations that four or more would die in the game. Tell me. Tell me, Lleónart. What drives a person such as you to engage in such a dangerous sport?"

"My father," he blurted. "My father, Takagawasan," he said with respect.

"And what memory do you have of him?"