Taiko Binta-A Splendid Game

T

he following day the sixty new recruits from all four barracks were assembled for our first morning formation, and The Pig delivered a lecture. Gravely he intoned, “We are now entering the first day of your training. And henceforth, I want you men to regard me as your older brother. If you have any questions, requests, or problems I sin­cerely hope that you will bring them to me. That is why I am here.”

I could literally feel the sense of wonderment. Was this actually the same man we had encountered the night before? Was it possible that our punishment had merely been some kind of initiation, and that now we would be treated humanely, with kindness and respect? There was an undeniable dignity about the man now, an understanding that engen­dered hope and relief. Somehow, he even looked better. At the moment, I only wanted to like The Pig and even felt ashamed that he had been dubbed with such a name. I wanted devoutly to deserve his respect.

“Now I know,” he continued, “you have all heard that air force training is an unpleasant experience, and at times that may be the case. Nevertheless. . .” He raised an admonitory finger. “It need not be so—not if you simply do as you are told. Not if you learn obedience which, next to courage, is the most important of all virtues.” He paused

lengthily, strolling back and forth before us, hands clasped behind his back. “And why is obedience so essential?” Still pacing, consulting the sky, one eye squinted. “Because successful followership is indispensable to leadership, and because both are indispensable to victory.” For a mo­ment he regarded us speculatively. “Do you understand?”

“Yes honorable hancho dono!” we shouted. All sixty of us had learned quickly that it was vital to respond to such questions instantly and with great enthusiasm. That it was indeed impossible to respond too loudly or swiftly.

“Good.” The Pig nodded to himself. “And that is why we begin with the little things. If men cannot learn obedience in small matters, how can they learn them in big ones? In The Grand Way of Heaven and Earth?”

Yes, I thought, that makes good sense. Completely logical. Shortly thereafter, he concluded his lecture, “The time has now come for you to put aside childish things. The time has come for you to become men.” Almost providentially, it seemed, a dozen bombers were passing over in V formations of three planes each, and for a few seconds their roar was all-consuming. “And as men. . .” his words came in their aftermath, “you will soon carry the weight of your country, the weight of the world, upon your shoulders. Far sooner than you can possibly realize at this stage. That is why, among other things, you must learn to follow instruc­tions implicitly! Instantaneously! Without faltering! Do not worry about the reasons for any instruction, no matter how strange it may seem. All instructions are given because they are correct! We are the head of the body; you are the arms and legs, the hands and the feet. Do you grasp my meaning?”

“Yes, honorable hancho dono!”

His eyes narrowed, searching each man’s countenance knowingly. “As for last night—”

We held our breath. “You were given clear and careful instructions regarding neatness in the barracks, correct?”

“Yes, honorable hancho dono!” A rhetorical question, perhaps, that last, but we were taking no chances.

“However. . . not one barracks complied properly.” Thankfully, we were not alone in our dereliction. “In one barracks a shoe was missing.

In another, a locker was not tightly closed. In still another, there was dust on a window ledge, and so forth. If further infractions of this sort occur, we shall be compelled to give you some real punishment!”

The Pig glanced knowingly at the other two hancho, his assistants. “What you received last night was nothing at all. You were not harmed in the least, merely educated. However, by the time you have completed your training under Hancho Noguchi, you will be able to withstand anything. You will be able to enjoy having an insignificant ball bat laid across your rears; you will have joy and laughter in your hearts. Hancho Noguchi will make men of you!”

Thus ended our first inspirational lecture in the military, one of many more to come.

That morning and each one thenceforth we arose at six for the formation ten minutes later. Then came thirty minutes of calisthenics and running before chow. Our diet was healthy though hardly fancy, consisting mainly of rice, and bean soup, brought from the base kitchen to our quarters in large wooden buckets. Our utensils were limited to bowls and chopsticks.

Following chow we were briefed by the Officer of the Day, a tall, cadaverous individual whose face was patched with scar tissue, ap­parently the result of third-degree burns. Then we were given further instructions from The Pig. Except for our noon meal, the remaining time was spent in class instruction, more calisthenics, combat training, and glider practice.

From four until six p. m. we cleaned and scrubbed our barracks and shaped up our clothing and combat gear for the dreaded and inevitable nightly inspection. We were also required to clean the quarters of our hancho, and each day three men were selected to wash and iron their clothes. Perfection of performance in all these areas was, of course, critical.

At nine p. m. came final formation and roll call. Shortly thereafter we were in our cots, all lights out. Yes, lights out at nine, but it was then that the Shuban Kashikan made their appearance, and it was a rare night that they didn’t find something amiss regardless of our most assiduous efforts to keep the barracks in a state of perfection. A few nights after our first acquaintance with the ball bats, for example, we learned another

fascinating game called taiko binta, all, allegedly, because one trainee had removed another’s shoe brush from its proper place.

Again, we were herded out into the cold with cuffs, kicks, and considerable ranting, clad in only ourfundoshi. For some time the Pig merely leered at us, clearly a master of the suspenseful pause and dra­matic effect.

“So. . . .” he said at length, attenuating the word with immense profundity. “So, my little darlings, you failed to heed our warnings.” Then, abruptly: “You there!” He pointed an accusing finger. “Stand at attention!” He struck an idiotic pose, slumping, belly distended, arms dangling ape-like. A few of us grinned uncertainly as our friend adopted other weird poses. Pointing at various recruits, he would caricature their expressions, tilting his nose upward, gawking as though struck dumb with amazement, bulging his eyeballs and staring fixedly ahead in mock terror.

Under happier circumstances, The Pig would have been quite a co­median. Indeed, by now I was incessantly astonished at his versatility—a man of multiple personalities, each of which he apparently relished to the full. Only minutes after such preliminaries, in fact, he introduced us to our next experience in sadistic punishment.

“So now, tonight!” The Pig held up his forefinger. “Tonight we shall all participate in a game which may be a bit new for some of you.” Again, the pause as his glance somehow took in our own, all sixty men, in a single, knowing sweep. “But consider how dull life would become without new experiences. So. . . yes, a pleasant little game, really—Taiko Binta. A new experience.” His assistants grinned knowingly, almost simpering. Then the climate changed dramatically. “First rank, about face!” he bellowed, and we promptly did as commanded. “Third rank, about face!” Now ranks one and two were facing each other as were ranks three and four.

Then, approaching the recruit in rank one, The Pig ordered the man facing him to step aside, taking his place. “Now. . . .” he purred, staring his hapless opponent in the face. “We are adversaries, correct?” No reply. “Correct!” The recruit gulped, offering a dazed, convulsive nod. His face was ashen. “Very good. He’s not deaf, he’s only dumb. So, now. . . the object of our little game is simply—this!” Swift as a ferret,

The Pig struck, and the boy fell to the ground with a moan, clutching his face.

A murmur flowed through the ranks. “Silence!” The Pig bellowed. “Now, as you can readily see, the game is very simple. The object is merely to alternate blows—give and take. Unfortunately my teammate is a poor player. Look!” He pointed as though dumbfounded. “He has collapsed like a puny girl. So, much as I hate to do so, I must withdraw from the game. His so-called opponent was still lying on the ground in a fetal position, and The Pig leaned down solicitously, helping him to his feet. Then he turned to the man he had replaced. “You will kindly assist our fallen hero to the sidelines.” The man responded very promptly.

“As you can see,” The Pig intoned, “taiko binta is a wonderfully simple game” Even a hopeless imbecile can participate. It is also highly reciprocal. We simply alternate blows to the face. Ranks one and three will have the honor of being first. Then ranks two and four may repay the compliment.” A shrill, little giggle, much like a sob, escaped his lips. “Now. . . on the count of three, first and third ranks strike on cadence. Ichi. . . ni. . . san. . . strike!”

The response was feeble and uncoordinated. I was in the fourth rank, and the punches from my opponent were quite soft and painless. “On cadence! The Pig shouted. “And much harder! Left, right, left right, left right! Harder, harder! Hah—you hit like dying butterflies! Put some energy into it, or I will have to give you a better demonstration.” Gradu­ally the force of the blows increased. One caught me on the lower lip, mashing it against my teeth, another in my eye. It throbbed, blurring, and began to water profusely. As the pain increased, those on the receiv­ing end began shifting slightly, ducking at times instinctively.

This gave the hancho an excuse, however, to move in with the bats, striking their victims across the back. Unfortunately, rank four was the most accessible and took the brunt of it, but The Pig was not satisfied. “Hah! You hancho hit like butterflies yourselves, butterflies that someone has pissed on! Give me that bat, Kakuda.” Chuckling, but still counting out cadence, he scuttled along behind us, delivering short, chopping blows to our calves.

Knocked off balance, I lurched forward, causing my opponent’s punch to land much harder than he intended. It caught me solidly in the nose, and my whole face went numb, nostrils gushing blood. My eyes were blinded with tears, and I could feel the blood trickling down my throat.

Then, at last, it was time to alternate, and I began with only light blows, partly because I could scarcely see, partly because I didn’t wish to harm my opponent. Immediately, though, a sharp-eyed hancho began whacking my thighs. Instinctively, I threw one hand back and received a numbing blow on the elbow. A hand grabbed my neck, finger nails nearly penetrating the skin. “Now, smart ass,” he snarled, “let me see you draw some blood.” Despite my heightened emotions, I was struck by the irony of that statement since my own blood was still flowing copiously, dripping off my chin onto my chest.

I stared at the face across from me, blinking. It was a strong, hand­some face, but the eyes were furtive, even a little dangerous, like those of a trapped animal. “I. . . I can’t,” I stammered. The words were unexpected, completely involuntary.

“What? What did you say?” My taskmaster sounded incredulous. “We’ll see about that!” I felt a searing pain across my rear, and then he began to kick me directly in the anus. I whirled, consumed in pain and rage, wanting nothing more in all of existence than to kill him, to insure his utter annihilation. My fighting spirit was short-lived, however, and he drubbed me right and left with the bat until I fell, groveling. “Next time, you little piece of shit. . . .” he puffed. “Next time I’ll knock your putrid head off.” Then he yanked me to my feet and delivered another kick. “Now, do you still want to fight?” I shook my head, vocal cords nearly paralyzed. “Then get back in line and start punching.”

My body was burning, racked with pain, as the boy across from me urged, “Come on, hit me! Hit me, I can take it!” My knuckles struck his cheek solidly.

“Harder!” the hancho growled, striking me across the back, and I continued to punch with increasing force.

At last The Pig called it to a halt. “So, now! Now, you recruits you are becoming acquainted with taiko binta. A splendid game—correct?” What? you don’t think so?” He sounded distressed.

“Hai, honorable honcho dono!”

“What was that?” He cupped one ear with his hand, and we repeated the words more loudly though obviously without sufficient enthusiasm.

“Well, you probably just need a little more practice.” he replied, feigning much empathy and kindness. “Then you can write home and tell your families what great fun you are having in basic training.”