This chapter is so extremely short, I almost put it together with the previous one; still, I thought it was important to separate it. And no, I still (alas!) don't own Rurouni Kenshin.
There was an art to polishing the floor, he remembered. He'd often performed this task as a student and his body recalled the proper form after a few seconds. One had to position one's feet just so, rising up slightly on the balls of the feet to provide power to the stride.
He raced back down the next board.
The hips had to be aligned with the shoulders and the hands had to be placed at just the right distance in front or risk overbalancing. Done wrong, the body looked like a triangle, hips and butt thrust high in the air; it was also more difficult to get proper leverage to slide the cloth over the planks with any efficiency. Done properly, a person could get their bodies close to the ground and move very fast over the floor, finishing the job in very little time.
He finished the row and turned down the next.
It was such a simple thing, really. Set your arms and brace your feet; let your legs do all the work. Down one line, up the next. Follow the grain of the wood; work with the boards, not against them.
Back and forth. He worked faster now.
Dojo space is sacred space, his master had taught him. The space must be kept clean and neat; it was a measure of respect for the lessons being taught, for the other students and for the teachers. Failure to take proper care for one's tools, be it sword, bokken or the room in which one learned one's craft, meant lack of respect.
Respect, knowing its value and its cost, were vital to any master of any craft. Lack of it could mean death. At least, that was the way it was in Saito's profession.
Of course, polishing the floor also had practical aspects. Aside from wiping away sweat and dirt and sometimes blood and other debris, the daily cleaning helped improve balance and dexterity in beginning apprentices, taught discipline and humility to the unruly and rebellious and served as a way for older students to focus their thoughts, similar to a meditation. It was…
Another way to find clarity.
Huh. Saito nearly fell on his face when he halted mid-stride. He glanced around the dojo.
Kamiya was no where to be found.
He went back to polishing the floor.
