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Set in the 1700's among the dockyards, after hours underground bare knuckle prize fights take place.

  • The narrator is told a tale of "SATTO" (if I recollect) the greatest fighter to ever live.

  • Satto was captured at sea in a fishing net unconscious. None of the crew had ever seen a bi-pedal, web-fingered, scaly, elaborately illustrated skinned creature.

  • Imprisoned & forced to fight, he used a broken tooth to carve his story in unknown symbols (Japanese).

  • He was at the epicenter of 1945 Hiroshima drop in a fishing boat and got blasted back in time. He then swam away.

  • Just to nit-pick, the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima happened in 1945. – Dima Oct 1 '14 at 14:32
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    Tbanks, (grab a bong & ur knitting needles andi I'll share my Charlton Heston biblical education vs your Sundy schooln') but, I digress.. "Back to the tale!" It had to have been hauled onto the decks in much earlier century, as the deck hands didn't recognize the vibrantly colored illustrations of carp and cock (& I'm fresh outa' carp) as tattoos , had never heard an Asian tongue, or identified the strings of characters carved into the overhead door beam of the hull of the ship where the creature was imprisoned all those yrs. Between bouts. The reader doesn't identify. – hokey.pokey Oct 1 '14 at 19:29
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You're describing "The Brighton Monster" by Gerald Kersh. The Japanese time traveler was named Sato (one t) and the concept of time travel via the bombing of Hiroshima and subsequently being discovered by fishermen is definitely the crux of the plot.

The end of the novella mentions both aspects;

Do you observe, by the way,' said the Colonel, pointing to the Reverend Titty's pamphlet, 'that poor little Sato was sick with running sores, and that his teeth were falling out? Radioactivity poisoning: these are the symptoms. Poor Sato! Can you wonder why he got desperate and simply chucked himself back into the sea to sink or swim? Put yourself in his position. You go to sleep in Hiroshima, in August 1945 and then—Whoof!—you find yourself in Brighton, in 1745.

No wonder the poor wretch couldn't speak. That shock would be enough to paralyse anyone's tongue. It scares me, Kersh, my boy—it puts a match to trains of thought of the most disturbing nature. It makes me remember that Past and Future are all one.

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