by DaNeo Duran
‘What’s this PI of yours doing with the guy’s wallet?’ Christine asked.
‘She’s posting it to Linda,’ Johnny said.
Of all the news Mazz had heard that day the idea that Vanquar might potentially drop them after, and in spite of all their hard work, took her most by surprise.
As Johnny talked she clung to Stu’s arm struggling to swallow. The news that Linda’s business might be in trouble made her feel worse still as her mind struggled to believe Dane could be responsible.
Sunday 12th May – Sunday 09th June 1974
Though the bunk bed he’d been shown would be his for the foreseeable future Johnny didn’t take it for granted and nicknamed the house the cover, never imagining it’d feel like any more than somewhere to shelter him from the elements.
On day two Mike and Helga took him to the local comprehensive school after which Helga blew the measly budget they’d been provided on school uniform and against her judgement a martial arts Gi.
By the next weekend he’d found a youth club where he could train in judo and Wado-Ryu, a variation of karate similar to the Shotokan he’d studied previously. He soon found another club that trained his practiced kung fu: Wing Chung.
The following weekend he approached, with only slightly less trepidation, what he’d thought must be a boxing club.
This time above a vehicle repair shop it, like Gary’s, had a ring, exercise area and bags hanging from the ceiling. He watched two older lads in the ring approach one another but instead of throwing jabs both engaged in attacking kicks.
Amazed Johnny looked round the club expecting someone to call them on rule breaking.
Instead a tall black man approached him and with a broad grin said, ‘Welcome to Meuxng Ti newcomer. My name is Keith.’
Feeling small Johnny introduced himself mirroring the athlete’s bow.
‘Johnny, would you like to learn this honourable art?’
The violence of the sport made him think twice but told him he would.
‘Do you even know what you see?’
He shook his head.
‘Muay Thai, Thai boxing,’ he said in a European accent but velvet in tones. ‘Do you have what it takes?’
‘I’ve boxing experience.’
‘Ah, Queensberry.’
Johnny shrugged.
‘For Muay Thai you must rewire your brain. Allow me to demonstrate.’
He squared up and Johnny pulled together preparing for the worst. Keith stepped like a boxer. Johnny kept his guard high countering his movements.
‘Good. Your feet work well. But what when I do this?’ Keith said throwing a fast but feather-light kick to Johnny’s left thigh.
Defensive instinct caused his left hand to drop, protecting the leg.
‘Boom!’ Keith bellowed. ‘In this gym you’re dead.’
Johnny cursed himself. He’s defence had exposed his jaw.
The pair relaxed and Keith said, ‘Come to my gym three times a week and I’ll teach you all you need to defend against all manner of demons.’
Johnny agreed at once but with no budget worried how he’d get the gloves and shin guards he’d need.
* * *
On free school meals and with no pocket money Johnny deliberated before deciding to take the only available action that could lead to him acquiring the necessary training gear. A tour of two separate sports shops landed him all he needed.
If anyone at the cover should ask how he’d come about the stuff, he’d be ready with the previous Saturday’s football scores and a story of how he’d won enough money by predicting results in a bet.
* * *
In a matter of weeks he’d gone from nothing to almost all he could hope for.
Now he wanted for just one thing.
Unlike boxing gloves he couldn’t conceal a guitar in his bag; not that he wanted to steal one anyway.
Under the cover Johnny liked Mike and Helga but had little in common with the home’s kids. Just like his previous life martial arts happily kept him out the house. He spent minimal time on homework and maximum in youth centres and at Keith’s Meuxng Ti gym.
By the time his Muay Thai lessons started Johnny had often done forty-five minutes of bag work and over the weeks ended up telling Keith as much about his day as Liz and Graham about his week.
But no amount of martial arts practice would distract his yearning for a guitar. He spent Sunday afternoons with Graham who’d show him new riffs. He’d learn them but without a guitar couldn’t master them or bring Graham anything new. Worse still he could sense his fingers progressively falling further out of practice.
* * *
On the second Sunday in June he visited Liz and Graham. Before anyone could object he mowed the lawn not wishing their kindness to go unreciprocated.
Before lunch he stood on the cut grass taking Graham through kung fu sequences.
Graham said, ‘I’ve got something for you. I don’t want any thanks because it’s maybe as much a curse as a blessing.’
Frustratingly, Liz made them wait until after lunch before Johnny could find out what Graham might have for him.
Diana called round for Samantha and the pair left claiming they didn’t wish to hear Graham and Johnny’s awful progressive rock.
‘I’ve tried educating her but she’s too struck by Leo Sayer,’ Graham said.
‘He’s got some okay songs,’ Johnny said.
‘Easy now, don’t make me take your gift back. If you give Liz a quick hand at the sink I’ll sort it out.’
Soon Johnny arrived in the lounge.
Graham reached behind the settee and pulled out an awful looking electric guitar. ‘Okay mate, if you want it, it’s yours.’
‘Wow,’ Johnny said taking it from him. He strummed a barred D chord which sounded barely in tune. ‘This is great.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Graham said when he took it to the piano. ‘That’s as in tune as I could get it.’
‘Oh,’ Johnny said plucking each open string hearing their strained relationships.
‘Told you it might be a curse.’
‘Does it work through an amp?’
‘Afraid not.’
Still Johnny couldn’t believe his luck. ‘It’s just great to have something to practice on. Can we try fixing it?’
With tools they tightened the instrument’s truss rod and lowered the action.
‘I see the problem,’ Johnny said looking down the neck of the instrument. ‘It’s slightly warped.’
Graham had a look. ‘And then some, it’s very warped.’
The pair tightened and slackened screws in the bridge’s saddles lengthening or shortening strings and, using the piano for reference, punished the ailing instrument towards acceptability.
‘I don’t think I’d stand on any stage and play this,’ Graham said.
‘No, but I can get some serious practice done now.’ He held the instrument before him and felt hope radiating from its dirty wood-brown body. ‘Fancy a peek at the electrics?’
‘Okay.’
Flipping the guitar over they unscrewed the back plate and examined every wire until with a magnifying glass Johnny identified that the instrument’s solitary pickup had broken.
‘Well that’s that I guess,’ Graham said.
‘I’m still delighted with it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Graham, you’ve no idea.’
Friday 28th June 1974
Complete with the soft case Graham had given him, Johnny had taken his guitar back to the cover where at bedtime he kept it close at hand. Next morning he readied himself for school but not wanting to risk leaving the instrument scooped it up with his school bag.
As the new boy, fitting in with the crowd would never have been easy. But, since Frank’s demise school seemed even less relevant and Johnny deliberately distanced himself from other kids.
He’d sneak off at break and lunchtimes to practice away from the triviality of childish conversations.
In corridors and lessons the same faces cropped up. Johnny became as aware as anyone of the hushed insults his social abstinence attracted.
Still, he didn’t want to change for their sake. He liked Liz and Graham because they talked about music. He got on with people his own age at the youth clubs because they engaged in martial arts. He enjoyed the wisdom of Keith’s calming dialogue when he arrived early at Meuxng Ti and he would have enjoyed talking to Helga at the cover if he could ever think of anything to say to her.
He found school and especially his music teacher, Mrs Brown who conducted music lessons in the most old-fashioned method, uninspiring. Unlike his old school this one didn’t cater for rock bands or anything musical more contemporary than Glen Miller.
He recognised how odd he must look carrying a guitar nobody got to hear. That didn’t stop him loathing the looks other kids gave him.
Their dislike of him caused him to dislike them also and his alienation caused him to withdraw even more.
When teachers asked pupils to pair up, kids would tut or complain loudly if left with Johnny. Anyone who considered talking to him wouldn’t risk their own reputations.
On Fridays, Johnny had PE. When he’d first arrived at the school they’d played football. After two weeks Johnny found himself last to be picked and less involved than he had been in rugby at his previous school.
But on this early summer week the PE teacher had taken them to the track where Johnny caused disdainful but flabbergasted raised eyebrows when he ended up being the second fastest sprinter.
Back in the changing rooms the well-developed hard-knocks dropped their shorts and brazenly headed for the showers.
Despite being sufficiently developed Johnny always hung back. He’d rush into the showers, arms around his body, and scrub leaning his right side against the tiles before hurrying back to drag a shirt over un-towelled skin.
Break followed PE. On this fine day most of the bigger lads disappeared after the mandatory, wet-towel-bare-backside-whip-cracking of wimpier boys had past. But for Johnny the day’s torment hadn’t yet begun.
The joker and reputed third toughest in Johnny’s class, a lad known as Tooly on account of his surname Toulson, decided to stick around and find out what Johnny’s guitar bag hid.
Tooly grabbed the guitar bag and ran out the door before Johnny had his trousers past his knees.
Yelling, Johnny fastened his trousers and stamping his feet into his shoes ran out the door after him. Looking around he had to guess which way to turn.
Heading for the upper yard he found Tooly clambering onto a chest-high wall.
Johnny held his breath. The other side towered over the lower yard.
The now un-bagged instrument bumped as Tooly stood pretending to play it whilst singing Elvis’ Hound Dog.
Johnny crept forwards to avoid alarming him. Nevertheless Tooly rushed his performance clearly loving the attention from the gathered few. He finished by pulling an Elvis pose and spinning round.
Wobbling he lost his footing and jumped, not into the upper yard, but all the way down into the lower one.
Johnny dashed forwards. Over the wall he saw his guitar clatter as Tooly landed and summersaulted. Tooly found his feet, whooped and leaving the guitar ran to safety.
Frantic, Johnny leapt over the wall and landed by his guitar having already seen the neck snap from the body. Squatting he touched the splintered wood where the body’s shoulder had consequently torn. Through teary eyes he couldn’t see Tooly but that didn’t matter.
Bereft, he carried the crippled instrument to the top yard and placed it in its discarded bag.
After collecting his things from the changing rooms he went directly to the cover. He held the terminally damaged instrument to his body and let his body close down.
Like the day Frank had died his body felt again like clay drying under a cold sun.
By lunch time he hadn’t moved. Daring himself to die where he lay, his heart once again refused. He searched for wisdom but could only sense his mother repeating, Go to Meuxng Ti.
He didn’t want to go anywhere but eventually succumbed to the instruction. Swinging his feet off the bed his numb body revitalised.
‘What are you doing home?’
Johnny opened his eyes and saw Helga. He told her what had happened. She gave him lunch before dragging him to the school’s headmaster who listened and said he’d discipline Toulson. But, he said he wouldn’t be able to force the issue as Johnny had no reason to have the guitar on site and therefore bringing it had been at his own risk. Try as she might Helga saw no way of arguing around the resolute headmaster.
Johnny arrived for the science lesson ten minutes before the end annoying the teacher who demanded to know the reason for his lateness.
Staring, Johnny pictured kicking the bald-headed teacher’s kneecaps off. Without breaking stare he said, ‘Tooly, the headmaster wants to see you, right now.’
He kept his eyes on the teacher whilst the sound of metal legs scraping on a wooden floor killed the silence that had befallen the class. He could almost feel the heat from Tooly’s glower as the joker left the classroom.
* * *
Johnny hadn’t said another word but headed to Meuxng Ti so early he found it locked.
Twenty minutes passed before Keith turned up, bag on shoulder and broad smile.
‘I never imagined you to be this keen when we first met,’ the black Dutchman said.
Johnny felt better for seeing him but couldn’t pretend to be happy.
‘You had a bad day Johnny Won?’
He nodded.
‘I’ll listen if you help clean.’
Inside Keith prepared a bucket of soapy water and sat down leaving Johnny to do the hard work. ‘So, what’s up?’
Johnny sloshed water onto the rubber exercise flooring. ‘Bullies.’
Keith nodded as if he’d predicted as much. ‘You’re in the right place.’
Johnny shook his head. ‘Beating them up won’t get my guitar back.’
‘Guitar?’
Johnny told him everything.
‘This is only the end if you decide it’s the end. Half the people in this gym seek to become tough; something they know they’re currently not. Being bullied gives them motivation.’
Johnny considered how the bullying he’d endured growing up had been both ignition and fuel to keep training.
‘But Muay Thai won’t change people’s respect for me,’ he said. ‘Even if I fight, more fights will follow. I saw it at my last school; people queuing to prove who’s hardest.’
Keith waved a dismissive hand. ‘First understand bullies have societal purpose. Humans are not so different from dogs; pack animals living and hunting in teams. All teams require leadership. All dogs instinctively strive for dominance.’
Johnny stopped mopping and flashed a quizzical look.
‘It’s how the pack survives. All dogs fight finding rank until the strongest, best suited wins the leadership position.’
‘Whether they want it or not?’ Johnny said scrubbing the floor.
‘Correct. Most of them probably don’t want it. Lesser dogs give up after defeat but enjoy happier less stressful lives ironically.’
‘So how’s this meant to help me?’
‘Like dogs, we too have an innate desire for greatness. We usually call it ambition.’
‘Smashing someone’s guitar doesn’t strike me as ambition.’
‘That he broke it was an accident. But humans are complex. Our leaders assign roles with responsibilities according to the skills and strengths of individual members.’
‘Okay.’
‘But what if the leader makes a mistake and hands the job of guarding the camp to someone incompetent?’
Johnny thought. ‘They might foul it up.’
‘Which could put everyone in jeopardy.’
‘So society needs to know who’s strong.’
‘Correct, and for that we have bullies. Young
dogs challenge the top dog’s position in order to step forward should it no longer be the strongest. Does this Tooly lad like aggravating teachers?’
‘Kinda, I suppose.’
Keith nodded thoughtfully. ‘Unlike dogs, human society doesn’t only challenge leaders. It has members who instinctively seek to expose weakness in others. Mostly unconsciously they’ll try bullying everyone they meet. Stronger group members won’t yield so the bully moves on. But, when they spot weakness in others they focus their attention highlighting it to the whole group. That way the weak won’t be given roles of responsibility. Does this make sense?’
‘I think so,’ Johnny said now sweeping the ring. ‘You’re suggesting Tooly thinks I’m weak and he’s got the whole class believing him.’
‘He’s only following his instinct.’
‘But I’m not weak.’
‘He wouldn’t last five seconds in that ring with you would he?’
‘True, but I don’t feel battering him’s the answer.’
‘You show maturity Johnny Won. But you must do something because if you accept this lad’s appraisal, your self-image changes; a hard task to reverse. At your impressionable age you mustn’t let people like him define you.’
Johnny’s mind turned cogs.
What Keith said seemed right. ‘Ranking low doesn’t make for a happier life like with dogs.’
‘No, and worse still the humiliation causes victims’ libidos to drop which affects their body language and stature.’
‘What?’ Johnny turned and wrinkled his nose in disbelief.
‘I mean, members of the opposite sex won’t fancy them. The likelihood of victims reproducing reduces so their genes get phased out. That way the strong genes develop and the species thrives.’
‘Crikey.’
‘Indeed. Bullied teenagers become ineffective adults and may as well be infertile to boot.’
‘So, are you suggesting I am weak?’
‘This lad must have identified an area of weakness. I know you’re a strong fighter and your guitar playing may be strong too but you have been made an example of.’
‘What should I do?’
‘Specifically, I don’t know. Figuratively you do the same thing as weightlifters recognising weak muscle groups. In addition to training the strong muscles they aim to power up the weaker ones.’
‘Kinda scary.’
‘That’s the whole point. Facing fears or weaknesses is always scary. Getting through that fear is what makes us strong; makes bullies think twice.’
‘What you’re saying goes against what the teachers say.’