“No, no! You’re lying, I saw them this morning, they’re fine!”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy sobbed.
“No!” he cried.
“Come here, Danny…”
“No! Leave me alone, leave me alone!” he yelled.
He ran from her, his face shiny with tears. She didn’t try to catch him; she didn’t have the will. She arranged the Namara’s funerals and organized a modest burial as had been requested in Mr. Namara’s will. All that they had, which wasn’t much, went to Danny. Few people attended the burial: principally, the work colleagues of both parents. Danny was dressed properly and he watched his parent’s caskets descent to the bottom of the hole. He threw a rose on each coffin, ready to be buried forever. Lucie, who had never seen Danny but smiling and in a good mood, never saw him laugh again. Something in him disappeared forever. This pained her even more, knowing that the Namaras were good people. They had had difficulties, they’d worked hard their whole life to attain the modest comfort they had and they adored Danny. They didn’t deserve what had hit them. Life wasn’t fair. She watched little Danny dressed in black before the two tombs that were being covered with earth.
The time came again for Danny to change families. It was the fourth this year. Again this time, he had to gather up his personal possessions and move them. He wasn’t upset to leave. They were nice, but he didn’t feel at home. He missed his parents, a sadness accompanied him all his days.
More than hating his family situation, he had begun to be bullied by a band of youths his age who chased him for the fun of drawing out fear. At the end of the school day, they were waiting for him to shove him. The four kids laughed at him and called him names because they saw that he was always alone. For them, he was different. They had it in their heads that Danny was a studious pupil and that merited his being the butt of their jokes. A kid who was popular was in all evidence one who didn’t like to learn. When they laughed at him, Danny didn’t respond. He told himself that they were imbeciles and they would eventually get tired and leave him alone. However, ignoring them increased his problems. The jokes transformed to hatred toward him and words changed to pushes over time. For a while, he was followed at the end of the day and again, beaten up by the quartet.
“Take it, Namara!” shouted a kid throwing a right hook across his jaw.
“Come on, wimp, show us what you can do!” said another, giving him a shove.
“Leave me alone,” said Danny, trying to put distance between them.
The other kids held him to stop him from leaving. Another kid sent him a punch directly on the nose, throwing him to the ground. All burst out laughing.
“Awwww… poor baby. He’s going to call his mama to help him!”
“Look, he’s going to cry like a baby!”
Everyone laughed, happy with their result. They left, leaving Danny on the ground with a bloody nose and with a black eye. But he wasn’t crying. He stood, gathering up his backpack and he headed home, blood on his sweater. He changed at home and camouflaged the shiner as much as possible without saying anything. They asked him about his black eye, but he responded only that he had fallen off his bike. No one pressed to know more.
* * *
Danny didn’t really know how to fix the situation until the day he passed in front of a kung fu school several blocks from where he stayed. He read the sign: “Wing Chun Kung Fu”. Not knowing anything about martial arts, he decided to enter out of curiosity. Inside, it was an atmosphere of peace with the aroma of incense coming upon his nose. He gazed at the Chinese scrolled hung on the walls which he couldn’t read. He looked at the walls and saw there were weapons of all kinds, mostly staffs and knives. The place was vast and surrounded by mirrors. What attracted the most attention was the wooden dummy at the back of the space. One might have called it a wooden torso attached to the floor. However, the torso appeared to have four pieces of wood jutting out, three symbolizing arms, and the other, legs. Danny found the implement curious. Must be training equipment. The place was empty with the exception of a little Asian man who was up front with eyes closed as though he was sleeping. He was meditating, Danny noticed. The man was dressed in black with a Mao-collared Chinese shirt. Danny thought he couldn’t hear him, but the man opened his eyes and smiled at him. He’d known the whole time he was here.
“Hello, my name is Sifu Kwan, welcome to the Kwoon. What can I do for you?”
“Uhhhh… what?”
Master Kwan smiled.
“To the Kwoon. In Chinese, that means the training space for martial arts.”
“Ok. I want to learn martial arts!”
Master Kwan approached Danny and saw the bruise on his cheek. He understood what it meant.
“I see. Well, you knocked on the right door, my dear boy. What’s your name?”
“Danny.”
“It’s a pleasure.”
“Sifu is your first name?”
“No, that’s simply Chinese for master or instructor. Kung fu is a Chinese martial art. There are different kinds, but Wing Chun is the one we teach here. Have you ever practised martial arts?”
“No, never.”
“Well, maybe now’s the time for you to see if this likes you. Are you interested?”
“Yes.”
“Very good.”
“When can I try it?”
“Why not now?”
“I… uhhhh… ok.”
“Perfect!”
Master Kwan always wore a smile. It gave him a serenity and tranquillity that Danny liked. He invited Danny to enter the room and they placed themselves in the centre. He took a position in front of Danny.
“Wing Chun is in fact the name of a woman. The legend says that the style was invented by a Buddhist nun in a Shaolin temple called Ng Mui. History says that Wing Chun and her father were pursued by Manchus who accused her father of crime. They took refuge on Mount Tai Leung where she met Ng Mui who taught her the art. Wing Chun taught the style to her husband who, in return, passed down the art to other disciples and christened it Wing Chun in her honour. It’s difficult to know if that’s the exact truth from facts from a very long time ago, but in any case, that’s what is told. What’s peculiar about our style is that we use the force of the adversaries against them. More force they use against you, more force can be countered against them. The best attack is one that leaves the point closest to your target. You will learn to feel what your adversary will do and not guess, because the hand is quicker than the eye. The secret rests in relaxation, you will adhere to the movements of your opponent to feel their attack. When the force will be greatest, you will give way to reposition and attack. Our hits are as explosive as a gunshot and not as a hammer that strikes an object. Take a reed for example, versus an oak. To you, which is more solid?”
“The oak.”
“Ok. Because of its robustness, its size, the roots buried deep in the soil, right?”
“Yes.”
“And if I tell you that an immense hurricane came along, what would fall first?”
“I don’t know.”
“The oak is fixed, buried. Against a force as powerful as that, if he doesn’t bend, he will break or even become uprooted despite his imposing stature. The reed, as for him, mends at the lightest touch of wind. He adapts to the lesser force that touches him, small or large. Certainly, he becomes tilted, maybe damaged a bit. However, he stays rooted, because he has adapted to forces that he meets that are greater than he. Be like the reed, Danny, and you will win.
He was fascinated by what Sifu Kwan explained. He wasn’t certain that he really understood his explanations, but he definitely wanted to learn.
“A martial art isn’t only a question of hitting with a fist. You must be calm and drain your mind to react against an aggression. Wing Chun will teach you to enter yourself also, in short, to know yourself better as a person.”
“I want to learn.”
“Wonderful, so let’s begin. I’m going to teach you the first bas
ic form, called Sil Lum Tao. It means “The Little Idea”. You have all the basic movements of Wing Chun in this form. You will learn to solidify your position and relax yourself.”
Master Kwan began the form in placing his legs in position, feet toward each other and low centre of gravity. Danny was beside him and imitated all his gestures. He found the means of moving strange and it hurt him. After five minutes, his legs were on fire. He was however fascinated by that which he learned. He realized that he’d spent hours with Sifu Kwan and he hadn’t even noticed. For the first time in a long time, he felt great.
CHAPTER 7
He passed through the woods like he usually did to shorten his route. Passing by this way, he saved a few minutes of walking, because he passed several streets in the area when he arrived at the other end of the woods. Suddenly, he felt something pull on his backpack. Before he could fall backwards, Danny lowered his centre of gravity, turned and with an open-handed hit brushed off the hand that grabbed him. At that moment, he saw the quartet who was again present to humiliate him. He didn’t say a word this time. He saw the chief of the group move to punch him in the face. Danny advanced with a step in his direction at the same time, deflecting his punch with a blow of his left hand on the forearm of his assailant. He took the opportunity to link a punch directly to his aggressor’s face with his right fist. The impact was furious and direct. The chief fell on his back and instantly lost consciousness at the moment of impact. A thud of bones that knocked against each other was heard. The three others who saw the spectacle that unfolded under their eyes had wide eyes, already blank at what had happened at that moment.
A kid among the three, who was more daring than the others, tried to throw a punch at Danny. He blocked the hit with his arm and pivoted slightly to break the impact. At the same time, Danny seized the arm of his attacker with which he had tried to hit him, pulled it toward himself and swung a kick in the legs at the same time. Totally unbalanced, his adversary tried to retreat, but Danny jerked toward him, sending him a punch directly to his face, followed by three others in a fraction of a second. The four hits hit his face like a flurry of machinegun fire. From the first punch, he also had lost consciousness, but he got three others before hitting the ground. The two kids watched stunned in horror. In the space of a few seconds, two of their friends were knocked out. The fear reared to them and none of them wanted to submit to that. One of the two said to Danny:
“Ok… just… relax. It wasn’t our idea anyway… uhhh… we’re re-really sorry.”
“You have ten seconds to pick them up and get them out. If I ever see one of you again, I’m going to break everything, understand?”
“Yeah, yeah… .”
They dispatched themselves to pulling their two friends, who had begun to regain consciousness, to their feet. The two were bleeding and they were confused. Danny watched them leave, satisfied. He was surprised how easy it was to knock them out in a few seconds. He could see the others’ surprised faces when he decided to launch his attack and he was delighted to have created fear in those who had taken pleasure in spreading the same sentiment through maliciousness. He found the humiliation through which he’d lived a good thing and he was proud of it. On top of everything, Danny Namara had learned a great lesson today: to face one’s fears is to overcome them. Today, he discovered a skill in combat. He had blocked the attacks of two bigger and stronger kids in several seconds before his heart had had time to race. He had remained calm in the face of his enemy and he was proud of it. He continued on his way to his current house. Once more, he came home with bruises, but this time on his hands from the impact of the blows on his aggressors. He was proud of his bruises today, because this time they weren’t those of a victim, but the wounds of a warrior. He knew something within him had changed from that moment. He had won confidence in himself. He continued his walk with a smile, massaging his hands.
* * *
“Danny, I would like to introduce you to Mook Jong. He will be your new training partner when I’m not here,” said Sifu Kwan, presenting the wooden dummy.
“I’m going to start practicing on the dummy?”
“Yes, your training is going well and it’s time for you to learn the techniques on the figure. The Mook Jong will help you to dissect your movements, correct your positions, harden up your forearms. When you train with him, it’s as though you’re in combat with a real adversary.
“Ok, Sifu.”
Danny began to train with the dummy. Danny’s blows were audible throughout the training space. Sometimes, he became too concentrated and put out too much force so that he hit too hard and hurt himself.
“Ow!” cried Danny, holding his fist. He had thrown a straight punch and hit the dummy with a jerk. He felt shock waves vibrate his bones.
“Mook Jong has won this round!” cried Sifu. “You need to learn how to control your hits. Continue!”
* * *
Over the months, Sifu Kwan noticed on Danny’s impressive progress and after three years at his school, he had already surpassed many older students, despite his young age. Sifu Kwan had often remarked on Danny’s skill from the beginning, but he really took conscious at age twelve. Sifu arrived one afternoon at the school when he saw him train in combat with an advanced student. There was no-one but them at the Kwoon. The radio played in the school and the two didn’t notice Sifu enter. He stayed there, watching the two in friendly combat and watched Danny beat his adversary. The movements were sharp, rapid, parse and precise. He chained the hit sequences with a speed too great for the eye. He stayed calm and relaxed. He dominated his opponent who was twice his age and double his size. He continued to admire Danny performing the art to which he had dedicated his life benefitting from each movement that he made to imagine how he would do against his attacks. He couldn’t stop himself from watching the flurry of Danny’s attacks and hearing his impacts which resonated through the school.
* * *
Adolescence was hard for Danny. He was closed off. He never stopped grieving for his parents. What made him sadder was that he didn’t have but a vague memory of them and that made him angry. He forgot them. A sadness and rage within him burned and the only peace he found was in his training.
He didn’t like school and he got into too many fights. One time, a group of kids had tried to steal his pocket money in the lockers. The three kids were found unconscious. He had to explain to the staff later that he’d been simply defending himself. The event came hot on the heels of a warning to control his temper. He had average grades, but he put no effort into them. The lit teacher, a mildly obese man who loved the sound of his own voice, detested Danny’s attitude of flagrant disinterest. Known among the students and faculty for being one finger short to be an alcoholic, it wasn’t rare for a smell of alcohol to accompany him into the classroom. Danny found him condescending and ridiculous with his fat stomach. He found that he preferred to show his knowledge to appear intelligent more than to inspire a love of literature in his students. He often joked at students’ expense in front of the class in expressing certain comments that Danny considered disrespectful to their face. He watched him gesticulating at the front, sweating just from talking. Danny found that he resembled a huge talkative pig pulled right out of a child’s fairytale. In the last year of high school, nearly done his studies, Danny was at the back in the process of reading a magazine as the fat teacher blabbed at the front. However, Pork chop had caught him reading his magazine. He intended to ridicule him in front of all the other students, given that it was the last class of the year. Proud of his plan, he decided to make his attack at said at top volume:
“Mr. Namara, could you tell me what exactly you think of the excerpt I’ve been discussing?”
“I don’t think too much about it.”
The fat teacher had a little arrogant grin looking at the other students in his class. “Ahhh. I see! And why is that, Mr. Namara?”
“I don’t really like the book in question.”
&nbs
p; “Ohhhhhh. Mr. Namara has his opinions on the pertinence of the course syllabus. Could you at least name the author in question in this case?” he sniggered, proud of the turn of events.
Danny began to boil with rage.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t listen to you,” he snapped.
“Of course you didn’t listen! You are above everything, aren’t you? Bravo, Mr. Namara, you have a good future ahead of you. You are the perfect example of someone with no future. A good-for-nothing. Your nonchalance is pitiful. In short, Mr. Namara, you could say that you are living proof that pickles aren’t always found in pots!”
“Yes, it’s possible, sir. However, you are equally living proof that beer guts aren’t always found in bars.”
The class guffawed. All the pupils couldn’t stop laughing and they applauded. Some cried tears of mirth. The fat teacher turned red with frustration and sweat dripped down his face. He looked at Danny with flashes of rage in his eyes, but Danny held his gaze without flinching. He said to himself that the pig was asking for it.
“That’s enough! Stop laughing! There’s nothing amusing!” he yelled.
The more he yelled, the louder they laughed. He left the class in a gust of smelly wind and slammed the door. That would be the last time he saw the fat teacher and the last class he had before receiving his diploma at graduation.
CHAPTER 8
Quebec City, September 2001.
“Are you coming to see me tonight?” asked Chandra over the phone.
“I’m working at the restaurant tonight. I’ll come after,” Danny responded.
“I have to get up early tomorrow morning,” she said with a slight contrariness.
“I know, but we still have time to see each other.”
“Yeah, ok. Are you thinking of me?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I was just imagining you in that sexy little black thing I love.”
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