The Dark Fights

by Alexandra Vinarov

  Yes, I know the rules are very important here. The dojo, being a highly traditional martial arts school founded by a renowned Japanese martial artist, follows the strict procedures and decorum of the centuries-old dojos in Japan. It has none of those lax manners of the modern-day training places that pop up on every corner in New York. Here, there are numerous rules and etiquette regulations to be followed by all students, such as bow to higher ranks after receiving instructions from them, treat lower ranks with courteousness, keep your appearance and your gi neat, always trim your toe and fingernails, don’t slouch when sitting in seiza or let your back touch the wall, and many, many others.

  Unlike the regular students, who come in and train when they like, we the uchi-deshi must adhere to an even stricter set of rules and principles. We are Sensei’s direct disciples, hand-chosen by him as worthy to follow the path of the ancient Japanese martial art. We are completely dedicated to the training, serving Sensei and the dojo. We live inside the dojo, rarely stepping outside, and train on a full-time basis, which means six or seven hours a day. The only excuse for missing a practice is a serious illness or a bad injury. A sprained ankle or a pulled muscle doesn’t constitute a valid reason for not being on the mat. If we cannot take a class, we must sit on a bench in front of the training area and learn through observation.

  When there are beginners present, our duty is to instruct them. Outside of training, we are to serve Sensei and to do numerous chores around the dojo. The head uchi-deshi assigns the chores to us. Most interactions with Sensei are carried out through the head uchi-deshi. There is a strict chain of command here at the dojo. It’s not often if ever that Sensei would talk directly to a junior uchi-deshi.

  Having been an uchi-deshi for two years now, I am well aware that one of the strictest rules is not to step outside the dojo without an expressed permission, and never to spend a night out. Yet I also know that from time to time even this rule is bent, sometimes by Liam himself, who is our head uchi-deshi.

  I can guess, though, why he is so furious now. He thinks I spent the night with a man and is angry or jealous or, most likely, both. His volatile attitude toward me has often made me wonder if perhaps he has never gotten over what happened between us last year. I can tell him of course that he has no reason to be jealous, that I was not on a romantic tryst of any kind but was in the ER with my brother. I don’t feel like giving excuses though. Let him think what he wants. I look him straight in the eye and don’t say anything. I can tell that my silence irritates Liam to no end. He desperately wants to interrogate me about my night and to find out where—and with whom—I was, but he is making a huge effort to contain himself. For a few long moments we are both very still and quiet, staring into each other’s eyes, neither of us wanting to look away first.

  Hiroji walks past us, gives us a quick glance and a good morning. He surely grasps the situation right away but does not interfere. Even if he wanted to help me, there is nothing he can do. Being the head uchi-deshi, Liam outranks Hiroji, and at the dojo rank is everything. Only Sensei can rein him in now, if Liam really wants to throw me out. But something tells me he doesn’t. He probably won’t even tell Sensei about my breaking the rules. So I just keep standing here, without proffering an explanation, waiting to see what he does or says next. Then it occurs to me that he has gotten himself into a difficult position and is not sure how to get out of it. He has given an order and now cannot contradict himself just like that. It would make him look bad. I realize I need to help him.

  “I am sorry, Liam. I am really sorry. You know how much the dojo means to me. You know that right? Please, let me stay,” I say. This should be enough.

  “The class will start in a few. Get changed,” he grumbles, then turns away and walks to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a loud bang. He is still very angry. That’s not good. It’s never good to have Liam angry at you. He’ll find a way to make me pay for this, that’s for sure.

  *****

  In my room I undress as quickly as I can, catching in the mirror a glimpse of a very fit body and a vague oval of a face with big eyes, exaggerated by the play of shadows. As always, it occurs to me that I don’t really know what my face looks like. People say that Danilo and I look very much alike, so I guess I only know my face through my brother’s. I put on a sports bra and underwear, then my gi and my black belt. On my way downstairs I put my long hair up in a high bun. I have been considering cutting it short for a while now, but so far have not had the guts to do it.

  On the main floor Hiroji is standing by the side of the mat smiling and chatting with some students who have just arrived. His seemingly perpetual good mood never ceases to amaze me. He always has a smile on the ready, for anyone. Even when he trains, throwing someone really hard or being thrown down himself, he smiles. Yet in those instances that I observed him when he thought he was alone, his face assumed such a tough expression and there was such a cold look in his eyes that I almost felt a bit scared.

  Puzzling guy, Hiroji. I’ve lived and trained side by side with him for a while now, but I can’t say I know anything about him. He is always happy to chat with you, but after the conversations you realize that he has not actually said much. Mysterious. Very good-looking too. Tall, with lean muscles, elegant face, long hair, which he puts up in a high bun while training. Girls are always after him. Girls who do not even train at the dojo come in and watch a class, just to see Hiroji training. On the mat he is spectacular. Powerful and graceful. No matter how hard he is thrown, he flips in the air like a cat and lands softly without a sound. He is famous for that.

  I am not even sure how old Hiroji is. Never occurred to me to ask. I guess he is a bit older than me, probably around twenty-five and already a third-degree black belt Liam must be at least a few years older and a fourth-degree black belt. He is rather good-looking, too, but so very different. Medium height, stocky, broad shoulders, buzzed haircut, strong facial features, often a two-day stubble. Tough, powerful, and explosive on the mat. And you would definitely not call Liam friendly or cheerful. A frown or a smirk is what you most often see on his face. There he is now, walking down the stairs in his usual off-the-mat lazy fashion, looking displeased at the whole world. He notices me standing about, knits his eyebrows, and looks away.

  Despite the early hour, there’s already quite a number of people at the dojo. The first class today is taught by Sensei. There are six or seven classes daily, and Sensei teaches at least one every day, sometimes more, with the rest of the classes taught by other high-ranked instructors. When Sensei is teaching, students flock to the dojo in droves. Sometimes there are fifty or more people on the mat.

  Sensei comes downstairs a few minutes after Liam. The commanding presence of this seventy-year-old man always amazes me. When he walks into a room, no, actually, even before he does, as soon as we see him approach from the distance, all conversations stop, people get up from their seats, and everybody turns in his direction. The dojo etiquette requires that we do so, but I believe it goes deeper than that. There is something about this legendary martial artist that fills us with deep awe, respect, and admiration.

  Now, Liam, Hiroji, and I bow to him, and Sensei mutters a dispirited good morning to us. Looks like he did not sleep well. With another bow, I offer Sensei some green tea, but he does not want any. His shoulder aches and Hiroji massages it for him, but a minute later Sensei motions for him to stop. By looking at Sensei’s face, we can tell he is not in a very good mood—the corners of his mouth are drawn down. He closes his eyes and sits motionless on the wooden bench, and we remain nearby, in case he wants something, but we know better than to approach him uncalled for at this moment.

  *****

  At the beginning of class it is very cold. For some reason the heat never comes on at this early morning hour. There is a heat pipe right by the entrance to the training area, and in the wintertime it is almost a ritual for the students to touch the pipe upon
stepping onto the mat. I guess we are always hoping for a little miracle, but it never happens. I touch the pipe now and, as expected, it is perfectly cold.

  My joints and muscles are very stiff. When it’s this cold, the mats are hard as a rock and every time I am thrown down I feel as if I were hitting asphalt. Still, I shouldn’t be complaining, I guess. I remind myself that I’d take training in the winter any day over training in the summer. In July and August when it’s ninety-something degrees outside and really humid, it is over one hundred degrees on the mat. Even with all the windows open and the fans buzzing loudly, the heat and moisture just keep accumulating and there is not enough oxygen in the air. The dojo has no air conditioning. We often joke that having air conditioning must go against the samurai spirit. During infamous NYC heat waves, even the highest-ranking black belts look like zombies on the mat, moving slowly, rationing every breath of air. A few years ago a visiting martial artist actually passed out from heat stroke.

  This chilly morning there is plenty of energy on the mat. I glance around and see everybody is working on their technique intensely. Everybody except for me. I must look as sluggish and slow as a snail on painkillers. Training on no sleep and no food will do this to you. When was the last time I actually put food in my body? Oh yes, that granola bar at the hospital. Nothing since then.

  We are practicing a takedown followed by an arm bar. Hiroji and Liam, who are training just a few feet away, are throwing each other as hard as they can and cranking each other’s elbows with all their might. There is a blissful smile on Hiroji’s face, and that inscrutable smirk on Liam’s.

  Liam catches my eye and gives me such a stern look that it definitely unnerves me.

  As we move on to a new technique, I am starting to feel very physically weak. Mentally I am in an even worse shape, I guess. I just can’t seem to focus. My mind keeps wandering. Danilo’s beaten face appears before my eyes and his words, “ten grand,” ring in my ears. He’d owed money before, but never this much.

  Pow! My head jerks back violently.

  I have just caught a punch under the jaw from my training partner. Completely my fault. You must never get distracted on the mat, and right when I was supposed to be fully concentrated on blocking an attack, my thoughts were entirely elsewhere.

  Suddenly, I hear Sensei’s loud voice, and for a moment my foggy brain thinks that he is yelling at me. But no, he is scolding another student, telling him to correct a mistake in his footwork. The student keeps making the same mistake and finally Sensei loses patience altogether. “Get off the mat,” he orders, “you are not worthy of a black belt!”

  For a few moments there is complete silence. It’s not often that Sensei loses his cool, and it shakes us up. Such a presence this formidable man commands, such charisma and influence he possesses, that his one word of praise makes you feel you’ve achieved the ultimate success, and his one disapproving look makes your legs tremble.

  As the training resumes, everybody’s faces are gloomy and extra focused. I am partnered with a guy of the same rank as me, but he is almost twice my size and probably weighs some 180 pounds against my 110. Good thing the size and strength of the attacker do not matter as much. It is more about unbalancing your opponent, positioning your body at precise angles, and reversing the attacker’s power and strength to work against him. A properly executed combination of a joint lock, a take down, and a pin has my partner on the ground and tapping out vigorously within a split second. Out of the corner of my eye I see Sensei watching and smiling his approval. He likes to see girls make big guys hit the mat hard.

  Sensei’s mood improves visibly and the ambience on the mat picks up.

  *****

  Sensei demonstrates a new technique, a variation of a hip throw combined with a joint lock. Because of the large number of people on the mat we are to practice it in groups, one person executing the technique on several attackers who come at him in a rapid succession. I am in a group with four people, Liam being the highest ranked among us, so he gets to throw first. I notice him glance at me again, his eyes narrowing and his smirk turning almost villainous. Damn, I feel so very tired and the earlier punch on the jaw has debilitated me even further and made me somewhat dizzy, but seeing Liam’s ominous facial expression I know I really need to focus now and pull together the last bits of energy for what might be coming next.

  One by one people attack Liam, and he throws everyone down in his precise and powerful way. Now it’s my turn. I am actually a bit scared and so tense up. Breathe, I tell myself, breathe. For a second it seems to me that everything slows down, almost stands still—me, Liam’s figure right in front of me, people in the background, the whole dojo—then the motion speeds up to its utmost and I feel myself being lifted off the mat, high—too high. I am not going over Liam’s hips. No! In a flash I realize he’s hoisted me higher and I am going over his shoulders. He even jumps up and throws me down with incredible power.

  Surely this will kill me.

  Landing on my side, I hit the mat with such force that I feel the violent shock in my whole body. It does not kill me, but it does certainly put me in a bit of a stupor and I stay glued to the floor for a while.

  As I get up, people are exchanging wondering looks. They are not sure what has happened, but of course no one will dare to question Liam. Hiroji is shaking his head. Strange. It seems he is expressing his disapproval of me, not of Liam. But why? What have I done? It was Liam. He was not supposed to do the shoulder throw. And he did it while Sensei was not watching. That sneaky Liam.

  Again and again he throws me down in the most vicious manner, coming up with new tricks. I try to land smoothly, try to soften the impact, but it is of no use. My body hits the mat with terrible intensity every time.

  What is Liam’s objective? Is he really aiming to harm me, or just to teach me some sort of a lesson? I try to convince myself that it is the latter. The good thing is that his technique being so highly skillful and accurate he can be fully trusted not to make a single awkward move, which less experienced martial artists often make and which can cause an accidental injury to their training partner. Liam will slam me into the ground but will make sure I don’t fall on my head and break my neck. I’ll be OK, I keep telling myself, I just need to stay focused and brace for the brutal collision with the mat again and again.

  As the exhaustion takes over however, I find it harder and harder to keep focused. I steal a glance at the clock. Only a few minutes left till the end of the class now. Oh, good. That’s not enough time for Liam’s turn to come around again. A white-belt student is up next and his throws seem as soft as a touch of a squirrel’s tail. I relax and let my mind wander once more.

  I think about a nice hot shower. I can almost feel the soothing effect of the water running down my body. And then some food. Oh, yes, definitely food. And if I do the chores quickly, I might be able to get in a nap before the next class, if Liam allows it. I probably will not be able to sneak out of the dojo today to check on Danny, but maybe tomorrow. With that, my thinking reverts back to my brother’s broken face and his feeble voice saying, “ten grand.” I am pretty sure he does not have a hundred bucks to his name.

  My thoughts are still entirely outside the mat, when I find myself being thrown by the white belt and realize his position is not well-grounded, too unstable. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, and the throw turns awkward, at a bad and dangerous angle for me. And I was too distracted to have noticed in time. Now it’s too late. Damn it. Haven’t I seen just such awkward throws result in serious neck injuries and broken vertebrae?

  At the last moment I desperately try to readjust the angle of my fall and not let my neck go straight into the mat.

  It seems I might have pulled it off. My arm and my shoulder have the first contact with the mat, which is a good safe way to land.

  Then there is an audible cracking sound.

  Chapter 3

>   I don’t feel the pain right away. The adrenaline is still kicking in. For a few moments I think everything is fine. I am in one piece. No blood or anything. Then I glance at my left foot. Two of the toes are bent almost ninety degrees to the side. They slammed into the heating pipe and broke on the spot.

  Sensei motions for someone to escort me off the mat. But the toes need to be put back into place, so why delay it. I’ll do it myself right now. I take a deep breath in, then exhale slowly, and in two brusque motions set the toes straight, one after the other. Oh, that hurt! That hurt like hell. You train yourself to deal with this kind of pain. You know that most often it is the anticipation of the pain coming that makes it worse. You tell your brain to accept it, to take it in and not fight it. Knowing all this, I am prepared, but still there is this brief moment of acute pain, as if all the nerves in my body are suddenly located in those two damaged toes. I can’t help but utter the F word and blink rapidly to make the tears disappear. I hope no one’s heard the curse. Swearing on the mat is strictly against the dojo rules. I continue breathing in and out slowly, trying to take control of the pain.

  Damn it, how could I be so stupid and let myself lose all focus? Don’t I know that injuries happen exactly then? Well, I try to console myself, at least it’s just the toes. I am lucky my vertebrae are intact.

  I glance at Liam and expect to see his mean smirk again, but instead there is a concerned, perhaps even caring expression on his face. Could it be just a trick of my imagination? I am really not sure. His eyes are locked on mine for a mere moment and, as always, there is something uncomfortably strong in his gaze, as if those very dark pupils of his were trying to drill into me. I don’t know what the hell he is thinking, and, as I limp away, I try to get Liam and his unsettling and perplexing attitude out of my head.

  *****

  I am sitting on a bench in the women’s locker room. I have taken a shower but have not dressed yet. The heat has come on and it is nice and warm in the room, and I have only my towel wrapped around me. The toes now look pretty swollen and have turned a bright purple color.