The Dark Fights

by Alexandra Vinarov

  “Already did that.”

  “Then wash the towels and make sure there’s enough for all the visitors tomorrow.”

  “Done.”

  “Refill the medicine cabinet. Last year there was not enough sports tape and some of the visitors complained.”

  I open the medicine cabinet to show Liam that it has been fully stocked.

  Liam then starts walking around the dojo checking if everything is ready for the big event. Surely he expects me to follow his every step so as to give immediate instructions on what still needs to be done, but, even though I know it will annoy him, I remain standing in one place leaning onto the vacuum cleaner. I can’t quite explain why I have these urges to push his buttons. I know better than to do that, yet somehow I just can’t help myself.

  He comes back grumbling under his breath, and I can’t tell if he is mad at me or is in a bad mood because of tomorrow. Probably both.

  We uchi-deshi all share the same contradictory feelings about the Winter Assembly, which is the biggest event of the year on the dojo’s calendar. On that day there are classes from early morning on, attended by hundreds of martial artists from all over the world. The black belt examinations presided over by Sensei follow right afterward, and our famous dojo party is later in the evening.

  Martial artists from as far as Japan and Argentina, not to mention various parts of the US and Europe, come to the Winter Assembly, drawn by the fame of the Sensei and by the level of martial arts taught at the dojo. Many of course come specifically to test for various degrees of Black Belt. You can always tell them by how nervous and eager they look and how hard they train in the hours leading up to the examinations. Often times they get themselves pretty exhausted on the mat before the tests even start. The preparations for the event, the big day itself, and the cleaning up afterward increase the uchi-deshi’s regular amount of work tenfold and put a lot of pressure on us. Also, many of the visitors specifically seek out the uchi-deshi to train with. I suppose it gives them certain gratification to be able to take down one of Sensei’s disciples. And, because of hospitality, we are not encouraged to retaliate. Despite all that, we do feel rather proud that our dojo is so famous and attracts such a great number of martial arts practitioners.

  For a few moments Liam and I stand quiet, understanding each other’s thoughts perfectly and united in our sentiments. Then Liam remembers he is angry with me and pulls himself up.

  “Well, don’t just be standing here like an ice sculpture. Get back to your vacuuming,” he says and suddenly starts blinking rapidly and rubbing his right eye. A dust particle must have flown into it. “Also clean the swords and daggers. Sensei said he might use weapons during the examinations tomorrow.” He rubs his right eye again. “And then pick up a shovel and help Hiroji up on the roof. Looks like this goddamn storm is going to be pretty big. There’s like a whole foot of snow on the roof already.”

  “Hmm, maybe because of the snowstorm the Winter Assembly will be cancelled.”

  “Ha!” Liam exclaims and smirks. He clearly finds the idea very intriguing. “Well, anyway, hurry up and finish here and then help Hiroji shovel. Ah, damn it!” He kicks the vacuum cleaner. “Does this fucking machine even work? There’s more dust around than ever before.” He opens and closes his eye vigorously and rubs it hard. It looks pretty red now.

  “Stop rubbing it, Liam! Don’t move. Open your eyes as wide as you can.” I come up very close to him and hold him by his arms to make him stay still.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just stand still, can you?”

  Then I blow into his right eye with all my might.

  Liam sort of gasps, unsure of what I have just done, blinks, and senses the relief, the dust particle having been blown out.

  “Oh, thanks, Sasha,” he mutters.

  I let go of his arms but immediately he takes hold of mine and pulls me into him, gently but firmly. I do not resist and for a moment his lips are almost touching mine, but then I turn my head slightly, avoiding the kiss. Still he keeps holding me against him, and I feel his breath on my cheek and his two-day stubble against my skin. I tense up and pull back. He holds me for a moment longer and then releases me, glaring at me silently from underneath his knitted eyebrows. He then turns around and starts walking away but trips on the cord from the vacuum cleaner and almost falls down. He curses out loud with great intensity, and somehow I feel that the cursing is not directed at the cord but at me.

  *****

  Up on the roof, it is very cold at first, but as I start shoveling, I warm up quickly and feel the sweat trickle down my back. I realize I am working too intensely and need to slow down. It is the incident with Liam that has gotten me so agitated.

  Liam.

  I try not to think about him and our complicated history. I can’t let myself dwell on it now—I have more pressing issues to worry about. My brother sitting alone in the apartment on the UES, all beaten up and moneyless, is surely more important than my unsolvable problems with Liam. Yet the almost-kiss has stirred up something in me, and now I cannot help but picture Liam’s frowning face and his dark eyes glaring at me.

  He was the first person who greeted me when I walked into the dojo years ago. I was sixteen then, barely old enough to be allowed into adult classes. Liam was an uchi-deshi already and helped me a lot with my initial training. Sure, it was his duty to train a newcomer, but I could tell he really enjoyed working with me. I was quite fascinated with him and thought him an extraordinarily talented martial artist with such a precise and powerful technique. I also thought him a handsome and attractive guy, and I must say I really liked our training together. There was something really exhilarating and exciting about those classes. Training with him was most exhausting physically, because he always moved with great speed and power and never gave me a moment to even catch my breath. Ten minutes in and we would already be covered in sweat, and by the end of the practice, our gis would be soaking through. Difficult and strenuous, yes, but how enormously satisfying those classes were. Our fellow students often commented that we both had huge smiles on our faces when we trained together.

  Under Liam’s tutelage I made quick progress and Sensei noticed me. So, in a way, I owe a lot of my success at the dojo to Liam.

  When, two years ago, Sensei chose me to be his uchi-deshi, I was so happy and excited and thought Liam would be happy for me too. I was caught completely off guard when it turned out he was not. He was in fact heavily opposed to my being an uchi-deshi. His reasoning was that he did not want a girl living upstairs, in what had previously been an all-male environment. He went as far as expressing his thoughts on the issue to Sensei directly. By then he’d already been made the head uchi-deshi and his opinion mattered.

  Sensei did not change his mind.

  After I moved in, Liam made my life very difficult at first, trying to prove that a girl would not be able to endure the tough uchi-deshi life. At several moments I indeed was close to giving up, especially when I was injured or sick. As time went on, however, Liam let up. I guess he respected my perseverance and hard work. And then . . . what happened then was probably my fault, or it was nobody’s fault, it just happened, but things got so messed up between Liam and me after that. I wonder if they can ever be fixed.

  Quite unexpectedly, Liam comes out to the roof to help Hiroji and me shovel. This is most unusual. Liam the head uchi-deshi rarely if ever stoops to doing any sort of menial work around here. The only instances I can think of is when he puts on a show for Sensei. Liam is sneaky that way. Under normal circumstances he is . . . well, he thinks himself above such chores. What he likes to do is supervise and order people around and give them a hard time if his commands are not carried out with promptness and precision. That’s the Liam we know. So naturally Hiroji and I exchange quick surprised glances upon seeing our head uchi-deshi with a shovel in his hands.

  The three of us wo
rk together for some time. Liam shares a few observations and a couple jokes with Hiroji but does not direct a single word to me. He is altogether actively ignoring my presence. I try to tell myself that I could not care less about his attitude, but it does make me feel rather uncomfortable. Soon, he declares he needs his gloves, goes inside, and does not come back out. Yep, that’s more like him. Lazy pigeon. Sure, he’d much rather sprawl on his red couch than shovel the snow up here. It’s all right though. Hiroji and I manage on our own just fine. There’s quite a bit of snow, but not nearly as much as on some previous occasions, definitely not a “whole foot” that Liam talked about.

  *****

  As it often happens, against the meteorologists’ predictions the “big snowstorm” does not really materialize and at some point they downgrade the Winter Storm Warning to a Winter Weather Advisory. At JFK and LaGuardia a bunch of flights are delayed, but only a few cancelled.

  Sensei announces that the Winter Assembly will go as scheduled and that we should be ready to open the dojo at 6 a.m. tomorrow.

  In the evening, having finished all the preparations for the big day ahead, Liam, Hiroji, and I are sitting upstairs in the living room. The guys are having warm sake and I’m drinking ginger-lemon tea. We are watching the new installment of John Wick for the hundredth time, mostly fast-forwarding to the fight scenes. Liam and Hiroji are playing the “if you spot John Wick do a joint-lock or a throw, empty your sake cup” game. After every such technique, they refill each other’s cups. Hiroji is very particular about the ritual of serving and drinking sake and would not be caught dead filling his own cup. After yet another of John Wick’s throws, Liam says to count him out of the game because he must be in top shape later tonight. The movie keeps playing, but soon Hiroji is the only one really paying attention to the screen. Liam is checking his phone every few minutes, and I am keeping a watchful eye on Liam, quite anxious about why he is still here and whether he is going to leave at all.

  About once a month Liam gives himself permission to go out for a few hours to bounce at a bar on Irving Street, when they have a big party or a formal event or such. These gigs pay well and with the money he is able to finance his stay at the dojo. At one time he invited Hiroji to join him, but Hiroji declined. He is the only one of us who does not have financial constraints. I’ve heard rumors that he comes from a very rich family in Japan. It’s been also mentioned that he is actually a member of a Yakuza clan. I don’t know if there is any truth in that. If he is a Yakuza, then why would he be living here, shut voluntarily inside the dojo? In any case, while Liam and I are always extremely careful about spending any money, Hiroji does not have such problems.

  As uchi-deshi we stay at the dojo rent free, but we still have to pay for our food. Liam and I mostly subsist on cheap nutritious things, like oatmeal, pasta, eggs, and bananas. Hiroji often orders in expensive restaurant meals. He treats us sometimes, stating expressly that on such and such evening he is ordering delivery for all of us. I’ve noticed that Liam has certain qualms about eating these meals paid for by Hiroji. He acts as if it were not a big deal, but I know him well and can tell that when he is being a bit too nonchalant, it means he is quite uncomfortable.

  Every once in a while Sensei invites us to dinners with his high-ranked guests. These are great feasts in Sensei’s quarters at the other end of the long hallway. There are several courses and various drinks to go with each course. Sensei and his friends mostly converse in Japanese, and sometimes Hiroji is asked a question and says a few words. The deference with which these guests treat our Hiroji makes me think that the rumors about him must be true.

  Other than these occasional lavish meals, Liam and I eat the simplest stuff and regard food as just necessary fuel for our bodies. We each cook for ourselves, there are no rules stating that the junior uchi-deshi must cook for the senior ones, but I don’t see it as a problem or a bother to cook an occasional pasta dish or oatmeal porridge for everyone. The boys don’t take it for granted and always thank me. A prepared bowl of porridge doesn’t seem like a big deal or anything special to be thankful for, but when you train six–seven hours a day and somewhere in the middle start to feel that your energy level is plummeting and you are running on empty, this bowl really makes a big difference before the next class.

  “Yesss!” Liam exclaims after checking his phone for the hundredth time. He immediately gets up and goes into his room. I guess because of the “snowstorm” he was not sure if the event on Irving Street was going to take place or not, but now has gotten a confirmation that it was. He emerges from his room some ten minutes later wearing a suit and a tie. It is the only suit he owns and he takes really good care of it, sending it to the cleaners after each outing. He looks cool all dressed up, his buzzed haircut and facial stubble relieving the overly formal effect of the black suit. He knows he looks good and he pauses in front of the couch, pretending to be giving Hiroji some necessary instructions, all the while glancing at me, making sure I see and appreciate the dressed-up version of Liam.

  “Well, I think I’ll go to bed early tonight,” I announce as soon as Liam disappears down the stairs.

  Hiroji shows a thumbs up without turning his head from the screen. He is positioned very comfortably on the red couch, sunk into the old, partially discolored cushions, his legs spread onto the huge coffee table.

  Already in the hallway I suddenly remember something I’ve been wanting to ask Hiroji all day. I pause, hesitate whether to ask or not, but then go for it.

  “Hey Hiroji, do you know what actually happened to our fourth uchi-deshi?”

  “What do you mean?” Hiroji turns with a brusque movement and sits up so as to see me. He gives me such a strange and unnerving look that I think twice before continuing.

  “Well, we trained in all the same classes and if Dav had gotten injured on the mat, I would have seen it happen. But I did not. All of a sudden he was gone—just not here anymore.”

  Hiroji is silent for a few moments.

  “Weren’t you going to go to bed?” he says. “Good night.” And he turns back toward the screen.

  Well, so much for my asking. Strange, though.

  In my room, I change into jeans, a sweater, and boots and wait, listening at the door. It should not be too long. Hiroji has had quite a lot to drink. Yep, I am right. A few minutes later I hear the bathroom door open and close. I grab my coat and get out as quietly as I can. Earlier today I applied some liquid coconut oil to the old squeaky hinges of my door. I didn’t have anything like WD-40, but the coconut oil did the trick. Now the hinges don’t make a noise.

  Chapter 5

  “Ah, you came, in the snowstorm!” Danilo hugs me with his left arm, the right one still in the sling. “Here, sit, let me pour you a drink. Ah, it’s so good you came!”

  His overly good mood and broad smile make me suspicious right away. On the coffee table there is a big open bottle of whiskey, and two bottles of oxycodone, one empty.

  “Where did you get the second one, Danilo?”

  “Don’t start in with the interrogation, please. Let’s just have a nice quiet drink together.” He pours whiskey in two glasses. “What shall we drink to?”

  I push my glass away.

  “Fine. I’ll drink alone. To you, Sasha!” he swallows his whiskey in two big gulps, then picks up my glass and wants to finish it off too, but I take it away from him.

  “How are you feeling? How are the ribs and the shoulder? The pain should have gotten better by now, no? Do you even need to be taking painkillers anymore?”

  “Sure I do. Thanks for reminding me.” He shakes two pills out of the bottle, puts them in his mouth quickly, tries to swallow, chokes, and, with a tortured grimace and unintelligible sounds indicating the urgency of the moment, grabs my glass and washes the pills down with the whiskey.

  I just gasp, unsure of what to say to that.

  “Did you at least have any
thing to eat?”

  He shakes his head, putting on that stupid drunken smile again. How I hate to see my brother like this. I cannot quite control my irritation.

  “Damn it, Danilo! Popping pills and drinking whiskey on an empty stomach! What the fuck are you thinking?!”

  He turns away.

  “I’ll order some food. Will you eat Japanese?”

  No response.

  “Kani salad, seafood spring rolls, and broiled eel over rice. Sounds good?” I know broiled eel over rice is his favorite.

  Still nothing.

  “Danilo?”

  He nods without looking at me.

  “I am sorry, Danny. I didn’t mean to be yelling before.”

  “Sash,” he pronounces gently and strokes my arm with his knuckles several times—his very own gesture that I know so well. When we were kids and one time I was sick with something contagious—don’t remember what it was—and was put in a separate room with strict instruction to Danilo to stay away, he snuck in anyway to bring me some sweets and to cheer me up. Somehow he got the idea that if he stroked my skin with his knuckles only he would not get infected. Since that time the gesture stuck.

  “I am worried about my face,” he says. “My nose especially. Does it seem like it’s healing right?”

  They have already taken out the plastic inserts that keep the nose straight while the bone is healing, and it looks like they did a very good job of repositioning the bone in the first place. Still, a broken nose is a broken nose, and in most cases you can always tell.

  “It’s fine. It’s still a bit swollen, that’s all. There is nothing to worry about. Your nose will be as beautiful as before,” I say putting as much confidence into my voice as I can.

  “I had a modeling gig all arranged this week. My agent had been slacking off for a while, or rather blaming me and my work ethics, ha! for not being able to find me anything, but he finally came through. I was to do a great commercial shoot. And now it’s all ruined.” He sniffles with his nose, but the tiniest motion still hurts him. He opens his mouth and breathes through it, tiny drops of saliva appearing in the crusted corners of his lips.