The Dark Fights

by Alexandra Vinarov

  He nods and yet keeps holding my hand. “Kiss me just one more time.”

  *****

  Unlocking the front door, I walk up carefully. I know exactly which of the stairs squeak and don’t step on them. As I pass the second floor landing I see a dim strip of light under the door. What the hell? I remember perfectly well all the lights were off when I was sneaking out a few hours ago. Hmm, unsure of what is going on, I open the door slightly and peek in. At the farther end of the training area one ceiling lamp is on and I see Hiroji practicing cuts with a wooden samurai sword. His moves are strong and precise and he seems fully absorbed in his activity. I was certain he would be in his room sleeping by now, yet it doesn’t surprise me too much that he should be on the mat training alone at this hour. It somehow goes hand in hand with his whole mystery-shrouded image.

  He raises the sword for a sideways cut, pauses for a split second before finishing the full-body-turn, and at that moment it seems to me that our eyes meet. No, it must be just a trick of my imagination. I am sure it’s impossible for him to see me from where he is. I close the door carefully and continue up the stairs.

  Back in my room safely, not having encountered anything but an empty red couch in the common quarters, I sit on the bed for a while staring at nothing and smiling. The scene in the car with Drago is playing in my head, in all its details. I am perfectly aware of the smile on my own face. I don’t know how much time has passed, when suddenly I am awakened from my entranced state by a knock on the door. What the hell? I was so sure I got back in unnoticed. I open the door and there is Hiroji standing there looking at me in a strange manner.

  “I heard you leave earlier and I heard you come back,” he says.

  As I am about to give some explanation, he interrupts. “Why were you asking about the fourth uchi-deshi’s disappearance all of a sudden?”

  “No reason. Just curious.”

  “Well, don’t be. It’s better you should stay out of all that, trust me.”

  “Stay out of what?”

  He does not answer.

  “Hiroji, what are Dark Fights?”

  A momentary shudder runs across his face and his lips tighten into a narrow line.

  “You really should get some sleep. How are you going to test on no sleep? Don’t you think you are taking your examination too lightly? A Nidan test is kind of a huge thing. You should be prepared and well rested, hundreds of people are going to be watching. It’s a big responsibility.”

  “Hiroji, what are you talking about? I’m not testing.”

  “Yes, you are. I just saw the list with the names. Yours is on it.” His voice sounds tired, but there is this focused, almost tough expression on his face.

  “What? Sensei did not tell me.”

  “Sensei did not have to tell you directly. He told the head uchi-deshi, and he was to relay Sensei’s words to you. The chain of command, you know.”

  Yes, I most certainly do know how the chain of command works here. Sensei gave the message to Liam, fully trusting his head uchi-deshi, not doubting that the message would be passed on.

  I don’t have any words for a reply. I just stand there staring at Hiroji in utter dismay.

  The head uchi-deshi did not tell me anything. He just didn’t.

  How could he do that to me?

  Chapter 6

  Sitting at the top of the stairs in the dark and waiting, I catch myself biting the inside of my lip. A bad habit I tried hard to train out of myself. I don’t know when I started doing it again, most likely just now. It is almost one o’clock in the morning, and he should be coming back any moment. I hear the front door open and slow laborious steps going up the stairs.

  He stops a few stairs below.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him.

  He is silent for a while.

  “Move! I’m tired,” he then says.

  The staircase being so narrow, he can’t go around me.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  He shrugs. “In the morning. Or right before the tests. Or maybe you would have found out hearing your name called to the mat during the examinations.”

  “That’s fucked up, Liam. Really fucked up.”

  “Don’t know what you mean. What difference does it make when you find out?”

  “I could have had a chance to prepare, to practice the techniques, to work on stuff!”

  “Bullshit. You prepare for a black-belt examination over many years of training. Now you are either ready or not. We’ll soon find out. Move! I want to go to bed, and I suggest you do the same. Oh, and next time you talk to a higher rank, watch your language.” With that Liam advances toward me and there is nothing for me to do but get up and let him pass.

  Back in my room, I can’t sleep. I am lying in bed absolutely awake, my thoughts racing. I am so angry at Liam and anxious about the examinations. I am trying to go over the list of the most difficult techniques Sensei might call out, and to devise a strategy for the second part of the test, when you are attacked by multiple fighters simultaneously. How I wish I had had time to prepare. I have half a mind to go downstairs and practice weapons, as there is a big chance Sensei might call bokens and tantos during the test. But I know it would be of no use now. What I need is to get a few hours of sleep. But I can’t fall asleep, damn it, I just can’t.

  I focus on some of my favorite techniques, the ones I have found to be the most effective, and review the movements in my head, again and again. The footwork, the timing, the positioning of my body at precise angles. Suddenly, as it seems to me right in the middle of a technique, I hear loud knocking on the door and a voice calling, “It’s past six. You overslept. Hurry up.” For a few moments I keep lying down uncertain of what is going on. My heart is pounding, which happens when you are in deep sleep and are brusquely woken up. I breathe in and out slowly to adjust myself to a sudden change in reality. Then I get up, get ready as fast as I can, and go downstairs. The first person I see is Liam. He looks at me, opens his mouth, most likely to scold me for being late, but changes his mind and just turns away.

  *****

  Hours of training at the Winter Assembly go by in sort of a haze. I practice with different people, we work on various techniques, but moments later I cannot recall who I have just trained with or which technique we did. As each class starts and ends, the only thing I am intensely aware of is that the examination time is getting nearer. In the intervals between classes people talk to me, and I suppose I reply, but the topics of the conversations elude me. There are tons of people, familiar faces and ones I have never seen before, talking to each other in various languages. I hear English, Spanish, French, Russian, Japanese, German. After a while the faces and the voices all melt into a big blurred mass.

  As always at such a grand event, when in each class there are over a hundred martial artists practicing throws, takedowns, various joint locks, holds, and chokes, all in a limited amount of space of no more than a thousand hundred square feet of mat area, injuries are unavoidable, and I find myself helping someone tape up an ankle, giving someone else an icepack for a shoulder. I do other uchi-deshi duties as well—wiping down the mats, disinfecting the bloody spots, cleaning up the women’s locker room, restocking toilet paper and towels. And then I am on the mat again, training, training. At one point, while working on a shoulder throw with a big and heavy visitor from Turkey, I hear someone tell me “hey, you need to slow down, save some energy for the examination.” I am not sure whose voice it is. Is it Liam’s? Or Hiroji’s? Or someone else’s?

  At various moments throughout the day Liam’s face stands out against the background of innumerable blurred faces, his ambiguous smirk and his bright dark eyes looking at me with severity.

  According to the dojo rule, we are not allowed to drink water on the mat. Some people step out to get a drink from the water fountain, but being an uchi-d
eshi, I would never get off the mat for such a reason. In the middle of one of the afternoon classes I feel pretty dehydrated. I realize that my body has stopped sweating, which is a clear sign of dehydration. Still, I won’t step out. I am training near the entrance to the mat area. It is as packed outside as it is on the mat. Spectators watching, martial artists taking a break and waiting for the next class to start—a massive crowd. An arm reaches in and places a water bottle up to my lips. I take a few hurried sips and then turn to glance at who the kind person is. But the arm has already withdrawn and disappeared behind the innumerable bodies. I go back to training right away.

  *****

  At five o’clock all the practitioners sit in seiza—a kneeling position. There are so many people, we are squeezed in tight, occupying two thirds of the mat, row upon row, shoulder to shoulder, knees almost touching the toes of those in the next row.

  I sit with my fellow martial artists from the dojo, who at this important moment feel like a true family to me. Everybody—the overly-energetic gentleman who likes to give unsolicited advice and to correct everyone on the mat and gets on people’s nerves a bit, the tough woman who treats every technique during class as if it were done for a competition and scares most of her training partners, the young silent guy who never says a word beyond what’s required by the training etiquette, the hard-of-hearing man of completely unidentifiable age who has been training here since the beginning of time but decided not to test and to remain a white belt forever—now they are all family. We never feel as close as during the examinations, supporting and cheering for each other. There is something about these events that unites us and gives us a sense of home and belonging and of being amongst people who truly care. When we nod our heads encouragingly or bump our fists, or pat each other on the shoulder, there is an unmistakable feeling of perfect mutual understanding.

  The front portion of the mat has been left clear and a low table for the presiding committee has been brought and placed in the front left corner. Besides Sensei there are two other high-ranked martial arts masters at the table, but their presence is mostly symbolic. It is Sensei’s word only that counts during the examinations.

  A huge number of friends, relatives, and other spectators crowd the area to the back of the mat. A bunch of people have climbed onto the benches, some even onto the windowsills to get the best vantage point. There is a continuous loud clamor of voices, but it subsides and dies down as soon as Sensei takes up his position at the low table. The examinations start with those testing for a Shodan—first degree black belt.

  According to the tradition of classical Japanese martial arts, practitioners advance to the next level upon mastering a certain group of techniques, which include throws, takedowns, joint manipulations, chokes, as well as strikes, both openhanded and closed fist, to vital points. With each level, the number of techniques and their complexity grows.

  Testing for Shodan, one must demonstrate an excellent ability to do all the techniques as well as to fight off several opponents at a time.

  It is often said that the real martial arts training only starts when you achieve the rank of Shodan. Everything before that is just a preparation. Having been awarded a black belt, a student then spends years working on perfecting the execution of the techniques, striving to achieve true mastery. A martial artist testing for Nidan—a second degree black belt—must really impress Sensei not only with the perfect execution of the techniques, but also with the speed, the force, and that hard-to-define quality that shows the techniques have truly become an intrinsic part of the martial artist’s body and mind.

  Sitting in the first row I wait and bite the inside of my lip. I get more and more nervous as I realize that Sensei is not very happy with the way the black belt examinations are going this year. He is failing quite a number of visiting examinees and telling them to come back and try next time. So far, only one person from our dojo has failed. I know how hard he worked for this and that he was well prepared, but the nerves got the better of him and he started messing up technique after technique.

  The Shodan examinations go on for over two hours, and then those testing for Nidan are called to the mat. There are only a small number of martial artists up for a Nidan, and one by one their names are called out, but mine is not. Today, they go in alphabetical order and I should have been called some time ago.

  What is going on?

  Have Liam and Hiroji played some sort of very mean joke on me?

  Perhaps Sensei never intended to have me test after all.

  I bite the inside of my lip to the point of being able to taste blood. I wish I could clarify the matter with one of my fellow uchi-deshi right this minute. That is, of course, impossible. Both Hiroji and Liam are now at the front of the mat attacking one of the examinees with bokkens—long wooden swords that samurai used for training purposes. After this student’s test is finished, a committee member announces that it was the last examination for this year.

  So that’s it, then? I’m not testing? Oh, well, maybe it is for the better. Perhaps Sensei will tell me to test next year and I will not be caught unawares and will have more time to prepare. Still, it was a vicious thing my fellow uchi-deshi pulled, messing with my head like this. And surely Liam was behind it.

  “Last but one,” a committee member says.

  Then my name is called.

  *****

  The dojo becomes extraordinarily quiet. Everybody knows that I am Sensei’s uchi-deshi, and to watch an uchi-deshi test is rather a special occurrence. With so many visitors from around the world watching, I certainly feel the pressure of the moment. They are all waiting with bated breath to witness something extraordinary. It is well known that Sensei puts his uchi-deshi through the most difficult examinations, expecting much more from them than from regular students. People from the Dojo, with whom I have been training side by side for many years, and beginners whom I’ve personally trained, they are all genuinely rooting for me to do well. And the visitors, well, I suspect it does not matter much to them if I succeed or fail, they just want to see a thrilling spectacle.

  During the first part of my examination, Sensei has Hiroji and Liam alternate in attacking me. They are to attack with strikes to the head and torso, and various grabs. I am to fight off the attacks using a variety of techniques. And Sensei does not want to see any basic ones. He’s looking forward to something of high-level of difficulty, such as throws that require joint manipulations, sacrifice throws, arm bars, and chokes.

  Right from the start I can feel that something is off. I don’t seem to have the full command of my body. I am able to execute the techniques, but my motions are stiff and lacking in power and energy. At one moment, when I am locking Liam’s shoulder out and am about to throw him, our heads touch and I hear him hiss into my ear, “Too slow. Sensei is not happy. You’re too slow.” I take a quick glance at Sensei and indeed see that the corners of his mouth are very visibly down.

  Liam attacks me with a strike to the center of the head, I change the angle of my body, intercept the strike and go in for a throw, but Liam manages to get a hold of my sleeve and is able to reverse my failed technique into a throw of his own, after which we engage in a ground fight, which is stopped by Sensei’s order. We get up and both stand there panting for a few moments. Sensei is looking at me displeased, frowning and shaking his head. Damn it, I am letting Sensei down, betraying his expectations. Nothing could be worse than that.

  “Too slow,” Liam mutters under his breath again.

  What is going on with me? This does not look like me at all. At one time, not so long ago, Sensei commended the “lightning speed” of my reactions and the “clean precision” of my technique. He didn’t say that to me directly—that’s not something he would normally do—but I overheard him talking about me to one of the high-ranked visiting martial artists. Now I’m showing neither the lightning speed nor the clean precision. What is wrong? My b
ody just feels so strange.

  It must be the nerves. Can’t be any other explanation . . . or can there?

  For the briefest moment a strange suspicious thought shoots through my mind, but I dismiss it immediately. I don’t have such enemies capable of slipping me something that would slow me down on the mat. That’s just not done among martial artists. No, I bet it is nothing but the stupid nerves. Being so anxious, I must have been overthinking every tiny move, every angle, trying to make it as perfect as possible. And it has had the reversed result, slowing me down and making my technique ineffective. I need to just shut off my mind and rely on the knowledge and skills that my body has absorbed during the years of training. Suddenly I remember something Liam told me on the stairs in the dark. “You are either ready or not.” He was right. It dawns on me now that Liam was right—after so many years of training a true martial artist should just be ready, warning or no warning, prep time or no prep time at all.

  But I am ready. I am! I have the technical skill, the power—which is amplified by positioning my body at precise angles and using the opponents’ power against them—and I know that I can have the speed. I can be so damn fast that the attacker won’t stand a chance against my technique and will hit the ground before realizing how or what I did. I just need to get over my nerves and demonstrate all that I have in me, right now, right at this moment, when Sensei and so many people are watching. I am ready.

  With this something changes. I relax, I breathe deeper. I make a huge effort and am able to compel this strangely unwilling body of mine to cooperate. When Hiroji attacks next, I counteract immediately, unbalance him, and, his head now positioned rather low to the ground, I grab his head tight and do a head throw. The audience gasps. It is a very dangerous throw that can snap the opponent’s neck in an instant. And yes, I execute it strongly but with great precision and caution. I hear voices of approbation. After a few more well-executed techniques Sensei announces that the first part of the examination is over.