The Dark Fights

by Alexandra Vinarov

  *****

  For the second part, Liam and Hiroji are called off and six fresh fighters are invited to the mat. All six of them are to come at me simultaneously, using any attack they want.

  We are sitting in seiza, me facing the line of the opponents, some fifteen feet separating us. Upon a sign from Sensei I initiate the bow. According to the tradition, I look into the eyes of each of my opponents for a brief moment and then make one bow directed to all of them. They respond with a bow of their own, and then . . . I don’t wait for them to attack first. My strategy is not to let them surround me. So, while they are still straightening up after the bow, I have already sprung to my feet and am running toward them.

  Fifteen feet, ten, five—I have singled out one of the opponents and locked my eyes on him. He is charging for an attack. At the very last moment before the collision, I drop down, hitting with my body against his legs. With all the force of the forward motion he goes tumbling in the air over me and falls down hard. Ha! He will be out of the fight for a few moments. I am back on my feet immediately, dodge a punch to the stomach from another attacker, grab his arm, lock the wrist joint, and throw him into a breakfall.

  Another attacker is now trying to choke me from behind. I tense the neck muscles, take a quick step hooking his leg and then drop on my knee unbalancing and throwing him. Right away I dodge an incoming punch to the head and move in, wrapping the guy’s body round my shoulders, one arm cupping his thigh, and throw him in a precisely executed drop kata guruma—a fireman’s carry throw—one of the most difficult but extremely effective techniques. At that the audience just cannot keep quiet anymore and erupts in applauses. I keep going, using the attackers’ energy and force against them—the harder they come at me, the harder they hit the mat.

  At some point Sensei signals for two of my opponents to get tantos—samurai daggers—and incorporate them into the fight. The weapons have been laid out at the side of the mat and it takes the guys a split second to pick them up and get back into action. So now it is four people coming at me barehanded and two with weapons.

  I don’t realize it right away, but when I chance to take a closer look, I am taken aback. To my utter amazement, one of the attackers is not holding a wooden tanto that we always use during training and examinations.

  No, it’s a real steel weapon.

  *****

  The attacker with the real knife makes a few tentative and careful moves, and I fight them off easily. Then, however, he picks up speed, and the combat becomes much more dangerous for me.

  Out of the corner of my eye I notice Sensei rise slightly from his sitting position and his face tense up. Yet he doesn’t give a command to stop the fight. I instinctively know why Sensei remains silent. He is worried that an abrupt order would make me freeze and thus become exposed and vulnerable to the knife, in case the attacker, for some reason, does not honor the command.

  The audience is quiet too. Certainly they must have noticed, but perhaps they think that all is going according to a plan and that a real weapon was meant to be used during this uchi-deshi’s examination, as a special test of her skills.

  The following actions take place within a span of only few seconds.

  Executing a shoulder throw, I manage to land one of the bare-handed attackers right in the way of the other two. They trip over him and for a few moments are busy disentangling themselves.

  The next instant there is the real tanto coming right at me.

  Damn, it is one thing to fight against a wooden tanto. But it is a completely different thing to have sharp steel pointed at your stomach.

  I shift my body, just missing the weapon. I grab the attacker’s wrist as hard as I can and get him into an arm bar, applying pressure until the knife falls down. I kick it with my foot sending it flying off to the side of the mat.

  One of the bare-handed fighters has in the meanwhile disentangled himself and is coming at me again. I do a sweeping hip throw. The audience gasps and a murmur starts to build up until voices grow loud.

  At this point, it seems to me that the lightning speed of the events slows down, as if to give an opportunity for all the sounds and visuals to really sink in. I look, and the guy I have just thrown is all bloody, a huge streak of red all across his gi. I don’t understand what is going on. I haven’t injured him in any way. He fell down safely. There cannot be any wound. Where is all the blood coming from?

  The audience is pointing at me, people’s faces rather horror stricken. I look down and on my right side, right above the black belt, there is a gash. With all the adrenaline pumping I didn’t even notice when I got cut. The tanto must have been so sharp it slashed right through the heavy double-weave fabric of the gi, like sliding through butter, and cut into my flesh. The blood is coming out profusely.

  Chapter 7

  The black belt examinations end in a much less formal manner than they’re supposed to. There’s quite a commotion on the mat—people have surrounded me and are talking loudly, asking a million questions. The crowd opens up when Sensei approaches. From all directions voices suggest with insistence that I should be taken to the ER. Sensei pays them no attention and looks straight at me, studying alternately my bloody gi and my face.

  “I’m all right, Sensei. I’ll be fine here,” I say trying to add weight and significance to my every word.

  Sensei beckons to the attacker who had the real tanto, and who now looks completely confused. He is talking fast and is trying to explain that he picked up one of the weapons laid out at the side of the mat and, yes, it did seem strange to him that the dagger was real, but he thought everything had been sanctioned by Sensei. It was not his place to ask questions in middle of the fight. He doesn’t know where the weapon is now. After he dropped it, someone must have picked it up.

  It all seems very odd and mysterious to me, but the guy’s face portrays such honest confusion and dismay, and besides, I’ve known him for a while, and he is a good and diligent martial artist, so now I rather believe that he doesn’t know anything about the provenance and the purpose of the real tanto. Someone else must be behind it. The guy was just a tool in that person’s dirty game.

  Sensei stands, deliberating for a few moments and then gives me a brief nod of the head, which I construe as a permission to get off the mat. I bow to Sensei and make a dash for the changing room across the narrow hallway, and then I lock myself in the bathroom. Martine has followed me and asks to be let in. I need her help so I send her for some medical supplies and when she returns I let her in and shut the door quickly again, in the noses of the innumerable inquisitive well-wishers.

  In the tranquility of the bathroom we take off my gi, disinfect our hands, wash the wound on my side with copious amounts of hydrogen peroxide, and discover that the cut is several inches long, but not deep at all, even though it is bleeding a lot. Perhaps at the ER they would have given me stitches despite the wound being so superficial, but I don’t think it’s necessary.

  I pick the shreds of the gi from the wound, then hold the edges tightly together and spray almost half a bottle of medical glue into it. It burns like hell, but I breathe in and out deeply to control the pain.

  “You sure it will hold?” Martine asks.

  “It should. At one time Hiroji had a bad cut and had Liam use a stapler on him. I don’t think I want to do that.”

  “Nah, those boys are crazy.”

  When the glue dries, we put sterile gauze on top and a large plaster.

  “Ah, damn it,” I exclaim. You know what I forgot to do?”

  “What?”

  “To take a shower first. I am covered in sweat from the whole day of training and the examination. And now, how am I going to take a shower?”

  But Martine is pretty inventive. “Don’t worry. We can use this.” She holds up a bottle of medical alcohol. I take the rest of my clothes off and she helps rub me down with cotton wool dr
enched in the alcohol.

  By the time we get out of the bathroom, the changing room has filled to the brim, and outside it is even worse. Martial artists, friends, relatives—all crowd the hallway and the reception area, discussing the eventful examinations they have just witnessed, and waiting for the party to start. There is such a multitude of bodies that it feels the walls of the old building are going to burst at the seams. Martine helps me get through, fending off people’s questions.

  On our way, amongst the mass of all the faces, for a brief moment one familiar bearded face catches my attention. What the hell is he doing here, I wonder feeling a sudden and unpleasant tightness in my throat, as if I wanted to swallow and could not. Hmm, maybe I am just thirsty. I drink from the water fountain and when I look up again, the bearded face is not there. Martine leads me to the foot of the stairs, where we part, as only uchi-deshi are allowed to go up.

  *****

  The adrenaline rush over, I am lying in my bed, drained of all energy. I am supposed to be downstairs for cleaning up and setting up for the party, but I am too exhausted right now and too overwhelmed. The cut is not bothering me much, I just need a few minutes to be on my own, away from everybody. In my mind I go over the examination. There was a pause before my name was called to the mat, it must have been at that moment that the wooden tanto was switched for the real one. Of course I was too anxious and was not paying attention, but I think . . . yes, I am pretty sure I saw Liam go up to the weapons shelf. He knew my name was going to be called next and he laid out the weapons that would be used during my test, and somehow he must have managed to make the switch.

  Damn it. First he conceals from me that I am taking the examination. Then he replaces a wooden tanto with the steel one, and an extremely sharp one at that. He truly wanted to sabotage my test, didn’t he? Oh, he must really hate me. I don’t believe he wished for me to get seriously injured, but he definitely wanted me to fail. He must be holding such a grudge about what happened between us last year.

  Sensei would no doubt investigate the incident, but Liam is too sneaky. He will find a way to stay beyond any suspicion and will lead Sensei to believe that it was just someone’s mistake, made in the tumult of the crowded examinations.

  Hiroji knocks on the door. “Sensei wants to see you in his office.”

  Immediately I get up, pull on sweatpants and a hoodie, and go out into the hallway.

  “You ok?” Hiroji asks.

  “Yep.”

  He points at my side and looks at me questioningly.

  “All good now,” I reply. “Just a superficial cut. Could have been much worse.”

  He shows a thumbs up.

  “Hiroji, about the cleaning up and setting up for the party?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I got it. Go see Sensei.”

  Sensei’s office is on the other side of the stairs at the end of a hallway. Its door is almost always closed. Now it is wide open. Inside, Sensei is entertaining a few high-ranked guests. On several tables there are trays with Japanese food and a number of tokkuri, porcelain flasks for serving sake. There are also bottles of French wine and cognac. Sensei is sitting behind a huge desk. He has exchanged his gi jacket for a striped sailor’s shirt, the one he wears for the dojo party every year. I am not sure if it is the exact same shirt or he has several identical ones, but in all my years at the dojo I have seen him in a striped sailor’s shirt at every party.

  The walls are hung with old black-and-white photographs and weapons—samurai swords and daggers. It occurs to me that Liam might have sneaked into Sensei’s office and got the tanto here. As the head uchi-deshi he knows the combination to the lock on the door. I have half a mind to ask Sensei if maybe one of the weapons is missing, but I decide against it. It might very well be that Liam has already had a chance to put the tanto back.

  I hover at the door and Sensei waves me in. I come in and bow.

  “You did good.” Sensei nods his head several times. “It was the best test I have seen in a long time. The beginning was not so good, but the rest was very, very good. Congratulations on your Nidan.”

  Sensei does not give out praises often, if ever, and his present words have such a great impact on me. Oh, he must really have liked my test and truly thinks me worthy of a Nidan. I suddenly feel so very happy. Sensei’s few words of approval have made me forget all my tribulations. What matters most to me right now is that I have passed the examination and am a second-degree black belt. I try to adhere to the solemnity of the moment and keep a serene face, but I can’t help but smile broadly.

  “Thank you, Sensei.” I bow again.

  “And are you feeling okay?” Sensei asks.

  “Yes, Sensei, thank you.”

  “Then go change! Just look at what you are wearing. You are a pretty girl. Put on a nice dress and go downstairs and party.”

  *****

  I put on a short, sleeveless off-white dress and let my hair down, but quickly realize it’s not particularly clean and so gather it up in a loose bun instead. I get the envelope from under my mattress and go downstairs. The party has already started. On top of the reception desk, which serves as a bar counter now, there are trays with all sorts of food items—sushi, guacamole and chips, dim sum, chicken wings, and mini spring rolls. Hiroji stands behind the counter playing bartender. At his disposal there are numerous bottles of white and red wine, sake, whiskey, rum, and cachaça. There are also two coolers filled with beer. When I ask for a ginger ale, Hiroji shrugs, searches everywhere, and finds one lonely can of Sprite. At the dojo parties, nonalcoholic beverages are a rare commodity.

  The crowd gets thicker by the minute, people now standing several rows deep around the counter reaching over heads to get to the food and the drinks. As the last of the martial artists finish taking showers and getting dressed and emerge from the locker rooms, they are immediately absorbed into the party and the reception area gets even more packed. From all directions people talk to me, offer me drinks and congratulations. Everybody is commenting on how exceptional my examination was and discussing the sudden appearance of a real weapon. Of course no one has any definite ideas, but the general consensus is that the tanto was meant as an extra test of skill, specifically for an uchi-deshi. I don’t enter into discussions and just give out brief thank you, thank you very much and an occasional oh careful, when someone gives me an extra zealous hug pressing against the spot of the wound.

  Holding the envelope tight in my hand I make my way through the crowd looking for the bearded face. It must still be somewhere here, I am sure of it. I caught a glimpse of it earlier by the water fountain, so I head in that direction, maneuvering amongst the eating, drinking, and loudly talking groups of people that stop me at each moment. I also seem to be going against the current of those that are moving toward the counter, which slows down my advance. With many pauses I finally reach my destination, but the bearded face is not here. Well, at least there is something non-alcoholic for my thirst. For a few minutes I lean down over the water fountain and drink the wonderfully cold water. I straighten up, as I feel a hand touch my bare shoulder.

  “Congratulations, beauty. That was an exceptional examination. You showed such great skill. I especially enjoyed your kata guruma throw. You know, I watched carefully and the way you executed it is now considered illegal in many competitions. You did it old-style. I liked what I saw. I bow to you.” Sergey inclines his body slightly. “I trust your wound is not dangerous?”

  I hand him the envelope but he pretends to ignore it.

  “And look at how beautiful you are tonight. Such a rare pleasure to see you in a dress.”

  “Take this and leave me alone. And leave my brother alone,” I say as I press the envelope into his hand.

  “What’s this?”

  The party is so loud that we have to converse standing very close to each other.

  “The ten thousand. Now
Danilo does not owe you anything.”

  Sergey pushes the envelope away.

  “It is not your obligation to pay your brother’s debts. I will not take money from you, my beauty.”

  “Yes, you will.” I quickly glance around and place the envelope in his pocket. I am pretty sure no one has noticed the little maneuver. Everybody is fully immersed in the festive ambience, a natural effect of the copious amounts of alcohol .

  Sergey does not remove the money from his pocket and so I consider the matter settled and want to walk away. He grabs my elbow, but probably remembers what happened the last time he did that, and so retrieves his hand quickly.

  “Wait, wait, beauty. Don’t rush away. A few words, if you will.”

  “What?”

  “Do you know what Dark Fights are?”

  He notices my uncertainty and moves his mouth in an unpleasant smirk.

  “You had my brother do a Dark Fight and he was badly injured,” I say quickly.

  “Ah.” Sergey waves his hand in a deprecating gesture. “Your brother is no fighter. I knew that. He has some skills, maybe even some talent, but no discipline at all. I understand he stopped training a while ago. All he does is drink, gamble, and party.”

  “He gambles in your gambling dens. And he drinks at your parties.”

  “I give to people what they want.” Sergey shrugs and puts on an innocent expression that I itch to erase with a good punch.

  “You get people into debt and then enslave them.”

  Another shrug. “Difference in terminology.”

  “Why the fuck did you make Danilo fight?” I feel the anger building inside me and try to control myself. “If you knew he was not a fighter and would definitely lose, then why make him fight?”

  “I gave him a chance to make some money. And it was not such a bad fight either. The audience quite liked him. They called him a pretty boy. And he did put up an earnest defense . . . until he got destroyed. People enjoyed seeing the pretty boy get destroyed. There was this beautiful aura of the doomed about him, right from the start.”