The Dark Fights

by Alexandra Vinarov

  Danilo is at some party and I can hear music and loud voices, but his own voice doesn’t sound happy or festive at all. I ask him what’s the matter, but he doesn’t want to say.

  “Danny, tell me, are you physically OK?”

  He mutters something unintelligible.

  “Can you please step outside or something? I can’t hear what you are saying.”

  There is a very long pause, then finally the music and noises get quieter.

  “Can you hear me now?”

  “Yes. I was asking if you were physically feeling OK.”

  “Yeah.” He sighs.

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Why do you think anything is wrong?”

  “Oh, please, I know you too well. What’s going on?”

  Another sigh. “I have to go now, Sash. I’ll talk to you later. Happy New Year.” And he hangs up.

  I dial his number several more times, and again he doesn’t pick up. I am about to dial again, when I see a car pull up to the curb on the opposite side of the street. I go inside, and in the living room there is Liam sitting on his red couch with a plate of food. We haven’t really talked since the Winter Assembly and I have tried to avoid him as much as possible. It’s not easy of course, living in the same space, but I know his daily routine by heart and have adjusted mine so that we are rarely in the living room or kitchen at the same time. On the mat, I also train far away from him. I think Sensei might have started suspecting something strange going on as I notice him give Liam and me curious looks, but he hasn’t said anything.

  I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I really do not want to interact with a person who sabotages my test in a very dangerous way and then throws me down the stairs. Just as I suspected, the investigation about the real tanto did not lead anywhere. But I have no doubt it was Liam who removed it from Sensei’s office and then put it back. He would have had access and opportunity. I don’t have any proof, either, that it was Liam who pushed me down the stairs, but in my mind I’m sure it was him. He seemed so jealous and angry—no, beyond angry—storming out of the women’s locker room that night. He was enraged and heavily drunk and in a sort of a frenzy. It couldn’t have been anyone but him.

  I cross the living room going toward the stairs, pretending not to notice him at all.

  “Where are you going wearing a coat?” he demands to know.

  “To get some snacks. There is plenty of alcohol, but no snacks for later when everyone gets hungry again.” I hasten my step so as not to give him an opportunity to say anything else and prohibit me from going out.

  *****

  Stepping out the front door of the dojo I don’t cross the street to go to the car. What if Liam has come out to the roof to spy on me? I walk, staying on my side of the street, and I can hear the car follow me and then see it pass me and turn the corner of Sixth Avenue.

  This is the first time I am out of the dojo in a while and the avenue seems so busy and lively. There are people, cars, and the regular noises and movements of the ever-revolving Manhattan life. Being shut in for weeks on end makes you see all of this with new eyes each time. Our dojo is like a small island, where time and traditions run their own course, but all while tucked in the midst of a bustling modern city. And right now, going to Drago, for a split second I have a strange sensation of doing something I am not supposed to be doing, as if I were distancing myself from the dojo and all it means to me. This dark ominous feeling comes over me but is gone within a brief moment. The exhilaration at seeing Drago pushes all other thoughts aside.

  “Are we playing spies?” Drago asks when I get into the car. “You are beautiful and dangerous, uchi-deshi girl.” He smiles. I have already noticed before that he has several very different types of smiles, but this one now is absolutely wonderful—genuine. It crinkles up the corners of his eyes and lights up his whole face.

  Before settling down on the seat, I make sure to take off my coat so that he can fully appreciate the dress. I can see that he does, his gaze moving from my naked shoulders, down my body, and to my equally naked legs, though he is trying to be somewhat discreet about it and pretends to look only at my face when I catch his eye.

  I hardly recognize myself when I am around this man. I don’t really like it when men stare at me and much less when they want to touch me. Ever since boys first started paying attention to me, I have elbowed a great number of them in the stomach or in the ribs when they tried something. But with Drago, I am fully aware of wanting his eyes on my body, his hands on my body, his body on my body.

  I touch his cheekbones, his jaw, and the side of his neck. He places his hand behind my head and kisses me and I know that this kiss is what I have been dreaming of since the last time I saw him. No one had ever kissed me like this before, or perhaps I had never felt this way when other men kissed me. I had no idea that a simple kiss can at the same time be so overwhelmingly satisfying and yet leave you hungry for more. When our mouths separate and his hands move away from my body, I have an almost painful sensation of craving his touch again.

  “How did you manage to sneak out of the dojo?” he asks. He is breathing heavy, and his voice sounds very deep and somewhat hoarse.

  “Told them I was going to the corner store for some provisions.”

  “Hmm, that does not give us much time. Should we go into a bar and have a quick drink?”

  “Everywhere is going to be really crowded. Let’s just drive around for a bit.”

  “Whatever your ladyship desires.”

  We drive slowly through the streets and then get onto the Henry Hudson Parkway and the car picks up speed. I lean back looking not at the road but at Drago’s profile. He knows I am looking at him and smiles. I can see the smile in the corner of his mouth. I feel I am caught in a strange moment where time stands still, where the world outside is of no importance, and this little space inside the car is all that really exists in the whole universe. I am also intensely conscious of feeling happy. I guess I never really knew before what this word meant, but now I know. I am happy right now, in this very moment. Happy just sitting in the car next to him. When I say it like that it sounds so simple, but if you really think about it, it is quite overwhelming. Being happy just because another human, a specific human being, is next to you. Out of a multitude of people, suddenly there emerges one person, who has this effect on you. Hmm, not so simple after all.

  *****

  On 125th street in Harlem we stop across the road from a low, windowless building with a sign that says, “Cotton Club.”

  “I need a cigarette,” Drago says, gets out, sits down on the curb next to the car and lights up.

  I open the door, and we sit like this for a bit, me inside the car, he just outside, smoking and looking at me, and trying to blow the smoke sideways. I usually cannot stand cigarette smoke and its smell, but for some reason Drago’s smoking does not bother me.

  “This used to be a very famous nightclub during the Prohibition Era.” He points across the street. “Tons of famous people came here to watch musical shows, party, and drink liquor. Been here in this same location since the twenties. I wanted to show it to you.”

  I nod and don’t tell him that the original Cotton Club was not located here at all but first on 142nd Street and then somewhere in the Theater District. That this here is nothing but a modern reincarnation opened sometime in the seventies. I am not sure why I don’t tell him. I guess because he looks so proud of having shown this “historical” building to me, and I don’t want to ruin it for him.

  Suddenly two figures appear just a few steps behind Drago. I don’t know where they’ve come from. I did not see them approach. I want to warn Drago, but he must have heard their steps already—he gets up quickly and turns toward them while simultaneously shutting my door. One of the figures pulls out a gun and very discreetly presses it against Drago’s side. I don’t kn
ow what they want from him. His wallet? But nobody carries much cash on them these days. There is also a chance they would like to escort him to the nearest ATM and have him take out money. Drago does not wait to find out their intentions. He grabs the wrist with the gun, locks it out, twists it in one brusque motion, the gun falling right out of it, and throws the man on the ground, while tossing the gun aside. I can see that the man’s head hits on the concrete pretty hard. I suppose he never learned how to take ukemi safely.

  The second individual might be a boxer. He assumes a boxing stance and starts throwing punches. Drago hits him right on the jaw and then throws him down as well. At that moment a car drives up, brakes with a jarring noise, and hits the bumper of our car. Three men jump out and pounce on Drago. While he is fighting the newcomers, the original men manage to scramble to their feet and rejoin the bout.

  So now it’s five against one, and I decide I should help Drago instead of just sitting in the car and waiting to see how the situation plays out. I open the door, but Drago yells “stay the fuck in” and slams the door shut once more.

  As I watch him battle his opponents, I realize he does not need my help at all. I have never seen such mastery of technique, precision, and speed, such explosive power. He seems to be facing all five of them at the same time, never giving his back. All of his moves are perfectly timed and controlled. He is not wasting any of his energy on unnecessary motions. Each strike connects with a vital point. Every lock produces a dislocated or a broken joint. And when he moves in for a throw, his target ends up on the ground within a split second.

  At one point, the first attacker manages to locate his gun. Before he can pick it up, though, Drago deals him such a blow on the temple that he simply slumps to the ground on top of his gun and does not get up again. Without their guns, these guys never stood a chance against a fighter like Drago. His level of fighting is many degrees above anything I have ever witnessed, inside the dojo or out.

  After only a few minutes, all of the attackers are plastered on the ground, limp and semiconscious. For the briefest moment Drago stands above them surveying his work, then he gets in the car and we drive off. I want to say something, to comment on what I’ve just seen, but I cannot seem to find adequate words to express my admiration of his skill, and so I keep quiet.

  He stops the car after a while to wipe the blood from his mouth and examine his teeth in the mirror.

  “That boxer asshole landed me a pretty hard one. Didn’t even notice in the moment.”

  “Did he knock out a tooth or something?” I ask.

  “Nah, my teeth are stronger than his knuckles. I bet he broke his hand, the idiot.”

  “What did they want?”

  “They were tourists, asking how to get to the Statue of Liberty and got impatient because I did not know the way.”

  I laugh and want to kiss him.

  “Ah, careful now.” He touches his lower lip, which has already started to puff up.

  I kiss him on the neck and inhale deeply his scent. It is a mix of Dior’s Sauvage cologne and cigarette smoke, and to me it seems the most intoxicating and arousing smell in the world.

  “I need another cigarette,” he says and lights up, but throws it out the window after only a few drags. He then leans in and starts kissing me with that characteristic strength and decisiveness of his that have such a thrilling effect on me. His mouth has a bitter cigarette taste, but that does not turn me off at all.

  “Can you drive to your place now?” I whisper into his ear.

  “Yes.” He gives a quick and firm reply. “No,” he says after a pause. “No, I must drive you back to the dojo.” And he takes my hand and kisses it.

  He gets out of the car one more time, goes into a twenty-four-hour corner store, and comes back with a bag filled with potato chips, salted almonds, and a few other items. “Your alibi,” he says giving me the bag.

  *****

  Back at the dojo, Liam meets me at the main-floor entrance. How did he know I was returning right at that moment? Did he hear me coming up the stairs? Or did he maybe stay up on the roof, leaning over the parapet the whole time, observing the street down below? Hmm. In any case he pretends that it is an accident, us running into each other like this, does not say anything, and moves aside, letting me pass through the doorway. Our bodies within a few inches of each other, I notice him sniffing at my hair and making a face. Liam is very sensitive to smells and can’t stand cigarette smoke and must have sensed it on me. I am not about to give any explanations, but I am sure he has drawn some conclusions of his own. He glares at me from under his knit eyebrows and his furious dark eyes say plenty. Silently, I hand him the bag with the snacks and go in.

  People are still up, sitting down at the mat area, their backs propped against the wall, watching a samurai movie on the big screen. They welcome with great enthusiasm the arrival of the snacks. I sit down next to Martine and watch the movie for a while. At some point I probably close my eyes and take a short nap. When I wake up, the samurai movie is still playing, but Martine is gone. She returns a few minutes later saying that there is somebody who wants to see me downstairs. In my confused half-awake state I imagine it might be Drago who’s come back for me. I do not think anything else and do not ask Martine what she was doing downstairs in the first place. I suddenly feel so very happy and can’t stop smiling. This momentary exhilaration dies down and gives way to gloom as soon as Martine tells me that it is “that man from before, your uncle.”

  “An uncle?” Liam asks. Sitting nearby he must have overheard the conversation. “An uncle?” he repeats with great suspicion. “Didn’t know you had an uncle. Well, tell him to come up. I want to meet your relative, if that’s what he is.”

  “He doesn’t have time to come up,” I say.

  “Do tell him to come up,” Liam repeats in a harsh slow manner placing emphasis on each word.

  So, I go downstairs and stop halfway down the staircase, observing Sergey’s silhouette in the tiny and poorly lit foyer. It is strange seeing him stand like this, leaning against the wall in a sort of a patient and weary pose. Somehow it does not go with his usual self-assured pompous image. I rather thought he would be waiting outside, seated comfortably in his car. I also wonder who has unlocked the front door for him and let him in. Must have been Martine.

  Without even greeting him I beckon to Sergey to come up. He hesitates a moment, and then follows me up. He is wearing a tuxedo and looks very tired, his face pale, almost ashen.

  “So, you are Sasha’s uncle,” Liam asks once Sergey steps inside. He also offers him a bottle of beer.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Sergey replies and makes a brief motion with his hand rejecting the beer.

  The two men shake hands, after which Liam visibly loses interest in my “uncle” and walks away. Ha! I know why he was being so suspicious. I bet he thought Sergey was my secret man, the one he’d been so jealous of this whole time. Now he must have realized it’s not him. Perhaps upon taking a close look he saw that Sergey is in his late fifties. Or maybe it was the fact that he did not smell like cigarettes. I did notice how Liam sniffed at him while they were shaking hands. In any case, Liam gets back to watching the samurai movie with the others, and Sergey and I sit on a bench in a quiet corner, right by the Christmas tree.

  “I’ve had a very long night, Sasha,” Sergey says in an unusually subdued tone. He rests his elbow on his knee and props his chin in the palm of his hand as if his head weighed a ton. I think he is overplaying it. Somehow this weary and quiet demeanor of his does not strike me as entirely genuine. An image of a big wild cat setting up for an attack pops up in my head. All the time I can sense his heavy gaze on me. Am I imagining it? I cast a quick glance at his face, partially hidden in his hand, and meet an alert and intense eye staring right at me.

  “Are you having a good New Year’s?” he asks.

  I don’t reply. I am w
aiting for him to state why he is here. I have the dark heavy feeling inside me again and I’ve already sort of made my peace with the fact that something very unpleasant is going to be unleashed on me now. I certainly don’t want to hear it, yet at the same time would rather it be out in the open as soon as possible, so I can deal with it.

  “Talked to your brother recently?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you must already know then that he ran up a new debt.”

  “What? How much?”

  “So, you don’t know, hmm. Twenty-five thousand.”

  “That can’t be! How is it possible?”

  “He spent a few full nights playing poker, and he obviously thought his poker skills were better than they really are.”

  I remember Danilo’s voice on the phone. He sounded so dejected and could not bring himself to tell me the reason.

  “He gambled in one of your establishments again?”

  Sergey scoffs. I realize it was an unnecessary question. Of course my brother went back to 2 Gild Street, where Sergey owns half a building and runs his shady businesses.

  “Listen, Sasha. I am dead tired, and you don’t look like you are very happy to see me. So, let’s try and not drag out this conversation, all right? Here is my offer. You do one Dark Fight for me, just one fight, and your brother’s whole debt is paid off. The entire debt. He will not owe me a dime.”

  “No,” I reply right away. “I will not do the Dark Fights.”