The Dark Fights

by Alexandra Vinarov

  I expect the Razor Girl to step into the cage again and am greatly surprised when I realize she is not the one I am fighting tonight. My opponent turns out to be that same Formidable Freya whom I fought in my very first Dark Fight event. I remember her well. She has excellent technique combined with great strength and speed.

  After the announcer calls “Fight!” Formidable Freya and I walk around the cage for a few seconds measuring each other up, just like we did the first time we met. Tonight, however, I do not wait for her to attack first. I charge in with a series of strikes and then move in past her defense and throw her down with an uchi-mata—an inner thigh throw, and on the ground go for the kimura lock. She gets out of the kimura before I can fully apply it, and after a while we are up again. Formidable Freya attempts a throw, we are locked in a tight struggle for a few moments, and it seems she might indeed throw me down, but I manage to cartwheel out of it.

  Without the drugs that I have gotten so used to, I don’t know how long I can sustain my energy level, force, and speed in this fight. I also get distracted searching the crowd for the bearded face. One of Freya’s powerful strikes connects with my head. I feel disoriented and she throws me down, pounds me with fist and elbow strikes, and then gets me in an arm triangle choke.

  My head turned at an awkward angle, I suddenly see Sergey cage-side. At that moment something goes off inside me, and the anger and desire for revenge rise and fill everything in me and work almost like the drugs. With the rapid surge of the brutal energy, I get out of Freya’s arm triangle, and we fight on the ground.

  I lock my eyes on Sergey and my fury reaches its maximum. It is directed at the bearded Russian, but I am taking it out on my fighting opponent. I get her in a rear-naked choke, almost hallucinating that it is Sergey’s neck that I have between my arms. My opponent is trying to escape, but I apply all the force I have in me. The audience absolutely loves it and goes wild cheering me on.

  Freya does not tap out. The blood flow to her brain through the carotid arteries is restricted and within a few seconds she passes out, her limbs going limp. I still do not release the choke, and the referee does not stop me. A few more seconds and I will have choked her to death, and yet I cannot seem to let go.

  *****

  “No! Don’t! Sasha, stop!” A voice shouts so loud that it is heard above the roar of the crowd.

  It is Liam’s voice, and hearing it wakes me up from my trancelike state and brings me to my senses.

  I release the choke, hoping it is not too late. What if it is too late? No, no, it simply cannot be. I get on my knees beside Freya and try to feel the pulse on her neck. I then put her head on my lap and stay in this position for a while.

  Damn it. What have I done? What am I? A martial artist or a killer? It becomes clear to me that what I’ve been doing in this cage tonight and what I did on the previous occasions is not martial arts anymore.

  After a while Freya comes to. I feel such an enormous relief and even joy as if it were a person close to me who has been brought back to life. It is so strange but right now I cannot help but view Formidable Freya, this unknown woman with whom only a few minutes ago I was locked in a brutal fight, as somebody close and dear to me.

  Still on my knees, I bow to her.

  This is something I have never done in the cage before. No one ever does this in the cage. With a traditional martial arts bow I acknowledge her, not as a fighting opponent, not as my enemy, but as a fellow martial artist.

  *****

  The audience does not understand what is going on and grows unusually quiet. I walk to the cage door and Liam helps me get out. The crowd starts booing, first tentatively, and then louder and louder, until everyone in this elegantly dressed beautiful mass of people is shouting and booing and trying to block our way. Liam lets go of my hand, struggling to clear a path for us.

  Momentarily I am separated from him, and the space between us fills with people. Someone grabs me aggressively by the forearm and in an instinctive reaction I do a z-lock. I apply too much sudden force and the person’s wrist breaks.

  “Get back into the cage!” Sergey shouts at me, grimacing in pain and holding his injured wrist with his good hand. “Get back into the cage right now and finish the damn fight.”

  “Fuck off, Sergey-fucking-Petrovich. I’m done with the Dark Fights.”

  “That is not for you to decide. You belong to me and I will not let you quit!”

  “Is that why Danilo had to die?” I ask a question for which no answer is needed at the same time as I strike Sergey on the side of his neck.

  I then get his neck in the bend of my arm, torqueing his head and pressing it tight against my body. It will take me a split second to break his neck now. I just need to tighten my grip a bit and apply some pressure. That is all. Very easy. The situation is perfect. There is pretty much chaos in the room now. His bodyguards are nowhere to be seen. In a mere moment I could finish Sergey off and no one would even notice what happened.

  Damn it. I do, I really do want to take revenge for my brother’s death, but I just cannot seem to be able to bring myself to kill. No, I will not be a killer.

  I release my grip.

  He can just walk away now. But no, the idiot makes the same mistake he made a while back at the dojo, when he tried to punch me and I really felt like breaking his elbow but controlled myself. Beside himself with rage, he actually tries to punch me again. I block and get him in a standing ude-garami, immobilizing his shoulder and his elbow. “Svolochi, fucking bastards, you and that sukin syn Danilo,” he shouts out in Russian and in English, cursing me and my brother. As soon as his mouth pronounces my brother’s name I make the final move. Yes, I might have decided to spare his life, but at least he will not get out of this unscathed. He is completely trapped in the lock, and a small motion is all it takes for me—Sergey shrieks out in pain, as the bones in his arm break.

  I push him away from me, and the crowd absorbs him.

  *****

  I should start moving immediately, try to get out of here, but somehow my feet refuse to take a step. I remain motionless, as if glued to one spot. I have an unsettling sensation of standing all alone, disoriented and lost in the midst of this multitude of people, their angry gestures, and shouts.

  Then, out of all this chaos Liam’s eyes appear and his gaze holds mine and does not let go. The next moment he is by my side again. Head Tattoo appears as well. A quick thought crosses my mind that perhaps he has been around this whole time and deliberately chosen not to help his boss.

  I want to make a dash for the same door Head Tattoo and I came in through earlier tonight, but he now takes us to a different exit, on the opposite side of the chamber. The three of us then hurry along the hallway until we reach a metal door, which Head Tattoo unlocks. Behind it there is the narrow cement-floored hallway that I have already seen before.

  “You know where it leads,” he says to me.

  I nod.

  “Later.” He turns around.

  “Thank you,” I call after him.

  He shows a thumbs up without looking back.

  Liam and I walk along the narrow hallway till we get to a staircase. We go up and there is another door, and it is locked. Liam starts banging on it. I bang too and shout, “Hey, open up, open up!” I doubt anybody will hear us though. Liam tries to break the door down with his shoulder but, standing on the staircase, he can’t get a solid stance or enough leverage to do it. He goes down a couple steps looking for a possible position for a high kick.

  All of a sudden the door opens and the Wolf Flannigan’s bartender is staring at us. He comprehends the situation right away and lets us into the pub’s back room.

  “You guys all right? Want a drink or something?” he asks.

  “Thank you. Another time,” I say, and he and I exchange quick meaningful nods.

  *****

  Co
ming out of the pub I feel very cold. It is warm and humid outside and yet I am shaking all over. Liam puts his arms around me and holds me tight. He wants to get a cab, but I prefer to walk for a bit to clear my head and calm down. I wouldn’t even know where I would want the cabbie to drive.

  Where do I go from here?

  We walk toward South Street Seaport, go out onto the Pier, and lie down together in a plastic chaise lounge looking out to the dark water. I press in closer to Liam and put my head on his chest.

  “How did you find the location of the fight and how did you get in?” I ask him.

  “Your tattooed friend.”

  “Ah.”

  After that we are both quiet for a long while. I realize how tired I am, absolutely exhausted, and I don’t believe I would ever have enough strength to get up from this chaise. I have a strange feeling that I am to stay at this Pier forever, that I have reached a dead end.

  “Baby, listen,” Liam says and his words break the silence that has already started to seem like an eternity to me. “I have a message from Sensei for you. He says you can come back. Will you do it?”

  I think this over. Liam does not rush me. I consider my answer and all its implications with great care. Once I’ve made up my mind I know immediately that it is the only right decision for me.

  “Yes. I want to come back to the dojo and be an uchi-deshi again. Yes.”

  He does not say anything and just kisses me on the mouth and then on the tip of my nose. Suddenly the edge of this Pier does not seem like the end of the road for me anymore. I realize I am smiling. It feels strange. My facial muscles must have grown unaccustomed to this expression. I believe this is the first time I’ve smiled in a long while.

  *****

  It is almost six in the morning and I get up after a few hours of sleep. I must hurry as it is time to open the dojo for the first class of the day. My immediate thought is that I have nothing to wear for training.

  There is a knock on the door, and right away I have a chilling sensation in my stomach. In the past, a knock on this door often brought bad news or trouble. I open it, bracing myself for whatever might come. There is nobody outside, but on the doorknob I see a hanger with a gi and a black belt. Liam. I smile as I put on the traditional martial arts uniform—the pants and the jacket.

  I pick up the black belt and hold it in my hands for a few long moments. No, I can’t bring myself to wear it. It wouldn’t be right. I feel with every ounce of my being that it just won’t be the proper thing to do. I fold the black belt carefully and put it down.

  I search in the closet, and at the back of the bottom shelf I find my old white belt, which I left behind when moving out of the dojo. The belt is not exactly white anymore, because I had worn it for so many years and never washed it. Martial artists are not supposed to wash their white belts—according to an ancient tradition, with time and hard training your white belt gets darker and darker until it turns black. That’s what the black belts’ color symbolizes. And so I pick up my old “white” belt and tie it around my hips.

  I go downstairs and, when Sensei comes down, I bow and stand quiet before him. I am very nervous and not really sure what to expect. I disobeyed Sensei, betrayed his trust, and disgraced myself as a martial artist. Even though my initial motives were pure and honorable and all I wanted was to save my brother, along the way I forgot who and what I was and went against everything Sensei’d taught me. Can he really take me back to be his disciple again?

  Sensei looks me over, resting his eyes on the white belt for a moment. He does not comment on it. He understands perfectly well that I have decided to remove my black belt as a sign of repentance and start my training from the beginning.

  “You are here,” he says, his face very serious, almost severe, the corners of his mouth drawn down, “but are you truly here? Are your heart and mind open to the ways of the true Martial Arts or do the Dark Fights still have a hold on you?”

  “I am here, Sensei, truly and completely.”

  “We’ll see.” He moves his head slightly and I cannot tell if it’s a nod or a sign of doubt.

  “Well, get back on the mat then,” Sensei orders, his expression still very stern, but this time I am pretty sure I notice the corners of his mouth go up in a barely perceptible smile.

  “Yes, Sensei,” I reply and bow.

  Stepping onto the mat, my first impulse is to go to the front row, where, according to the dojo tradition, black belts sit in seiza at the beginning of the class. I realize my mistake however and hurry to one of the last rows and take my position among fellow white belts.

  As the practice begins and Sensei demonstrates the first technique, all the anxiety and uneasiness leave me. Sensei’s focused and almost stern expression—at times lit up by a quick smile—and the large number of martial artists so eager to receive a word or gesture of instruction from him, the old mats, the squeaky narrow stairs, the faded red couch upstairs, Amadeus the Homeless Guy just outside—every detail fits into an intricate mosaic that I have the privilege to call my home again.

  Now is the time to choose our training partners. Across the mat Liam’s dark eyes find mine. I bow to him and he returns the bow. We train together, keeping up a fast pace, and barely ten minutes in we are covered in sweat. Toward the end of the class our gis are soaked through and like years ago, when I’d just started at the dojo and we trained together to exhaustion, everything inside me feels at peace with everything else.

  After the final technique we bow to each other.

  Acknowledgments

  Enormous thank-yous to—

  Richard Curtis, who is simply the best and coolest agent and “cornerman” a writer could wish for.

  Yamada Sensei, to whom I bow in gratitude, respect, and admiration.

  Mike Abrams, whose instruction and friendship mean the world to me.

  Greg Gutman, whose dojo I walked into one day not believing that miracles could still happen.

  My amazing instructors, training partners, and friends.

  The wonderful, dedicated, and cool people at Blackstone Publishing.

  M, who proudly holds the title of “the most horrible man in the world” :)) and who once told me to “sit my butt down and just write.” It worked . . .

  The City of New York, my love for whom permeates every page of this book and who knows how to love back with a tough, gloomy, moody yet enchanting and captivating kind of love.