Chapter 9: Familiar; the ring; moving meditation; two could play at that game; the Way... is the Way...

Upstate New York, late December, 2016

She could hear him crunching over grass white with frost as they passed the pump-house and descended the hill. If they went all the way to the bottom, it would end at the lake, but half-way down was the one-story building that was her training school. The rising sun in the east cast its beams through a clearing in the trees onto the front doors. Jules reached for the pulls and swung them open.

Inside, they stopped at the opening and stood side-by-side. Reese watched her as Jules curled one hand into a fist against the palm of the other, with her fingers raised to the ceiling. She pushed both hands forward away from her body and bowed over them into the center of the room.

Jules motioned for Reese to do the same. Then they walked together, barefoot, over the bamboo floor, with just the light from the rising sun lighting the inside. Jules brought him to the low table where she lit a candle and with its flame she lit the tip of an incense cone from the brass dish in the center of the table. A thin wisp of smoke trailed up from the glowing end and Reese could smell the fragrance of the incense. Familiar.

California, September 10, 2001

It was Jessica's apartment. She'd had everything ready for him when he'd gone there, on leave. He remembered the pretty dress she'd worn when she came to get him at the airport, and how her face lit up when she'd caught sight of him walking down the hallway with his green duffel bag thrown over his shoulder.

That smile of hers. How many times he'd thought of her smile, and the smell of her skin, the softness of it in his hands. He wanted to tell her this time. He wanted her to know what he was thinking. He was going to be done with the Army this time; done with the Rangers, with special ops, with all the missions, everything. He was ready to leave it all behind him, and start a new life – with her. Just a few more months and he'd be done for good this time.

The ring was in his chest pocket, close to his heart.

She'd jumped in next to him in her car, while he drove them to her place. And they barely made it inside the front door, when they were all over each other, pulling clothes off, and he was backing her into her bedroom. Gauzy curtains surrounded the bed, and he remembered the smell of the incense she liked to burn when he was home there with her. He could see the thin wisp of smoke trailing up from it on the table.

He lifted her, and carried her to her bed. The smell of her skin, and the feel of it – so soft in his hands after all the roughness in his other life – he could barely believe she was real. He remembered the feeling he'd had – almost painful in his chest. This was the closest he'd ever let himself get to another human being – the most honest he'd ever been with anyone. She'd brought him to his knees, and it made an ache in him that he'd never felt before. He was going to tell her this time. And he was going to give her the ring.

Upstate New York, late December, 2016

It was cold inside the school, and they could see their breath in the air. All the extra heat from the fire back in the living room had left them now and Reese was starting to shiver as his wet shirt wicked all the heat away from his body. Jules could see him from the corner of her eye.

"If you want to get warm you'll have to work," she said in a low, even tone. Jules could see he wasn't sure what she meant; she led him to the center of the open floor, then turned herself to face him.

" Lift your hands and block for me," she said. When he started to lift his hands in front, she moved them to the right spot for him to catch her punches, and she began to strike – lightly at first – into the palms of his hands with hers. In a little while, she started to punch harder, and she could see the wincing as her sharp knuckles hit into his bare palms. She stopped for a moment and grabbed a pair of focus mitts hanging from a wall. Using those on his hands, she could punch harder, and the mitts took the worst of the sting.

As she punched, she started a rhythm with him. Over and over, using the movements of his hands and his eyes, she kept the rhythm. And in time it became almost like a moving meditation. Repetitious. Predictable. She could see it in his eyes and the way he held himself that he was falling into the rhythm – like an old memory.

After twenty minutes, she switched with him, and put the mitts on her own hands. She knew he would hold back with his force, but she encouraged him to punch into the mitts. The first ones were measured, with little force behind them, and she pushed him to punch harder, then harder.

He still held back; he thought he could knock her flat if he used enough force – so she had him move around more, and punch faster then, to get him to loosen up and warm himself. She moved her mitts around in space so that Reese had to track them with his eyes – before he could hit into them. As she did it, she could see the change come over him, a small smile like he was remembering something from a long time ago.

Rangers TCC training site, Georgia, 1999

"Reese! Denny! Go!"

The two of them stepped out from the ring of soldiers, and moved toward each other into the center. Their instructor for this part of the course stood next to them, and Reese could see Denny sizing him up. His arms bulged under his shirt, and his neck was so thick with muscle that it made his head look small. Reese could see Denny thinking: this guy is a beast.

Denny looked up at Reese and realized he'd been watching him. He grinned a wide, toothy grin at his buddy, Reese.

"Inside control is one of the most dominant positions to attack with strikes!" the instructor shouted. He stopped and raised himself even taller, strutting around in a circle, glaring at each of the soldiers in the ring.

"Reese, demonstrate inside control!" The instructor stepped back and watched Reese grab Denny, face to face, with his hands wrapping around the back of Denny's neck. He locked one hand over the other, and brought his elbows in close together in front of Denny's chest. The last step was to force Denny's head forward and downward with his hands behind Denny's neck. Inside control.

Denny was shorter than Reese, so Reese had the advantage with height, but Denny was built like a tank, square and strong. Pulling him forward like that in a real fight, with both of them fighting for dominance over the other, pummeling one another – someone had better have a strategy to end it fast. Neither one of them would want to stand toe-to-toe, pounding on each other until one of them dropped.

"Denny, demonstrate counter to inside control!"

Denny's head and upper body had bent forward under Reese's pressure. Denny swung his left arm up on top of Reese's right arm and slid his hand up the arm to his face, thrusting his palm into Reese's jaw. The motion twisted Reese's head away from Denny's outstretched left arm and disengaged Reese's hands from Denny's neck with the thrust. At the same time, Denny swung his right arm low, across the front of his body to protect himself from any incoming kick that Reese might launch. Counter to inside control.

Reese looked back at Denny, who was grinning again. He'd put a little extra into the thrust than he needed to, just to goad Reese. Well, two could play at that game. Reese smiled back.

"Switch, and do it again, from the beginning!" their instructor bellowed.

Upstate New York, late December, 2016

Kali sticks. The two of them faced each other, with one of the heavy bamboo sticks in each hand. The clack when the sticks hit together sounded loud in the empty room. Reese smiled to himself. She'd held back only for a brief time, testing him first to see how good he was with the sticks. He could hold his own, but he was no expert. Once she'd tested him with some strikes, she launched a flurry of them, stepping right into him, and it was everything he could do to defend himself. She never went past the point that he could handle, but in a real fight, he would have resorted to lethal attack.

His heart was pumping and he had started to sweat from all the effort. She'd pushed him to move and now he didn't even notice the cold. They did take-downs next, practicing some of the old grappling moves from TCC back in Georgia. And even though he was bigger and stronger, Reese found himself on the mat a lot more than he would have expected. She seemed to read his body position, how his weight was positioned over his feet, and she exploited every bit of advantage she had. And because she was so much shorter, it was actually harder to throw her or take her down. Her center of gravity was so much lower than his.

The sunlight had lifted higher and now was filling the school with bright light. They were breathing hard, smiling, almost laughing with their clinches, and counter-moves, and throws. They would grab each others' clothes, and then sense where the others' body weight was, and then try to exploit it as best they could, to jostle the other one off his feet.

On this last one, Jules let Reese grab her shoulders. All he saw was a tiny flick in her body, and then he was catapulted off her, backwards, across the floor. He stood there, mouth agape. What was that? She hadn't put a hand on him, but he was shoved like a bulldozer, backwards, away from her.

"Fa Jing," she said. He'd heard of it, but he always thought it was some kind of party trick. Nothing like this. His arms hurt from the sudden force, and his back muscles twinged.

She stood up facing him and placed one fist into the palm of her other hand, with fingers pointed to the ceiling. Reese realized that this was the end, and did the same. They both moved their hands away from their bodies a bit, and bowed over the top of them, toward each other.

Jules motioned for Reese to follow her and they returned to the low table where he watched her rub the glowing tip of the incense cone on the brass plate until it was extinguished, and then snuff the candle flame. They walked together to the door of the school, and turned, in unison, back to face the center, bowing together into the school. Then, they backed from the school, outside, into the morning air. Jules closed the doors, and swung a rope around the pulls to hold them closed.

She led the way back up the hill, past the spring-house, through the field with the tall brown stalks, and onto the lawn at the back of the house. As they got closer to the deck, they could see a familiar sight. Buddha, the feral cat, was stretched out on one of the chaise lounges, sunning himself in the morning sun. They smiled to one another. He'd dropped by, looking for a handout, and when no one had come to the back door, he'd decided to wait for them.

He lifted his head and swung his eyes to them, drowsy from his nap. The tip of his tail lifted, and slapped down on the chaise. He rolled over onto his belly and pushed himself into a long body stretch with his back legs. Jules smiled to herself. It hadn't been that long ago that Buddha would have raced off the deck into the bushes at the sight of Reese approaching.

They'd come to some kind of understanding over these few short months. Progress.

She climbed the steps and walked across the deck to the French doors and went inside, with Reese following. Buddha stretched again and then hopped down off the chaise, softly padding to the door. He sat down and stared in through the glass, waiting for his handout.

Jules pulled a bowl from the refrigerator and took a portion of the little remaining at the bottom. It was almost finished now, since she'd be heading overseas in a few more days. She popped it onto the stove in a little frying pan to take the chill off it, and then scraped it onto a small plate. The smell of it made her notice she was hungry, too. When she opened the French door, Buddha was standing up again and he backed up for her to put the plate down on the deck. She didn't try to pet him or scratch behind his ears when he was eating. She'd made that mistake before and paid for it with fang marks and scratches on her hands. Best to leave him to it.

Jules heard the shower running down the hall. Reese had jumped in while she was in the kitchen, and by the time he came out to the living room, clean and dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, she had the coffee going and breakfast started. Reese went to the fireplace, and started shoveling the cold ashes into the bucket next to the opening. He moved the white feather and the sage stick off to one side, and knelt down in front of the opening to reload the fireplace with kindling and fresh dry logs. Jules disappeared into the back of the house for her shower, and when she walked back out to the kitchen, barefoot, clean and hungry, Reese was dishing out food for her on a plate, and had her coffee ready for her. She smiled and accepted the plate, carrying hers and his to the coffee table in front of the fire. He sat down next to her a moment later with their two mugs of coffee. They both thought the same thing at the same time, and looked up at the French doors. Buddha was already gone. On to the next handout, or stalking one of the birds in the trees nearby.

They ate in silence for a little bit, and drank coffee, staring into the fire. She liked that he didn't need her to talk all the time. It was comfortable. The silence. Over these last few months she thought she had come to know Reese more deeply. There were some things they had in common. Neither of them liked to talk much.

Their code. Their sense of duty or service. Whatever it was that drove them to do what they did. It was deep inside. They just didn't need to talk about it. The familiar lines from The Book of Five Rings came to her:

You are undoubtedly familiar with men who are quiet and strong and seem to be doing nothing. They do not appear to be tense and do not appear to be in disarray. They simply appear...When it is necessary to attack, they do so with complete resolve, sure of themselves, neither over-bearing in attitude, nor with false humility.

She could sense that about him. Quiet and strong. He was every bit the Warrior that Musashi described. And perhaps, in this last visit with her, Reese had begun to feel it again.

- a master achieves the Way by being devoted to the art.

She thought of the countless hours she'd spent, training, in her own school down the hill behind her house. She'd never tired of it. In fact, it had always given her the energy, the power to do what she needed to do. Without it, she would have withered, abandoned by what Musashi called the spirit of the thing.

When Reese had stopped practicing, he had lost his connection with the spirit of the thing. And now, he was paying for it, withered inside; lost, weakened, uncertain of who he was any more.

If you are a warrior then you are a warrior and if you are not a warrior then you are not a warrior...Do not be false to yourself...

The way forward was as clear as the day around them today. She had seen it in his face. He'd remembered the feeling he'd had during his own training years ago. He'd remembered being strong then, young and capable, fierce. Everything he needed now – to find his Warrior self again. Reese needed to start his training again. That was the way he would find himself again – become the Warrior he needed to be.

The Way...is the Way...For whatever reason you have chosen to be a warrior, you must understand your responsibility to the art and to yourself. They are one and the same.

They finished their meal, and Jules drained the rest of her coffee, then sat the mug down on the coffee table. She turned herself to face him, ready now to have this conversation. She was going to tell him, now that she'd shown him in the training school, what was necessary for him to do next. She was leaving in a few days. All she could do was to lay it out for him, so he could see what she could see so clearly. But, it was up to him. He had to choose.

The Way...is the Way...