Sleep eluding him, Johnny paced the apartment irritably, still stung by the appalling debacle of the previous evening. He needed to move and his body craved challenging exercise, wanted to sweat, to work hard at something physical. Being trapped indoors, doing calisthenics inside his apartment, and running up and down the stairs for aerobic exercise bored him beyond belief. One of his deepest desires centered on running outside again. He sorely missed the feel of the wind and sun on his face, the rhythm of running, and the meditation-in-motion state that some people called 'the runner's high.' The problem lay in his fear of being outside, alone, exposed, in the open. He hated feeling so damned afraid all the time.
Angry now, he decided to take charge. Hadn't he just spent the night walking the streets? Surely he could run outside again. Yanking open the dresser drawer, he grabbed out a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt. As he pulled them on, he felt strangely naked. He furiously shoved the feeling aside and reached into the closet for his running shoes. Shocked, he stared aghast at the shoes in his hands. How could he not have noticed the blood stains on them before? He flung them away as if they were poisonous snakes. If he had just run a 50-yard dash in six seconds flat, his breathing would be no faster. His knees gave way and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed. He gagged. No! He refused to vomit again! He sat very still until the nausea subsided. Shivering now, he hugged himself, rocking back and forth. With trembling hands, he wrapped himself in a blanket and curled up into a small ball on the bed, eyes dry, lying there for a long time before falling asleep.
In the early afternoon, he awoke, feeling better after the short sleep, and stretching the kinks out of his back, he pondered what to do. He really did need to get some form of exercise, but obviously running wasn't going to be it. He decided to go back to the place that he had seen a couple of shifts ago, the martial arts studio near the butcher's shop. Decision made, he bounded out of the bed to take a shower. On the way there, he scooped up the running shoes and dropped them into the rubbish bin.
He sat cross-legged on the floor near the door, watching the class that was already in progress.
"Ichi!" The group stepped forward in unison with their right foot, knee bent at almost a ninety-degree angle, left leg locked behind. At the same time, their left fists thrust forward from the hip, the heavy fabric of the uniform sleeve making an audible snap.
"Ni!" Repeating the movements on the opposite side, this time the students smoothly slid the left foot past the right foot before stepping out with the left leg bent and punching with the right fist. The movement was low and fluid, with the head remaining on the same level throughout. The speed and power of the graceful, yet crisply defined motion mesmerized Johnny.
"San! Shi! Go! Roku! Shichi! Hachi! Kyu! Ju!" The group moved forward one step as the teacher called out each command.
"Kiai!" A loud, visceral cry filled the room as they completed the sequence.
Johnny continued to watch the class for an hour and a half, apparently having arrived just as it began. While he observed, the students continued to perform several more line drills and then they did something called 'kata,' which were choreographed sequences of steps, blocks, kicks and punches. The teacher, whom the students called 'sensei,' explained what each of the movements meant and the purpose behind it.
Next, the students paired off for 'kumite,' or sparring. The students placed mats on the floor before they began, and they wore special knuckle pads on their hands. He had seen them doing this before, when he was watching through the window while Roy inspected the butcher's shop.
Lastly, they brought out various weapons for 'kobudo' practice. The precise movements appeared both dangerous and beautiful as the long, wooden bo cut through the air with a low whoosh and the three-pronged metallic sai clashed together.
The class ended with the students kneeling and bowing respectfully to the sensei. Both the physical workout the class seemed to afford and the quiet dignity and strength displayed by all the participants, from child to adult, impressed Johnny. This was something he desired and needed.
After the class ended, one of the female black belts approached him. Johnny had not failed to notice that she was a very attractive woman, and he had been mostly watching her throughout the class. She knelt down on the floor in front of where he sat and smiled. "Hello. My name is Midori Ishii. Are you interested in studying karate?"
Johnny smiled in return. "My name is John Gage. I don't know anything about it. Is that what this is?"
"Hai. This dojo... this school belongs to my father, Ishii Sensei. Shito-ryu is an Okinawan style of karate."
"Well, this is amazing. I've never seen anything like it."
"Would you like to study? Come, I'll introduce you to my father." Midori rose gracefully from the floor. Johnny lurched upward without any noticeable grace, stiff from sitting on the floor so long.
Midori led him over to a short man who looked to be in his fifties. They waited silently and respectfully while the sensei finished a conversation with another student. Johnny noticed that the student bowed to the sensei before leaving. When Midori introduced Johnny to her father, he attempted to execute a similar bow.
Ishii Sensei bowed in return, a pleased smile upon his lips. They talked for a while about the class, with Midori serving as translator. Then Ishii Sensei raised his hands and asked, "I look eyes, please?" Startled, Johnny agreed. The sensei placed his hands on the sides of Johnny's face and tilted his head one way and then another. Still holding Johnny's face, the man requested, "Stick tongue, please." Johnny complied, feeling vaguely foolish. "Hold hands, please." The sensei examined Johnny's nail beds and then grasped his hands in a surprisingly strong grip. The man closed his eyes, holding on for several excruciatingly long minutes. Just when Johnny thought he could no longer stand it, the sensei opened his eyes, releasing Johnny's hands and stating abruptly, "Ki no good. Need more yin. Karate balance ki. Help you." Johnny vaguely remembered hearing something about ki somewhere before. He thought it meant energy or life force. "You come tomorrow. We begin."
"I have to work tomorrow. Could I come the next day?"
"Hai."
Johnny smiled with relief and agreed to return the next day. He bowed once more, bidding the sensei farewell.
Midori accompanied him to the door of the dojo. "How tall are you?"
"Six-one."
"I'll have a gi for you when you come. Wear shorts and a T-shirt. You can put the gi on over the top of them. Class begins at four o'clock."
"Gi?"
She indicated her white outfit with a wave of her hands. "Gi is what we call our uniform."
"Thank you, Midori. I'll see you the day after tomorrow."
Johnny landed flat on his back, the air leaving his lungs with a grunt, but managed to keep his head off the floor. He blinked up at Midori standing over him.
"You did a good job of not hitting your head. Now, watch this," she instructed, falling backwards and striking the mat with her arms. "When you slap the mat, palms down, it distributes the weight from your fall, and keeps you from losing your breath. Okay, you try."
Johnny gamely got to his feet again, and fell back into the mat, this time executing the slap. It did feel much better, and he grinned.
"Good. Again."
He repeated the exercise several times, until Midori seemed satisfied. "Okay. Now we are ready to practice the sparring techniques we worked on earlier. You stand here. First we bow to each other. Then, when you hear 'yame,' we stop. Understand?"
"Hai."
"Yoi. Bow. Hajime."
The two slowly circled each other in sparring stance. Midori flowed around Johnny's movements, with a springing, darting step. Although he stood a foot taller than the diminutive instructor and his reach was longer, she moved more quickly, her low stance giving her the balance and strength to move in and out with agility and to shift direction seemingly without effort. She managed to tag him time after time.
"Don't think punch! Think pull! Pull back even faster than you strike out! Pull back all the way, you're stopping too soon... You're leaning. That puts you off balance... Keep your spine straight and your knees bent." Midori offered corrective comments as they practiced. Suddenly, she decisively swept his back foot out from under him, and he hit the mat with a whump.
"Yame!" Ishii Sensei's voice rang out across the dojo.
Midori extended a hand to Johnny as he got to his feet. The two bowed to each other and then began to help roll up the mats.
After class Midori stopped to talk with Johnny. "How did you like the class?"
"I liked it a lot. It's a really good workout."
Midori laughed. "Yes, for everyone, new students and black belts, too. We work very hard in class. Shiatsu helps when we are really sore."
"Shiatsu? That's… uh… I've heard that word before."
"It's the Japanese art of applying pressure along the meridians of the body to improve the flow of ki and restore the harmony of the body, mind and spirit. I practice shiatsu, as does my father. He is a master healer."
"I have a friend who knows a little about shiatsu. It sounded interesting."
Midori smiled. "Maybe I can teach you that, too."
Johnny's answering smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He seriously doubted that the young woman would want to spend any time with him.
Ishii Sensei approached the two and said something in Japanese to his daughter. Turning to Johnny, she said, "I have to teach the next class. My father says he wants to teach you mokuso. How to meditate. Go with him now."
"Come." Ishii Sensei took Johnny into a smaller room off the main floor of the dojo.
"Sit. Like so." The sensei sat on his knees and indicated that Johnny should do the same.
"You know mokuso? Meditate?"
"Uh, no."
"I teach you. Help balance ki. Close eyes. Breathe nose. Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Breathe mouth. Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Make noise. From here." The Sensei placed a hand on Johnny's belly. "Hai. Focus breath. Be breath. Not do. Be."
Johnny tried to follow the Sensei's instructions. They meditated for only ten minutes, but still Johnny's legs had fallen asleep and his mind had wandered constantly. He always thought that meditating involved letting your mind run free and just relaxing. The enormous concentration required surprised him and pulling his legs out from under him, he rubbed them vigorously, trying to restore the circulation.
"Meditation good. Help balance ki. You practice every day. No can sit like that, sit like this." Ishii Sensei sat cross-legged. "Try every day. Hai?"
"Hai," replied Johnny.