Charly looked at him and lifted her hand.
Leland bowed, then knee-walked onto the mat. He bowed to the altar—THE KAMIZA—and then slid to one side, out of the doorway, but remained seated.
Denesse stepped onto the tatami and kneeled, flipping the inner edges of his hakama back as he sat, then bowed to the front of the room, toward the altar.
Charly clapped her hands together and the people practicing stopped, knelt in seiza, facing toward Denesse, and bowed. He bowed in return, then said, “Please continue.”
Charly stood and said, “Let’s change.”
Immediately the students formed a seated line across the back of the room, lining up on the seam between one row of tatami and another. Charly gestured at one of the women, and she jumped up, moving to one side. They bowed to each other, then Charly touched her wrist. The woman took a sliding step forward and grabbed Charly’s right wrist.
Charly stepped ninety degrees to the side striking at the woman’s face with her left hand. The woman leaned back, taking her face out of range, and Charly used the same hand to cut down into the inside of the woman’s elbow while drawing her held arm back. Then she took the woman’s wrist and hand with her free hand and shot the captured wrist up, breaking the grip and taking the elbow. She brought her arms forward, extended, and then down, bending the woman over, her elbow bent down by one arm, the hand of the same arm twisted at the wrist. Then Charly stepped into the woman, toward her exposed ribs, and the woman went over, slapping the tatami hard with her free arm. Charly finished with a diagonal step away, drawing the arm toward her, and dropping to her knees, pinning the woman facedown, with pressure at the wrist and elbow.
She rolled the arm forward until the woman slapped the tatami again, hard. Charly released her and stood. They did it three more times, switching from left to right.
“Try that. Keep your arms extended. And keep your center expanded!” This last seemed to be directed at one person in particular. The students bowed and paired up, practicing the technique.
IKKYO, THE FIRST TECHNIQUE. THE BEST TECHNIQUE.
Denesse cleared his throat and pointed to the right back corner. “Go warm up. Stretch.”
Leland bowed, stood, and went to the corner. He knew some stretches from schoolyard activities, the warm-ups preceding calisthenics, but as he bent to start them, that other part of him took over, leading him systematically through a series of stretches that worked his joints from neck to toe.
His muscles and tendons screamed from some of the stretches, as they took his body in totally unaccustomed directions. From that dark place inside came surprise and dismay, a sense of betrayal. HOW DID MY BODY GET SO TIGHT?
Leland shook his head, bewildered, and continued the stretches, working for some degree of flexibility. His muscles, hardened by months of labor, felt like they were betraying him, limiting his joints’ range of motion, though he’d never been particularly flexible.
IT DOESN’T MATTER. WE’LL WORK WITH WHAT WE HAVE.
Denesse who had been watching the class, turned his head to Leland and said, “Ukemi, please.”
“Hai,” said Leland, bowing.
He took a step and leaned forward, relaxed, until his head almost touched the tatami. When his balance was gone, he threw his hip forward, swept his arm back, and rolled from his left shoulder to his right hip, slapping with his right forearm and palm, and came upright again, knee, toes, and foot. He fell backward, then, reversing the process, slapping, rolling diagonally across his back, to stand again.
What on earth? He stiffened in the middle of the next roll and banged his shoulder hard. GET OUT OF MY WAY! the inner voice said. STOP THINKING ABOUT IT—YOU’LL JUST HURT YOURSELF.
He stopped and took two deep breaths, then began again, trying to think of nothing in particular. At first, there were a few bumps, his shoulder banging the tatami, or his hip, or his elbow, but, after a few moments, his contact with the surface of the tatami was like a wheel, a smooth transition—almost a gliding—as he fell forward or backward. He went from back-rolls to back-falls, arching his back until the point of unbalance and twisting, slapping first with one arm before actually hitting, and using that torque to roll across the back before slapping again with the other arm.
Then forward falls, breaking a forward fall with a slap, arching the back, and absorbing the shock.
Leland was rather amazed and feeling pleased with his ability when the inner voice said, BARELY ADEQUATE, YOU’LL HAVE TO DO BETTER.
“That’s it,” he heard Charly say. “Stretch your backs!”
Denesse gestured to the tatami beside him and Leland knelt, to sit in seiza, The pairs of students were grasping each other’s wrists, then turning, arms overhead, until they were back to back. Then one would bend forward at the waist stretching the other across his back and hips. When they’d each taken a turn, they straightened their gis and hakama and lined back up, sitting in seiza,
Charly spoke again. “If there’s a point to today’s class, it’s extension. Please think about this.” She turned to face the front of the kamiza and sat upright for a moment, then bowed. The rest of the class, Denesse, and Leland, followed suit. Then she pivoted again and bowed specifically to Denesse who returned it, then to the class. “Thank you.”
“Domo arigato, Sensei!” the students said, bowing.
Charly stood, walked behind the line of students to where Denesse and Leland waited. “Please thank your partners,” she said, and sat beside Leland.
The students, still seated, bowed again, then, knee-walking, paired up again, bowing to each other, thanking each other, going to the next student, bowing, expressing thanks.
Then they jumped up and dashed for the far corner, where three brooms hung on pegs.
Denesse raised his voice. “I need the mat. Please sweep later.”
They looked surprised. “Yes, Sensei.” They filed out, bowing at the doorway, to the kamiza. The last one, the woman that Charly had pinned with Ikkyo, did a sitting bow to Charly and said, “Will you need your hakama folded, Sensei?”
She shook her head. “No.”
The woman bowed again and left—as she did, she stared at Leland with open curiosity.
The three of them bowed in, formally, Denesse in the spot recently occupied by Charly and Charly now beside Leland, where the students sat.
The light from the skylights was brighter now and more of the kamiza, the altar at the front of the mat, was visible. It was an inset nook holding an unlit oil lamp, an arrangement of spring flowers, a bowl of salt, a small wooden platter with three parallel stripes of dried rice, corn, and wheat grains, and a bowl of sand with incense sticks standing. Above this was a parchment scroll with an ink painting—calligraphy in Chinese, thought Leland—and a triangle above a circle above a square.
JAPANESE, BUT IT’S THE SAME.
Above the nook were two pictures in charcoal and chalk—one was of an old Asian man, balding, with a bushy goatee. The other was an old Caucasian woman with short hair and heavily etched smile lines around her eyes and mouth, though in the picture she wasn’t smiling.
The picture of the old man was expected, or at least that inner voice wasn’t surprised, but the sight of the old woman shocked him to his core. He felt numb inside, almost bludgeoned.
And he didn’t know why. THEY SHOULDN’T HAVE!
Denesse said, “Charly—Leland will be uke. Begin with variations on kokyunage from gyakuhamni katatedori.”
Charly pivoted on her knees and bowed to Leland. “‘gashimas,“ she said.
MAY I HAVE THE HONOR OF PRACTICING WITH YOU?
He bowed back and stood, still numb, operating on some strange kind of autopilot.
She stepped toward him, extending her right hand toward him. He slid forward and grabbed her wrist with his hand. She turned smoothly, pivoting on her forward foot, raising her right hand and extending it forward, toward the far wall, and then down.
Leland moved with it, tucked, rolled, slapped.
He stood, turned back to her, and took her left wrist with his right hand. She threw him again, slightly harder. Leland rolled smoothly and turned again to take her wrist.
Denesse said, “Stop.”
Charly and Leland sat.
“Charly,” he said, looking at her with a frown. “I want to know his limits. Leland needs to know them. Do you understand?”
Charly’s eyes widened. “Yes, Sensei.”
“Very well. Continue.”
They stood and, once again, Leland stepped in to take her wrist. She moved as he neared it—leading him, keeping just out of reach—his fingertips just brushing but never grasping her wrist. He accelerated and she threw him, whipping the wrist around in a small circle. He landed harder but rolled back to his feet, turned, and moved, this time taking her wrist despite her quicker movements. She slid across his front, omote, and he pivoted smoothly, flying. The next throw was harder, and the next harder still.
Part of Leland tried to pull away, was frightened to death every time this demon woman moved. RELAX, STAY LIGHT, STAY ALERT! NO! DON’T BE SO TIGHT IN THE SHOULDER. SHE’S VERY GOOD. BE THE SORT OF UKE SHE DESERVES!
He froze again and fell, hard, but stood quickly, shaking his head angrily. If I could do it before, I can do it now. Relax!
After several of these throws, Denesse called out, “Iriminage.”
Leland grabbed Charly’s wrist, she took him around, broke his grip, and grabbed the collar of his gi, forcing his torso down, then sweeping up, under the chin with her extended arm. He flipped over backward, into back-falls and back-rolls depending on the throw. She varied her execution, sometimes coming directly to his chin, sometimes pivoting, leading him around and down, then up and back. It was almost like a tango, requiring him to stay light on his feet and move with her.
He didn’t know which was harder—the falls or the ongoing internal critique.
The circles of her arms got smaller, tighter, the downward impetus shifted, became a whirlwind that sent his feet arching high overhead as his head dropped toward the ground—turning the fall from a back-roll to a break-fall.
Leland’s breathing labored, but he stood up each time, as quickly as before—to take up the attack.
Denesse stopped them five minutes later. “Catch your breath.”
Leland glanced sideways at Charly and was relieved to see she was noticeably sweating, breathing deep, measured breaths. He followed her example and soon his racing heart slowed.
“Shomenuchi,” Denesse said. “All the immobilizations.” Leland and Charly stood again and bowed to each other.
Leland attacked with an overhead strike, like a vertical sword cut or club blow.
Charly met his arm before he’d begun the downward stroke and pivoted, turning his elbow over and guiding it down. He was forced to the mat, slapping hard with his free arm, then twisting to lower that captured arm’s shoulder to the ground as quickly as possible, to take the pressure off of it. Next came Nikkyo, the second technique, a joint manipulation technique that worked against the wrist. Leland moved with it, dropping his center when Charly dropped hers, keeping the pressure off the joint.
Ikkyo, Nikkyo, Sankyo, Yonkyo, Gokyo, Kotegaeshi—immobilizations of elbow, wrist, fingers, shoulder, pins, takedowns. Leland thought his heart would explode, that the next fall would break his neck, that his wrist or elbow or shoulder would be dislocated. Inside, though, the voice kept saying RELAX—IT’S EASY IF YOU RELAX AND EXTEND.
How can I relax when you keep shouting at me?
Still, he kept rising to his feet and attacking yet again, as if he meant it, trying to connect with Charly’s forehead.
His hair was plastered to his scalp and sweat was dripping down his nose. He’d thought that he was in good physical condition after his winter and summer of manual labor, but his muscles and tendons were burning. Charly threw him—an Ikkyo projection that took him into a side roll. He came to his feet, turned to face her, and stumbled as his burning thigh muscles gave way, going to one knee and steadying himself with a hand on the tatami. He straightened then and started toward her again.
“Ma—te!” said Denesse. STOP. “Stretch your backs.”
Leland blinked and wiped his sweaty palms off on the pants of his gi. Charly seemed to shrink slightly, and the intent focus of her expression dissolved into a tired grin. She stepped forward and offered her extended arms to Leland. He bobbed his head and took her wrists, and they pivoted together until they were standing back to back with arms overhead. She bent her knees, then leaned forward, lifting him onto her back. He felt vertebrae crack and pop. Then he did the same for her.
They backed away from each other and bowed, then turned to the back of the room and straightened their gis. They lined up, seated, facing Denesse.
Denesse looked at them. “Come back the day after tomorrow, Leland. Start with Charly’s morning classes. When your body is up to it, take as many of the daily classes as possible.”
Charly bowed. “Excuse me, Sensei, but why wait? His ukemi is up to any of our classes, isn’t it?”
Denesse smiled. “Yes and no. His mind is ready—but his body won’t be, not for a while.” He gestured at Leland. “Tell her how many times you’ve practiced.”
ALL MY LIFE.
He turned to Charly and said, “I’ve never done this before.”
Charly stared at him, frowning. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m having a hard time with it myself,” he replied, “but it’s the truth.” She turned back to Denesse. “How can this be?”
Denesse said gently, “It’s not my place to explain it, kohai.”
Leland heard a sharp intake of breath from Charly. “Yes, Sensei,” she said, her voice neutral. She bowed.
Denesse looked back at Leland. “Hot baths are good.”
Leland blinked. “Yes, Sensei.”
They bowed out formally and Denesse left the room.
Charly bowed to Leland, an odd expression on her face. “Thank you very much, Leland, for the ukemi.”
“Thank you, Charly.”
She stood. Leland tried to. It took him two tries. Charly walked to the door and, much as Leland wanted to follow her, that inner thing steered him to the corner, where the brooms hung. Charly saw what he was doing and followed him.
Together, working in rows, they swept the mat.
Halfway down the hill, Charly took Leland’s rolled-up gi from him and carried it with her own bag. He was stumbling by the time they got to the crater floor and leaning on Charly by the time they passed her cottage.
She helped him sit on the low rock wall by the road, dropped their bundles, and said, “Wait right here.”
He half laughed, half groaned. “I’m not going anywhere—really.”
She trotted up the path to her house, then came back after a few minutes with another bag. “I took the liberty of bringing your spare shirt and pants.”
“Uhmm.”
“Come on—let’s go to the baths.”
Groaning prodigiously, he levered himself off the wall and onto the road. “Lay on, Macduff, And damn’d be him that first cries, ‘Hold, enough!’”
“I suggest you save your breath for walking.”
At the bathhouse she dropped him on the grass, in the sun. “It will take some time to heat the water. Rest here.”
Leland’s hip wasn’t moving right and he flopped back, facing the sky, to relieve it. “Just leave me something to read and, in the fall, bring me a blanket.”
She disappeared inside, laughing.
Leland closed his eyes. The sun’s warmth felt good and he tried to sleep, but the aches were extensive, like the worst flu he’d ever had. It was more like that than his worst beating, for the pain centered in his joints.
He tried to think about the morning, but his thoughts veered away to Laal, wondering what was happening with his brothers and sister, or what his father was doing. Don’t worry, Anthony, I’m still getting my beatings. They’re self-inflicted. br />
“Are you laughing or groaning?” Charly said, sticking her head out the window.
“Yes.”
“Ah. Well, come on in. I’m doing the wash and I need the clothes you’re wearing.”
Leland tried sitting up but his body just wasn’t letting him. He ended up rolling over, facedown, and climbing to all fours, then using the framework of the bathhouse windmill to help him to his feet.
The bathhouse was divided into the men and women’s washrooms and then a large common area divided between the soaking tub and a laundry area. A wood fire was burning briskly in the cast-iron stove that made up one side of the soaking tub. “Too bad,” Leland said, “that there aren’t hot springs down here, too.”
Charly had changed out of her clothes and was wearing a large towel wrapped around, over her breasts and hanging down to midthigh. She pointed at the men’s washing side and said, “Get out of those clothes if you want them washed.” She dipped her hand into the soaking tub. “It’s getting there—if you take your time washing, it’ll be ready when you’re rinsed.”
Leland handed his clothes out from the men’s side, then ran water from the cistern into a bucket and poured it awkwardly over his head.
“Aaaaagh!”
“A bit cold?” Charly’s voice asked from the other side of the partition. “The chimney goes up through the cistern, but it hasn’t really had time to affect it yet.”
“Tell me about it,” muttered Leland. He lathered himself down with a bar of vegetable oil soap.
“There is some geothermal warming down in the valley. It protects the crops from early frost and keeps the lake from freezing completely over in the winter. They’ve been talking about trying to drill down into the hot rock and circulate water to heat homes and greenhouses during the winter, but the drill heads would have to come from Noram and they’re very expensive.”
“What about piping it down the hill?” Leland said through chattering teeth.
“There’s barely enough for the dojo. Some winters they have to supplement with stoves.”