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ASBJORN LOOKED UP IN surprise. “Sure, I’ll take class today, Nell-sensei.” His form of address reflected the content of their conversation.
“But don’t you do aikido on Thursdays?” She leaned in just a little, her big eyes searching him with unabashed curiosity and her full lips turned up in a smile.
He flustered some, fighting the warmth that threatened to spread to his cheeks. “Oh sure, but karate comes first. Dud’s working overtime again?”
Nell leaned back and closed her eyes, the wan smile but a remnant of her previously careless expression. “Dud’s taking us out to dinner tonight, Stella an me.”
Asbjorn chuckled. “Oh yeah? He finally grew a pair, then?”
“Bjorn.”
He cringed at the nickname and gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, I guess he was being careful. I’d be too.”
Asbjorn knew Nell still grieved for Tiger, but it was clear she was determined to not let it hold her back. Her words, when they came, confirmed as much.
“I need to move on, Asbjorn. I’ve applied to all these research positions, and I’ll stay in the area if I can, but my chances are low. It would help not to be alone, you know.”
“You love him?” His voice was gruff.
“I did once. Tiger won. I know Dud never stopped loving me, and he does deserve that chance. We deserve that chance. Tiger wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Asbjorn remained silent, but he reached out to Nell and Stella. He felt Nell slide toward him on the sofa, and he embraced both her and the baby as he buried his face in Nell’s lush, long hair.
“Bjorn....”
His chest tightened every time he heard the familiar nickname only she and Tiger were allowed to use. He felt a hand stroke his hair and realized he had forgotten to have it cut to regulation length. Not that it mattered anymore. He was a civilian now.
“You will never lose us, no matter how far we move.”
He embraced them tighter. “I know.” He sighed. “But you’re all I have left of him.”
Nell relaxed into Asbjorn’s shoulder, making sure Stella wasn’t getting squished. “You have more than just us. You have everything he ever taught you. You have yourself – he’d poured himself into you like you were the kid brother he never had.” Her voice grew clouded and Asbjorn felt a pang of guilt for being such a burden to her, prompting her to open wounds barely scabbed over.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m being a selfish idiot right now. There’s enough on your plate as it is.” He let go of the woman and her child, but he didn’t pull away as Stella grabbed his little finger in her soft fist.
“No. It’s all good, Bjorn. Look, there is more we need to talk about.”
“Like what?” He wouldn’t meet her gaze, instead drying his eyes discreetly on the sleeve of his shirt.
“Oh, have a tissue for crying out loud. I need one too.” They laughed. “For the almost five years you were gone, Tiger and I studied under somebody quite interesting. Tiger had a will, and he left you something special.”
Asbjorn gave her a puzzled look.
“He left you his sword, Bjorn. His shinken – and he wrote specifically he’d like you to continue studying what he couldn’t teach you. There’s a little jujitsu dojo at the Watertown YMCA. It’s small, but a real gem.”
Asbjorn felt her eyes on him again, assessing, evaluating. Part of him thrilled to this voice from beyond, a postmortem connection to the man whose solid presence he missed with such keen ache. “So what will I be studying, ju-jitsu?”
“No. They also practice nitto tenshin ryu kenjutsu. ‘The art of killing with two swords.’ It’s an old, unadulterated Musashi-style sword school as taught by my current sword teacher, Ken Swift.”
“Seriously? From what I have heard in Japan, kenjutsu as such has been lost! I’ve been told nobody teaches old combat techniques anymore. Just sword draws as a theoretical discipline of the mind.” Asbjorn hazarded a tremulous smile. “That should be interesting.”
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“SEAN, HAVE YOU SEEN the news?” Casey’s voice was loud, filling the little phone with excitement.
“No, why?”
“You’re all over the media! There are videos from the demo we did, and you’re on YouTube! I Skyped my brother, and he was very impressed. Are you all right?”
Sean was stunned. “Impressed? Why?”
“Because you defeated three bad guys, one with a gun! Don’t you see? This reflects very nicely on our schools. Having an instructor who can do that is going to increase our membership a lot. Somebody even put an older video of your club up there. It’s showing you teaching.” Casey paused for breath.
“Oh.” Sean didn’t quite know what to say. He didn’t feel famous, he didn’t care for being famous, and he definitely didn’t like having his face plastered all over the Internet. “This could be bad, Casey. What about my privacy?”
“Privacy’s overrated. What you do reflects upon my brother’s school. Be glad! It’s a great honor that he can point to you and show that his techniques are such a success. Especially if that one guy survives – having him die would look bad, considering we practice a pacifist martial art.”
“Casey!” Like he had time to worry about that at this time. He didn’t want to kill anyone, but there had been a gun involved. He was glad he knocked the first two guys out.
“Oh, don’t worry. Maybe I’ll drive down for a visit after midterms.” Her voice acquired a calculating tone. “I’m sure my brother will approve.”
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“SAN-BAN-SAN jiyu kumite waza, kime. Hai-a!” Asbjorn stood at ease while scrutinizing his forty-two students with a hawkish gaze. Most of them wore white uniforms. He called out the forms in their customary order, in Japanese, and watched them execute the techniques as a group. Five sets of three, done three times on both the left and right side.
The last technique required them to balance on the left leg while the right kicked the imaginary opponent’s head. He let them stay just like that for a time, noting the wobbling and their eventual resignation to the pull of gravity.
“I expect you to have good enough balance to stand on one foot while kicking that head.” His voice carried through the gym with effortless ease. “Your standing leg’s gotta be bent. The foot you stand on’s gotta be relaxed – it’s that state of relaxed tension we’ve been talking about. Again.”
And again, and again, and again.
After making numerous corrections, Asbjorn had the class split into pairs and execute the move on an opponent. Not two minutes went by before he heard a sound of distress.
“Oww!”
“Sorry! I’m so sorry!”
He turned around and, sure enough, it was a white belt doing damage to a much more experienced brown belt. He suppressed a grin at the blood pouring down the young man’s nose. “What did you tell her to do, Ed?”
“Aggh... just... drop into the tetsui... ahhh... hips back... agggh... and aim at my face.”
“Okay, then. Go wash up in the bathroom. We’ll see if your nose’s broken. Rachel, explain what happened.”
She fixed him with a look of amazement. “It worked, Sensei!”
Asbjorn chose to ignore the waves of total adoration she cast his way. Even if he swung her way, he’d never pursue a relationship with a student. “Apparently so. But remember, ‘martial’ stands for ‘violence,’ but ‘art’ stands for ‘control.’ You got the violence part down. How about more art, eh?”
She cast her eyes down.
“Well done.”
Rachel looked at him in surprise. “What?”
“You did it right, didn’t you? Now do you understand where all that power comes from?”
Rachel didn’t reply, uncertain how to verbalize the suddenly coordinated actions of her body.
“Okay. Try it on me, but instead of hitting my nose, hit my shoulder.” Asbjorn presented himself to be struck.
She complied.
“Not bad, but don’t lean back... no... with a hammer-fist like tetsui you are practically touching your own nose with your hand... there... see how close-range it is?”
A formidable blow rocked Asbjorn’s frame.
“Yes! Like that. Again.” And again and some more, until she could embed the body mechanics into her muscle memory with ongoing practice. “Now the other side. Always train left and right simultaneously.”
Few minutes later, Asbjorn was bruised but satisfied. “Good. Now after you wipe the blood off the floor, make sure Ed has a new ice pack. If he didn’t find one, they’re in my gi bag.”
“Yes, Sensei.” She left, glee and excitement barely suppressed on her face.
Asbjorn grinned. It was always the white belts causing damage and spilling blood.
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BY THE TIME AIKIDO practice was over, Sean was both drained and relieved to be left in peace, folding his hakama. With the ties neatly aligned, crisscrossed, and knotted over the rectangular packet of fabric, he put it in his bag. Everyone was after him today, expecting explanations. His students gazed at him with worshipful eyes, hoping they would practice the very same techniques he had utilized in the alley. Fellow engineering students, who had never even noticed his existence, came out in droves.
“Hey, aren’t you that Sean Gallaway guy who beat up those thugs in the alley?”
Those words were not how Sean wished to be characterized.
Asbjorn hadn’t shown up, and it bothered him. His talented beginner didn’t seem like the sort to get all worked up over an incident like that. He emanated a curious sense of calm. Sean found, to his dismay, he didn’t even have the guy’s phone number when he thought of calling him to grab some pizza together. For now he needed to get away from the public eye and the constant pressure of the others.
Sean slipped his hoodie over a long-sleeve shirt in deference to his sweaty body and lower autumn temperatures. He slid out of the building through a seldom-used staircase and a side door. The campus was extensive, and the gym was all the way on the other side from his dorm. He stretched his legs, eager to get there.
A door of a building ahead of him opened, light spilling out of the dance studio next to the modern weight room. He saw a tall figure, its stance familiar, short hair spiked with sweat steaming in the brisk autumn air.
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“HEY, ASBJORN!”
Asbjorn turned to see Sean Gallaway struggle up the path as though weighed down by a great burden. “Hi, Sean.”
“I missed seeing you today.” Sean glanced away, his flustered expression attesting to a state of mind that provoked Asbjorn’s curiosity.
“Sorry about that. I was doing a friend a favor.” Asbjorn grimaced at his own prevarication. Being an unknown beginner in someone else’s martial arts class had been a pleasant change of pace, and his association with the karate club was still not apparent to his aikido instructor.
“Well you got to work out, at least. Say... would you like to grab some pizza? I haven’t eaten since forever.”
Asbjorn gave Sean another curious look. Yes, there was a sense of turmoil under a façade of barely controlled calm, and after practice, no less. Amused curiosity seized him along with a desire for company. “Fine. Where do we go?”
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THEY SETTLED IN A SMALL joint on Portland Street, not too far away from campus, and ordered two pizzas and a pitcher of Sam Adams with water on the side. Sean liked the closed-in feeling of their booth and the smell of melted cheese and beer in the air. The chances of being recognized were slim. With a sigh he pulled his hoodie off over his head. He saw Asbjorn lean back, seeming a bit tired around the edges and with a smear of something red along his jawline.
“Oh, what’s that, Asbjorn? Is that blood I see?” Sean pointed to the location, not quite touching.
Asbjorn inspected his hands. “Yep, I’m spattered. Better go wash up. Better be more careful.”
“What happened? Not you too?”
“Not me too, what?”
“The fight. You must be the last person who hasn’t heard.” Sean sighed. “Go wash up and then I’ll tell you.”
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CLEANED OF ED’S BLOOD, Asbjorn slid into his side of the booth. The beer had arrived and Sean poured them both a glass.
“So what’s this about a fight?” Asbjorn asked. “In my case somebody just got a nosebleed.”
Sean told him.
The two pizzas sat between them untouched. The more Asbjorn heard, the tighter his shoulders got. He reached for water instead of beer, trying to wash his scowl away. “You dumb fuck, Sean.” His voice was cold, his rage carefully suppressed.
Sean’s eyes were startled as his mouth dropped open. “W... what did you call me?”
Suddenly Asbjorn felt himself transported to a different time and place, his gaze fierce and unyielding. His shoulders seemed to have expanded, his very being taking up more than its fair share of space. That voice came out again, clipped flat, and he could almost smell the salt spray, could almost feel the undulating deck under his feet. The MIT student was gone for now, replaced by the equivalent of a drill sergeant.
Just like when one of his seamen had done something colossally stupid and dangerous.
He felt the blood roar in his ears.
“I call’d ya a dumb fuck. Whatcha tryin’ t’ do, get yerself killed by some cunt of a bag of monkey shit? What the flyin’ fuck happened to your sense of situational awareness? You’re so cock-sure of yourself, you almost got yourself fucking shot! What, has it not fucking occurred to you, in the most remote corner of yer arrogant, overbloated fucking mind, to call for fucking backup first? There was nothing wrong with your fucking phone! First you call the fucking police, then you have some fucking fun!”
Asbjorn paused for breath, focusing on a controlled exhale. He forced his shoulders back and down and cracked his neck in a vain effort to loosen up.
“Man.... I. Have. Not. Been... This fucking pissed in fucking years!”
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WAVES OF HEATED ANGER rolled off Asbjorn, pressing Sean into the vinyl seat of his booth. Sean struggled for breath. His mind was swimming at the ease with which his newest student shed his customary veneer of soft-spoken respect. Asbjorn’s deep blue eyes flashed with disapproval and rage and... and perhaps even fear.
All of that unexpected and colorful discharge was aimed at him, the prized student of Burrows-sensei, the overnight sensation, the big hero of his aikido school. And his face was now plastered all over the Internet.
Suddenly Sean didn’t see Asbjorn the aikido student or Asbjorn the physics student. He saw a former military man, fierce and unrelenting, unforgiving of errors, and absolutely lacking patience for stupid, ill-considered decisions.
“What the hell, Asbjorn. I’m your aikido sensei. What do you think gives you the right to talk to me like that?” Sean’s voice almost faltered, his scowl in place just for appearances.
“What gives me the right? You think I wanna be attending your funeral anytime soon? Fucking moron, rescued by a kid with a whiskey bottle. Do you even know how to do gun disarms? Have you ever worked against a real weapon? That ain’t no orange rubber facsimile like at the dojo, y’know.” Sean watched Asbjorn take a deep breath and reach for his beer, observing the slight tremble of Asbjorn’s hand with curious detachment.
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ASBJORN WAS ALL TOO aware of the tremor in his hand as well.
Just adrenaline.
Last thing I need is having somebody else die on me.
Fuck.
He stopped in midmotion, his beer half-lifted to his lips when he made the choice to set it down again. “Look, kid. How about we have some pizza before it gets cold, and you tell me in your own words what was going through that brilliant mind of yours as you made your decisions, and we take it from there. Okay?”
His large hand flopped two slices of sausage and onion pizza onto the cheap paper plate. He folded the two into a sandwich and bit the end off. “Pretty good.” Now a sip of his beer. “Eat, Sean.” The kid looked stunned. Offended and stunned. Perhaps a little uncertain too.
Uncertain would be a good start.
They were well into the second pizza and the beer was almost gone before Sean’s words began to weave a tale of skill, luck, and adventure.
“...so the general idea is, we who practice aikido do not attack. All you have to do is maintain your higher moral ground, and as long as you keep your one point, extend ki, and don’t attack first, you’ll always be okay.”
It sounded like the sort of a well-rehearsed speech Sean was likely to give his class every week or two. He probably used to hear it from Burrows-sensei on a regular basis. He’d probably been taught to live and breathe a doctrine of nonviolence, floating on a cloud of spiritual energy, one with the universe, free of reproach. Asbjorn worked hard to suppress a dismissive snort. His Viking forefathers had been somewhat more results-oriented.
“You seem pretty sure of what you’re sayin’.” Asbjorn took a long, cool swallow, enjoying the tingle of Cascade hops in what used to be a revolutionary microbrew and now was considered a venerable classic. “You’re sayin’ it like you know it so well, you don’t even think about it anymore. But that ain’t how it works in the real life, y’know. In real life, in real fights, there is always somebody bigger and stronger to kick your ass for you.” He took a deep breath. The edge of his anger was gone and his language was a bit more under control, too. He focused on his breath flowing in and out as he tried not to flat-out dismiss Sean’s point of view. He had heard such talk before, and he never found a way to agree with even half of it.
“That’s why aikido doesn’t rely on strength,” Sean huffed.
“Yeah, and it works real well as long as you can control how and when you get attacked. Not everyone will just charge you at your beck and call. Your style may be incompatible with the attackers’ style. Thinking you’re invincible because of some moral superiority is dangerous.” Asbjorn shoved the pitcher and beer glasses to the side, his long arm snaking out. He grabbed Sean’s pointy chin in his big hand, forcing his intent gaze at Sean as he leaned in to pull the younger man across the table. “Very dangerous. And I’d rather not see you get hurt.” As he lowered his voice, he met those soft brown eyes with all the seriousness he could muster, absent-mindedly stroking his thumb over Sean’s jawline, and then he flinched his hand away from the soft, stubbled skin now heated by a rising blush.
“So what do you suggest?” Sean asked.
“Study other styles. Enrich your repertoire. Learn how to punch, for crissake.”
“I know how to punch.”
“No. You don’t.”
The argument would have gone on, their now quiet and calmed tones hissing across the table in disagreement lubricated by an occasional swallow of ale, if it were not for three guys who walked in for a late study break.
“Sensei!”
Both Asbjorn and Sean turned toward the voice, but it was Asbjorn who responded. “Hey guys. What are you doing up this late?” Asbjorn felt Sean’s eyes on him. “Come slide right in. This is Sean Gallaway, the aikido sensei. Introduce yourselves, will you?” Asbjorn looked from his students to Sean, noting the surprise in his eyes. “I... ah... let me slip out to the bathroom for a minute.”
Asbjorn walked away, ready to dispose of some beer and hoping beyond hope his students would treat Sean with a measure of courtesy.
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SEAN WAS SILENT ON the way back. So Asbjorn Lund was the new karate club president. He also seemed considerably richer in world experience than met the eye. And that one time, when Sean had watched baby Stella and Asbjorn had come over, looking like a lost soul who took comfort in stolen baby kisses.... James “Tiger” Thorpe had been his sensei, then, and he had died.
Sean thought of how he’d feel if Burrows-sensei had the ill grace to kill himself in an accident, and felt his stomach flip in an uncertain effort to realign itself with the gravitational field. Asbjorn was likely devastated. He just pretended to bear it with a stiff upper lip, carrying on.
It all tied together with what Sean found out about James Thorpe. He felt his heart soften with a sudden desire to take Asbjorn’s pain away, all the while knowing there wasn’t much he could say to make it all better.
Their footsteps struck the chill concrete in an even rhythm, their way illuminated by the orange sodium lights filtering through the almost leafless sycamore trees.
“Look, I should’ve introduced myself properly, but it was my understanding that the relationship between our two dojos wasn’t exactly warm. I came to check you out and I liked what I saw.” Sean heard a pang of regret in Asbjorn’s voice.
They walked another half a block before Sean found his voice. “Why didn’t you say anything later?”
“It seemed like a shame to ruin a good thing. Besides, I kinda enjoyed being the unknown beginner. It’s refreshing to have to set everything you know aside and just learn, you know?”
Sean didn’t know. He never tried it. Burrows-sensei disapproved of messing with other martial arts. “Contaminating aikido by other arts would make it too easy to resort to violence,” he said, repeating the word he heard so many times. “If you are defending yourself, and if your timing is right and you keep the principles in mind, all you have to do is trust the technique to work.”
The response to his rehearsed words was action.
Strong arms on his biceps.
Hip against his hip.
Asbjorn pushed him roughly against the brick wall of the building next to them.
“Do something, Sean.” Asbjorn’s voice was calm.
Sean was pinned – he curled his wrists in and attempted to raise his arms, but with his hips immobilized, it was impossible to use his whole body, and he could not simply curl a man like Asbjorn. Frustrated, he stomped on Asbjorn’s foot.
Asbjorn smiled. “Sometimes your style will be incompatible with the style of somebody else. You can also be smaller or physically weaker.”
The stubborn set of Sean’s jaw told Asbjorn he tried to resist the impending feeling of humiliation and defeat. Sean said, “You’re saying there’s nothing I can do.”
“No. I’m saying you have to learn a few dirty tricks.”
“I can’t use my hands.”
“You can use your head, though. I’m close enough for a head-butt. If you hit my nose with your forehead, I’ll let go right quick.”
Asbjorn loosened his grip on Sean’s arms and slid his large hands onto the rough surface by Sean’s head. He kept his hips pressed forward, his face buried in Sean’s hair, and seemed disinclined to move. “Sean.” Asbjorn’s voice was but a whisper.
“What are you doing?”
There was a pause before Asbjorn broke the silence. “I’m wondering that myself.”
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SEAN FELT ASBJORN’S breath in his hair and shuddered at the unexpected sensation. He lifted his head, scraping his cheek across the stubble of Asbjorn’s chin. “We should go,” he said in a quiet, breathy voice near Asbjorn’s ear, and felt Asbjorn’s weight lean into him some more.
Long fingers slipped through his hair with a measure of hesitation and slid down Sean’s neck as Asbjorn backed away, restoring Sean’s personal space. “Yeah. Let me walk you to your place.” Asbjorn’s voice was but a quiet rasp.
“I can walk myself.”
“Not until you’ve got a few surprises up your sleeve. Not with that nut on the loose.”
Sean glanced at Asbjorn, unnerved by his grim tone. “How likely is it, you think?” There was no need to mention the third attacker, nor his gun.
“Dunno. But you prepare for what could happen, not for what’s likely to happen.”