It was a cold night, and the man Aubry called Father was walking with the child he called his son. As they passed by one of the alleys in the area called South Central Los Angeles, both heard a scuffling sound.
The sounds and the sights, even the smells came back to Aubry clearly, closely, and he was murmuring aloud without even realizing that that was what he was doing.
“I saw him. There were three of them, attacking a woman. All of them had weapons. My father … tried to stop them. He was large. Strong. But the one that held the woman down was larger. My … father pushed him. It was a small thing, it didn’t look like much, but the man flew. He flew. My father reached out with the tip of his … walking stick.”
Old Man’s eyes widened. “Ah. He used a stick, then?”
“Yes.”
“But he did not hit the man?”
“No. I remember. He reached out slowly, and not until the stick was in contact with the second man’s body did he push. I heard a snap. The man flew away, and smashed into the wall. The man looked … very surprised.”
“Yes, I imagine that he was.”
“The third man stabbed my father, and then ran away. I tried to help him….”
Aubry shook his head, and then bowed it.
“And you have been alone since that time?”
“Yes.”
“Which of the Songs do you know?”
“Songs?” Aubry asked, mystified.
The old man closed his eyes. “Songs. We sing them to help the memory. Europeans would have written them down as books, five books of sacred knowledge, knowledge of all things external and internal. So. You do not know the correct form of the movements, and you do not know the Songs. And yet you have achieved all that you have.” He clucked, smiling. “It is a tribute both to you, and to the movement system taught you by Thomas Jai.”
He took Aubry’s hands. “I would like to welcome you home. I would be honored to complete your education.”
Aubry’s head swam. “Complete…?”
“Yes,” Old Man said. “Every movement of the Firedance has an internal component. Each has a sound. Together the sounds make up the Songs. The songs that you should have learned.”
He called out two of the youngest boys, and they flowed through the movements, each limb moving in perfect sequence, every joint rotating in perfect order. It was a miracle of motion, and their breathing shaped itself into words, into music. Into a kinetic rhapsody. It took him into another world, into a place inside himself, where colors and geometric forms danced and swayed.
“What is this?” Aubry whispered.
“We are the Ibandi. Every people on this planet has their gift to give. The Ibandi have a special gift. We have known of the arts which are called yoga, and called karate or aiki, for thousands of years. The human body has not changed. Instrumentation has changed. We developed ways of teaching our children the laws of mind and body, in a balanced matrix. Mind, body, spirit, together. None more important than the others. Thomas Jai gave you your body. He did not live to give you the keys to mind and heart.”
Aubry was entranced, bound by strands of melody, by patterns of perfectly synchronized movement. His own body twitched, responding to the deeply etched memories of that motion. Each separate sound seemed to reverberate in a different part of him. There was a high note that made his head ring like a temple bell. He was intoxicated by light.
“Today,” Old Man said, “beginning tonight, you will be given the keys of your manhood ceremony.
“Aubry Knight,” he said. “You may leave this place, and return to your world.”
“No,” Aubry said quietly.
“What? What did you say?”
Aubry’s eyes felt as if they were swelling. “I said no. I want it all.”
“You wish to claim your manhood.”
“Yes.”
“You wish to become a warrior of your tribe.”
“Yes.”
“You will let no fear, no pain, no past bitterness stand between you and your destiny.”
“No.”
“You are willing to belong first to yourself, and then to your people, and only after that to the things of the outer world?”
He swallowed, hard. “Yes.”
“Then you will join us. We will light the fire within you. You will bring that flame to the Firedance. And there you will make your choice.”