Reboot

I started teaching Aikido to the kids like I had done at the holiday village. A regular class twice a week. They enjoyed it and it gave me something to do other than build stuff and plan parties. I’d been practicing it half-heartedly all my life. I’ve always liked the way Aikido “looks”. The fluid movements, the gentlemanly cool demeanor. It’s like a dance. I wasn’t very advanced, but that didn’t matter. I knew enough. I knew that hitting someone is a dumb thing to do. It hurts. I learned that when I hit a boy in a school bus when I was a kid. It was an inevitable meeting that had been orchestrated by a supporting cast of peers who had endlessly egged both of us into a confrontation. Funny enough, we became friends afterward and dropped the “peers”. I learned then that if you strike a glancing blow, you’ll probably break a finger or two and won’t cause any damage. All I managed to do was to cave in my pinkie knuckle. It stayed tender for weeks and the other kid was perfectly fine. Better to catch an incoming fist and follow through to control your opponent’s momentum straight into a nearby wall. Aikido teaches how to do that. I learned to get rid of the fear and look for that incoming blow as a sort of challenge. Catch it. See it first of course, and then catch it. And then use it - hard. You want the other guy to think twice about coming back.

William watched once in a while. Some of the kids would go sit with him. They really liked him. He still didn’t talk much, he seemed to have something weighing down hard on him, but he was a stable, secure, safe bet. Like a big, hairy, scarred, soft blanket.

I started with just a couple of kids after school and it quickly grew to about fifteen students. I liked teaching it. It gave me the opportunity to go over everything I’d forgotten. I got to know the kids better too. We practiced in a clearing near the camp. Teaching is a great way to learn, so I got better also.

One day, out of the blue, William volunteered. I thought to myself that maybe he was finally warming up to me. So I was happy about that, but this was a big guy, twenty centimeters taller than I am and certainly twenty kilos heavier with fists the size of watermelons. There was nothing soft on that man. Like a tree. But it was his quiet confidence that was upsetting. He stood in front of me with the tiniest of smiles and a readiness… Like Miyagi in “The Karate Kid”, except twice the size.

“Come at me,” I said nervously. “At my neck.”

“Ok,” he says.

So he did. And I flattened him softly on the ground, or I should say he let me flatten him softly on the ground with a first level hip throw.

Oof. Relief.

I smiled nervously at the kids, cleared my throat and I said, “Did you all get that?”

“YEEESS! He slowly and smoothly got back up. Like a cat.

“Now you come at me,” he said.

“YEEAAAAAYYYY!

(Oh- ooohh..)

“No worries.”

I figured, what the hell, if the kids liked him, so should I. So I did the same. I went for his neck and he put me down the same way, gently like. But, oh my… soo easy and practiced; smooth, like “butta”.

“OLÉÉÉ!” yelled my kids.

OK, fine. I started warming up to this. I wanted to test him so I went up a level. We did a few practice swings, outside body drop throws, hip throws, shoulder throws. All easy for him. It was clear to me that he was familiar with everything I knew. He was much better trained than I was. The children enjoyed the show tremendously. William often smiled at them.

He seemed to know what I was going to do before I did. But he didn’t take advantage. He just did his part in the play. William was very technical, more advanced than I was, for sure, and in multiple disciplines, but I thought I might have a chance if I got creative, mixed it up a bit. I’d have to study his technique, try to find a way in. I had time.

The main goal in any fighting style is to avoid getting wrapped up. You don’t want the other guy to get a grip on you because then it turns into an MMA style brawl. You end up on the ground with the guy sitting on your chest swinging at your face. Or worse, face down in the mud. So stay away so you don’t get grabbed and get the job done fast. And keep your balance at all cost. Anticipate.

Most fighting styles take advantage of an off balance opponent. So if you take a big swing that carries you forward, a talented fighter will use your momentum and you’ll end up smelling dirt. I couldn’t do that with William. I could see his swings before they happened, but he didn’t lose his balance so I couldn’t throw him unless he wanted me to do it as a teaching tool for the kids. To get him off balance, I’d have to surprise him.

He warmed up to these daily training sessions. He showed up every day and we had our little demonstrations. I was learning quickly. I was faster. He still didn’t talk much. Not to me anyway. After a while, he started to have hilarious conversations with the kids. He told stories and they laughed. It flustered me, I admit.

Every time I got tossed, they all screamed “OLÉÉÉÉ!” It became a “thing”. You could hear it all over the island. It was very good for morale. When I got thrown, the kids screamed, and every adult on the island smiled together, no matter what they were doing at the time. They’d look up at each other and someone might say something like, “There goes Robert again. Oh dear, I hope William doesn’t break him.”

Indeed, my back was complaining and I’d go home a bit crooked every day after the training.

One day after training he said, “Let’s do this again tomorrow morning ok?”

There was no scheduled training tomorrow morning.

“Just the two of us?” I gulped.

“Yes.” And he walked off not waiting for an answer.

When I showed up the next day, he was already there doing a type of Tai Chi Yoga, I guessed. He didn’t say anything, so I copied him. I could follow pretty easily because of my previous dabble with Tai Chi. It was very calming and great exercise. It became a regular thing. We’d do that for about an hour, and then he would teach me more basics, new techniques, every day. And the level of training went way up, very quickly.

I started to get a feel for his timing. For example he’d usually let loose a straightforward kick to my sternum after trying a quick right-left combination.

One day, I waited for it.

And, predictably, it happened. I caught his leg, and pushed it to the right as hard as I could. Now he was off balance and finally I could toss him. Up he went. During his trip through the air, there was nothing he or I could do but wait till he hit the ground. Nothing I could do but hope he wouldn’t hold a grudge. I had very little control over the outcome of his trajectory, so as he was falling, I was hoping he wouldn’t get hurt. You could fall on your neck and well, you never know...

But no, he fell a bit awkwardly on his shoulders, saved his neck, and rolled back to a kneeling position. He sat there for a while smiling at me, dirt in his face, leaves in his hair.

“It’s about time,” he said. “I practically telegraphed that kick for you. But well done, well done indeed. You learn fast. Nimble, dexterous. Good progress.”

I breathed out. “You knew I was going to do that?”

“Sure. Well I was hoping you’d catch on. And you did. Rather expeditiously, I might add.”

As we walked back to the compound he finally opened up a little bit. We talked about throws and small details to look for.

“I have years more training than you, and I’ve used it on the field in real situations, but you have a talent for it. A natural instinct. Did you know that?” He looked at me with a sincere curiosity that scared me a little bit. It was very intimate.

I shook my head.

“It’ll be interesting to see how good you can get. But you’ll have to work hard.” He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled.

I think that was the time when we officially became friends.

We walked some more and then I had to ask, “William. Please. I have to know. Tell me about the damn shark.”

“Ah yes, the shark. He brushed by me; that’s how I got the bruise, their skin is really abrasive like sandpaper. It hurt.”

“I believe you.”

“Then he came back at me so I punched it in the nose. It’s common knowledge that they don’t like that, you know.” He said this as if he was discussing how he painted his kitchen.

One look at William’s hands and I had no doubt that hitting anything with those clubs could cause great damage, so it wasn’t a joke. There was a shark somewhere with a heck of a headache.