one this year.’
‘Well, we are,’ I said. ‘And she’s appointed me captain of her team.’
‘You’re joking,’ said Alex.
‘I’m not. And I bags Javed.’
‘Oh, no!’ Alex screamed, but he was laughing as well. He and I never played on the same side, that was one of the rules. We usually tossed a coin to see who would play on which team. So it meant that if I had Javed, Alex would be playing against him.
‘All right with you, Javed?’ I said.
‘Why not?’ he said.
‘Right,’ said Alex, with the air of someone girding his loins. ‘Who else are we going to get, Dad?’
But Dad clearly wasn’t in loin-girding mood. ‘I could have done without this,’ he said. ‘I’m going to be up to my eyes in the lab.’
‘Let Alex do it,’ said Javed. ‘Let him be your captain.’
‘Now there’s an idea,’ said Dad. ‘I always knew you weren’t just a pretty face!’
11
D AD GAVE ME A day off work. He said he had to go in anyway and he would feed and water the squirrels. Alex and I made the first batch of phone calls, rounding up our teams. Then the boys decided to practise some aikido and began to rearrange the furniture in the sitting room. I helped them gather rugs from all over the house to lay on top of the carpet and cushion their falls.
From the kitchen I could hear their scuffles, their gasps, the light thuds of their rapid feet on the rugs and the heavier thud when one of them was brought to the floor. They were spending a lot of time at aikido lately. Javed blamed his poor batting performances on his state of mind, and both of them had taken to reading philosophy to help them with their attitudes. When they took their first aikido exam back around Easter time there had been great excitement and Dad had given them the money to go into town and buy their yellow belts. They had decided, though, after long discussions, not to wear them but to stick to their old white belts instead. Showing badges of rank, Alex told me, was against their philosophy. They pursued their art as a means towards improving themselves and not to impress anyone else. Alex had quotes from the Tao Te Ching on his wall; things like ‘In his every movement a man of great virtue follows the way and the way only’, and ‘In action it is timelessness that matters’, and, my favourite, ‘It is because he does not contend that no one in the empire is in a position to contend with him.’
I made myself a cup of tea and took it into the sitting room. The boys paid me no attention, so I curled up on the sofa and watched. They neither encouraged nor discouraged spectators. If their minds were properly oriented, they said, the presence or absence of other people would make no difference to them. If they were put off by people watching it meant that desires or anxieties were intruding, and these were the most difficult opponents; not the person they were sparring with. They did not practise aikido to impress anyone.
They did impress me, though. There was a beautiful discipline about their actions. They were both shooting up like nettles on a dung heap and coming into their adolescent strength, but they had none of the awkwardness of other boys their age. The aikido kept them both as supple and graceful as dancers. In their loose white suits they looked like monks, or strange, ghostly soldiers. They floated, circling around each other silently, watching each other with expressionless faces. Then, when one of them sensed an opening, they would strike with sudden speed and power. Nine times out of ten, the other would block or resist the move with equivalent skill.
Aikido is not about punching power. It’s about using the opponent’s weight and strength against him. It requires an understanding of how the human body works. If someone aims a blow at you, first you avoid it and then, following through, you catch him off balance and use it to your own advantage. If you can get hold of an arm or leg there are subtle ways to turn
‘Well, we are,’ I said. ‘And she’s appointed me captain of her team.’
‘You’re joking,’ said Alex.
‘I’m not. And I bags Javed.’
‘Oh, no!’ Alex screamed, but he was laughing as well. He and I never played on the same side, that was one of the rules. We usually tossed a coin to see who would play on which team. So it meant that if I had Javed, Alex would be playing against him.
‘All right with you, Javed?’ I said.
‘Why not?’ he said.
‘Right,’ said Alex, with the air of someone girding his loins. ‘Who else are we going to get, Dad?’
But Dad clearly wasn’t in loin-girding mood. ‘I could have done without this,’ he said. ‘I’m going to be up to my eyes in the lab.’
‘Let Alex do it,’ said Javed. ‘Let him be your captain.’
‘Now there’s an idea,’ said Dad. ‘I always knew you weren’t just a pretty face!’
11
D AD GAVE ME A day off work. He said he had to go in anyway and he would feed and water the squirrels. Alex and I made the first batch of phone calls, rounding up our teams. Then the boys decided to practise some aikido and began to rearrange the furniture in the sitting room. I helped them gather rugs from all over the house to lay on top of the carpet and cushion their falls.
From the kitchen I could hear their scuffles, their gasps, the light thuds of their rapid feet on the rugs and the heavier thud when one of them was brought to the floor. They were spending a lot of time at aikido lately. Javed blamed his poor batting performances on his state of mind, and both of them had taken to reading philosophy to help them with their attitudes. When they took their first aikido exam back around Easter time there had been great excitement and Dad had given them the money to go into town and buy their yellow belts. They had decided, though, after long discussions, not to wear them but to stick to their old white belts instead. Showing badges of rank, Alex told me, was against their philosophy. They pursued their art as a means towards improving themselves and not to impress anyone else. Alex had quotes from the Tao Te Ching on his wall; things like ‘In his every movement a man of great virtue follows the way and the way only’, and ‘In action it is timelessness that matters’, and, my favourite, ‘It is because he does not contend that no one in the empire is in a position to contend with him.’
I made myself a cup of tea and took it into the sitting room. The boys paid me no attention, so I curled up on the sofa and watched. They neither encouraged nor discouraged spectators. If their minds were properly oriented, they said, the presence or absence of other people would make no difference to them. If they were put off by people watching it meant that desires or anxieties were intruding, and these were the most difficult opponents; not the person they were sparring with. They did not practise aikido to impress anyone.
They did impress me, though. There was a beautiful discipline about their actions. They were both shooting up like nettles on a dung heap and coming into their adolescent strength, but they had none of the awkwardness of other boys their age. The aikido kept them both as supple and graceful as dancers. In their loose white suits they looked like monks, or strange, ghostly soldiers. They floated, circling around each other silently, watching each other with expressionless faces. Then, when one of them sensed an opening, they would strike with sudden speed and power. Nine times out of ten, the other would block or resist the move with equivalent skill.
Aikido is not about punching power. It’s about using the opponent’s weight and strength against him. It requires an understanding of how the human body works. If someone aims a blow at you, first you avoid it and then, following through, you catch him off balance and use it to your own advantage. If you can get hold of an arm or leg there are subtle ways to turn
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