Not
London
, though–getting past midnight in
London
.
Sometimes I'd just jump my dingy down to
Bahia
Cha–cacual, a bay twenty miles west of La Crucecita, and I'd skin–dive for my supper, lobster or fish, cooked on the beach with limes and peppers.
Then home to Hole and hearth and up again, pick up my laundry and repeat as needed.
After six months, Sensei Patel said I could come to evening adult classes. They tested me for nikkyu, low brown belt, after that and I passed, barely.
Didn't really like forms, the kata. Didn't see the point, so I didn't practice them as much as I should.
"Well, then," said Sensei Patel when I expressed this opinion, "you're a right git, aren'tcha?"
He sat me down on the floor and said, "Watch."
He did the first two steps of Heian Shodan, a lower block and a stepping midlevel punch. He paused between the block and the punch. "That's how you do it. Now, come here and attack me. Front kick."
I got up and did my best kick. He blocked it to the side with the lower block and the knuckles of his fist brushed my nose and I fell backward, overbalanced. Hadn't even seen him step in but he had. For the barest second, I wondered if he'd jumped.
"How do you think I learned that? Made it mine? It wasn't from sparring. Now–watch." He did the whole kata, but this time there was a different rhythm and intensity to it. Block–punch, block–block–punch. He didn't even move that fast but everything flowed from one to the other.
"You want to spar better, you get on with your katas, eh?" He tapped me on the forehead. "Use a little imagination. You think you're out here by yourself but that's not what it's about. Enemies surround you. Start acting like it."
Ouch.
Every couple of months I'd give Sam a call, using a pay phone. I'd talk in Spanish and ask for Carlotta or Rosa or any of a bunch of different names. If he said tienes el numero in–correcto and hung up, we'd meet the next day down the road from the Texaco, on a rise where you could see for miles. If he said, "No la conozco," I'd have to postpone–he couldn't make it the next day or he felt like it wasn't safe.
But this time it was okay and Consuelo and he sat on their folding chairs and I perched on the tailgate and we ate a nice curry and spoke in Spanish.
"Alejandra is coming home," Consuelo said. "She said to tell you she misses the chupulinesP She smiled briefly but she was clearly worried.
"Is the bellman from the Villa Blanca still around?" "Oh, yes. Mateo buys drinks in the bars for my relatives. He's been letting Rodrigo use his car in the afternoon to drive around the girls."
"jEstupido! Did no one tell him?" I wanted to go slap Rodrigo around. This stung. I thought he was my friend.
Sam shrugged. "Tell him what? Anything Rodrigo knows Mateo can find out from anyone. Someone tells Rodrigo don't talk to Mateo and suddenly Rodrigo does have a secret. Leave well enough alone. It won't last. Rodrigo's mother is forbidding it–he doesn't have his license–and she told him she'll have cousin Paco arrest him if he doesn't listen."
"He never listens," I said. "What about Alejandra? I'm worried."
Consuelo sighed. "She misses her family. And she broke up with her boyfriend, the Dominican."
"I could – "
"What?" Sam said. "You could show up and give them a reason to bother her?"
I dropped off the tailgate and kicked a rock. It flew over the edge of the hilltop, then crashed through the mesquite and cholla. My big toe throbbed and I tried not to limp as I stepped back to the tailgate.
"Right. What about you guys? You think this is safe?" I waved my hand around at the empty hillside. The highway was seven miles south of us and the dirt road running out to the hilltop was clearly visible and empty, a thin straight line that didn't bend until it hit the bottom of the ridge.
Sam shrugged. "As safe as it gets without no contact."
Consuelo shook her finger at me. "You are not a jaguar to live alone and solitary. It is unhealthy."
London
, though–getting past midnight in
London
.
Sometimes I'd just jump my dingy down to
Bahia
Cha–cacual, a bay twenty miles west of La Crucecita, and I'd skin–dive for my supper, lobster or fish, cooked on the beach with limes and peppers.
Then home to Hole and hearth and up again, pick up my laundry and repeat as needed.
After six months, Sensei Patel said I could come to evening adult classes. They tested me for nikkyu, low brown belt, after that and I passed, barely.
Didn't really like forms, the kata. Didn't see the point, so I didn't practice them as much as I should.
"Well, then," said Sensei Patel when I expressed this opinion, "you're a right git, aren'tcha?"
He sat me down on the floor and said, "Watch."
He did the first two steps of Heian Shodan, a lower block and a stepping midlevel punch. He paused between the block and the punch. "That's how you do it. Now, come here and attack me. Front kick."
I got up and did my best kick. He blocked it to the side with the lower block and the knuckles of his fist brushed my nose and I fell backward, overbalanced. Hadn't even seen him step in but he had. For the barest second, I wondered if he'd jumped.
"How do you think I learned that? Made it mine? It wasn't from sparring. Now–watch." He did the whole kata, but this time there was a different rhythm and intensity to it. Block–punch, block–block–punch. He didn't even move that fast but everything flowed from one to the other.
"You want to spar better, you get on with your katas, eh?" He tapped me on the forehead. "Use a little imagination. You think you're out here by yourself but that's not what it's about. Enemies surround you. Start acting like it."
Ouch.
Every couple of months I'd give Sam a call, using a pay phone. I'd talk in Spanish and ask for Carlotta or Rosa or any of a bunch of different names. If he said tienes el numero in–correcto and hung up, we'd meet the next day down the road from the Texaco, on a rise where you could see for miles. If he said, "No la conozco," I'd have to postpone–he couldn't make it the next day or he felt like it wasn't safe.
But this time it was okay and Consuelo and he sat on their folding chairs and I perched on the tailgate and we ate a nice curry and spoke in Spanish.
"Alejandra is coming home," Consuelo said. "She said to tell you she misses the chupulinesP She smiled briefly but she was clearly worried.
"Is the bellman from the Villa Blanca still around?" "Oh, yes. Mateo buys drinks in the bars for my relatives. He's been letting Rodrigo use his car in the afternoon to drive around the girls."
"jEstupido! Did no one tell him?" I wanted to go slap Rodrigo around. This stung. I thought he was my friend.
Sam shrugged. "Tell him what? Anything Rodrigo knows Mateo can find out from anyone. Someone tells Rodrigo don't talk to Mateo and suddenly Rodrigo does have a secret. Leave well enough alone. It won't last. Rodrigo's mother is forbidding it–he doesn't have his license–and she told him she'll have cousin Paco arrest him if he doesn't listen."
"He never listens," I said. "What about Alejandra? I'm worried."
Consuelo sighed. "She misses her family. And she broke up with her boyfriend, the Dominican."
"I could – "
"What?" Sam said. "You could show up and give them a reason to bother her?"
I dropped off the tailgate and kicked a rock. It flew over the edge of the hilltop, then crashed through the mesquite and cholla. My big toe throbbed and I tried not to limp as I stepped back to the tailgate.
"Right. What about you guys? You think this is safe?" I waved my hand around at the empty hillside. The highway was seven miles south of us and the dirt road running out to the hilltop was clearly visible and empty, a thin straight line that didn't bend until it hit the bottom of the ridge.
Sam shrugged. "As safe as it gets without no contact."
Consuelo shook her finger at me. "You are not a jaguar to live alone and solitary. It is unhealthy."
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