Venom: A Thriller in Paradise (The Thriller in Paradise Series Book 3) by Rob Swigart Page A

won’t like it, of course.”
    “What does Sammy have to do with it?” Patria asked.
    “He has to pay the bill. Already he’s complaining about the airplane ride from the Big Island. A trip to Tahiti is going to blow his budget.”
    “That alone might make it worth going,” Patria suggested with a laugh.
    “Don’t even think it,” Chazz said seriously. “I’d better go to class. Want to come watch or anything?”
    “No,” she said. “Orli and I will stay here. Look, the rain’s stopped.”
    Chazz Koenig,
yondan
in aikido,
nidan
in
iaido
, the art of sword drawing, assistant instructor at the small dojo on Kauai, bowed to his chief instructor, Shinawa Hiroshi-
shihan
, seventh
dan
master teacher.
    Shinawa allowed a thin smile to touch the corners of his lips. He had recently promoted his assistant instructor to fourth degree and was pleased. Already Chazz ran the classes while he was away, and he was more and more away recently. Certain arts he had not had time for when younger, the Way of Tea, for example, and Ikebana, now occupied much of his time. He was growing old, and certain things are appropriate for those who are growing old.
    Not that he was losing his skill. He was a small, white-haired man who weighed perhaps 150 pounds, but his thin arms contained amazing strength. His will, he would say, was strong, and the body must follow.
    “What is most important, Chazz,” he said, straightening from the bow, “is to have right
intent.
It is not enough to be strong. It is not enough to have technique, not enough to have great spirit. Your
ki
is strong, your body is strong. You have technique. You must have intent.”
    “Right mindfulness,” Chazz said.
    “Yes, yes,” Shinawa said impatiently, though he smiled his thin smile. “Right view, thought, speech, behavior. The Buddha’s teachings are still useful in this world. But what is your
intent?”
    The students were lining up along the edge of the training mat behind the two men, who did not seem to notice. Their voices were low, their heads bowed in thought. The students would settle into their own meditation before the class.
    “To protect,” Chazz said after some thought. “That’s why I took up aikido in the first place, to control my temper, to protect others. From myself as much as anyone else.”
    Again Shinawa gave his bleak smile. Chazz knew it was a sign of favor, despite the sense that he was not doing well in this little exchange. “Buddha says there are four kinds of people,” Shinawa said gently. He raised his voice slightly, so the eleven students present could hear. “Buddha says, there are those who, because they were taught the wrong things, cause themselves to suffer. They are too hard on themselves, Chazz. Worse are those who, because they are cruel, cause others to suffer. And of course there are those who cause others to suffer as well as themselves. Perhaps that is most people. Finally, there are those who cause neither themselves nor others to suffer. What is your intent?”
    “To create a world in which no one has to suffer.”
    “No!” Shinawa slammed his hand on the mat with a sharp crack. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if contemplating the insides of his eyelids. “There are three kinds of men in the world,” he said softly. “Three kinds of
people
, women as well as men. The first are those who are like letters carved in rock. They give way to their anger and hold on to their angry thoughts.” He shook his head. His sparse white hair fringed around the large, wrinkled bald area on his crown seemed to whisper with the movement. “Once you were like those people. Then there are those who are like letters carved in sand. They give in to their anger, but let their angry thoughts pass quickly away. Now, perhaps, you are like those.”
    Chazz said nothing.
    After a time Shinawa concluded. “Then there are those who are like letters written in running water. Anger and provocation pass by unnoticed. You are not