“Perhaps the young grasshopper is not prepared to make the journey,” Sensai Papadopoulos suggested.
“He is, he is,” Mike insisted, yanking on Ben’s arm. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
The Sensai nodded. “Sometimes the young duckling does not realize that the rushing waterfall is actually the stream leading home.”
“Yeah, exactly.” Mike pulled Ben close and spoke clipped terse words into his ear. “Ben, I want you to do this!”
“I don’t.”
“It could save your life!”
“My life is not going to be saved by this reject from Kung Fu: The Legend Continues.”
“Will you give him a chance? Jim used to be a cop, okay?”
Ben blinked. “He did?”
“One of the best, till he took early retirement and went into business for himself. Three-time intermural martial arts champ. Believe me, he knows his stuff.”
“Well …”
“See that sash across his waist?” Ben checked it out—a black sash with five white bands. “That’s not just a pajama tie he picked up at Sears. That’s a fifth-degree black belt.”
“Well …”
“See the embroidery on the back of his shirt?”
Ben made out the intertwined letters. AKMF. “American Kung Fu Masters Federation?”
“As it turns out, yes,” Mike answered. “But when he was on the force, we all thought it stood for Ass-Kicking Motherfucker.” His eyes darted toward Christina. “Pardon my language.”
She fluttered her eyelids. “Pretend I’m not here.”
“You get the drift? He’s good.”
“All right, all right,” Ben pushed himself free. “Relax with the strong-arm tactics. Just let me breathe for a minute.”
Mike nodded toward Sensai Papadopoulos. “Okay. I think we’re ready to begin.”
“Is the young grasshopper ready to seek the path to enlightenment and self-discovery?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mike said. “Just teach him how to deck somebody, okay?”
The Sensai bowed obediently. “Perhaps we should begin with some historical background.”
“I don’t—”
“Kung fu dates back to the fifth century B.C. It is a discipline of defense, not offense. It is a way of harmonizing with the universe, not conquering it. It was Lao-tzu, the great Taoist philosopher, who said, ‘The world is ruled by letting things take their course.’ ”
Mike interrupted. “That’s great, Jim. But let’s get on to the—”
“Lao-tzu also said, ‘When nothing is done, nothing is left undone. In the pursuit of Truth, every day something is dropped.’ ”
“Right, right, right. But our time is limited. Cut to the chase.”
Sensai Papadopoulos sighed. “That is the problem with the world today. No one wants philosophy; they just want to get on with the head-bashing.”
“Too true. But I’m only going to be able to sit on my man here so long.”
“Very well. Perhaps we should begin with the forms.”
The forms were a series of traditional postures and positions adopted by the Buddhist monks who first devised kung fu. Some forms were designed to thwart an attack; some were simply used for meditation purposes. Ben never obtained a clear sense of which was which, but it didn’t much matter, because he couldn’t do any of them.
Sensai Papadapoulos started by trying to show him the panther’s crouch.
“You must bend the knees,” he repeated, kicking Ben’s knees in the most vulnerable spots.
“They’re bent already,” Ben snapped.
“They should be bent like you are about to pounce, not like you are about to pass out. Lean back. Raise your arms.”
“What do the arms have to do with it?”
“It’s part of the form.”
“You don’t pounce with your arms.”
“I’m aware of that. But it’s part of the form.”
“I don’t see any reason—”
“It’s been done that way for twenty-five hundred years.”
“But it’s pointless. Why should I do it if it serves no purpose?”
“What are you, a lawyer or something?” The Sensai whipped his head back in time to see Mike wearily nod his head. “That explains a great deal,” he growled. “Now bend your legs.”
Ben managed to complete the form, but he looked more like a man experiencing gastrointestinal difficulties than a crouching panther. Nonetheless, Sensai Papadopoulos decided to move on.
He tried introducing some kicks, but that was even more fruitless. Ben’s kicks wouldn’t have tickled a butterfly, much less crippled an assailant. Every time Sensai Papadopoulos said “Harder,” Ben made a louder grunting noise, but the kick was no more forceful than the one before.
Two hours later, the Sensai had taken Ben through the first ten forms, and none had come out looking half like they were supposed to. Mike called the Sensai over for a brief moment of meditation.
“He’s going to walk soon,” Mike whispered. “What do you think?”
“What do I think? What do you think? He’s hardly ready for the Circle of Fighting.”
“Look, I know you’re supposed to start with the forms and all that, but he’s probably never going to practice what you’ve taught him, and he’s probably never going to come back. Couldn’t you teach him some little flip or something that might help him get out of a scrape?”
“Sure? Why not? I’m sure this is exactly what the Buddhist monks had in mind when they invented kung fu. Helping lawyers out of scrapes!”
Papadopoulos walked over to Ben, who was panting heavily and dripping with sweat. “When you enter the discipline of kung fu,” the Sensai explained, “you must forget your former judgmental concepts of good and bad. You must seek out a higher Truth. Whatever you do is an expression of your inner nature, the Original Face you wore before you were born.”
“That would be kind of a scrunched-up wrinkled face, right?”
Papadopoulos clenched his teeth. “No. But never mind. When you see danger coming toward you, you must forget good and bad, forget true and false. Act, don’t think. Uncover the Original Face.”
“And kick the hell out of ’em?”
Papadopoulos threw up his hands. “Something like that. Here, let me show you a flip.” He turned around and took Ben’s right wrist.
“A flip? What, like in the movies?”
The Sensai ignored him. “The advantage of a flip is that you can use your opponent’s greater strength to your advantage.”
“How do you know my opponent will have greater strength?”
“Just a hunch. Now look. It’s this simple. Your opponent rushes toward you. At the last sparrow’s breath before he arrives, you whirl around, grab his extended arm and, using his own velocity for momentum, flip him over your shoulder.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“It is, if you time it properly. Timing is everything. Timed properly, an insect could flip an elephant. Timed wrong, the opponent will fall on top of you and crush you like a bug.”
“Wonderful.”
“Let’s give it a try.” Papadopoulos walked to the opposite end of the studio, then began moving toward Ben in exaggerated slow-motion. “I am approaching you,” he shouted.
“I know that,” Ben replied.
“What will you do about it?” Too late—the Sensai was nose to nose with Ben.
“No, no, no!” he shouted. “You were supposed to whirl!”
“I knew I forgot something.”
“We’ll do it again. And this time, whirl!”
Sensai Papadopoulos came at him again, this time even slower than before. A few moments before he arrived, Ben whirled around. Papadopoulos thrust his arm over Ben’s shoulder and waited. And waited. And waited.
“Take my arm!” he shouted at last.
“Oh. Right.” Ben took the arm.