And inwardly, Mike Edwards cursed. He had hoped that the other, full of alcohol, and full in the eyes of is compatriots, would go berserk and charge heedlessly. But, it could be seen, Vovo did not underestimate a foe, no matter how much smaller the foe. Mike had few illusions; if the powerful Russkie ever got his hands on him, he was sunk. The man was a giant and except for that ring of lard about the back of his neck, there wasn't an ounce of fat on him.
Mike fell into the Kokutsu-dachi , layout position, his right foot forward with toes pointing straight forward and knees slightly bent, carrying about 30 percent of his body weight. The left leg carried about seventy percent. The rear leg knee was bent as much as possible, with the toes pointed outward and forward. It was' his favorite defensive karate position.
The Cossack wrestling champion came in quick this time. He knew good and well that if he could get his hands on Mike, get him down on the floor, it would all be over in a matter of moments.
Mike's mind was spinning. The other moved much too fast for a man of his size. And he was obviously cool in combat. Mike was going to have to come up with something really devastating. In the long run, if he allowed it to become a long run, the other would have him.
He decided on the Ninth Kata, when Vovo threw a right punch. He grabbed the Cossack's wrist with his left hand, walked around and grabbed the other's right shoulder with his right hand, slamming Vovo's chin with an elbow punch. Simultaneously, he moved in quickly with his right foot to come around to the Russian's right side rear legs. With his own right foot he kicked forward and then quickly backwards against the other's rear leg, knocking him to the floor. He didn't release the other's right hand wrist as he hit the flooring but held him and gave him a right foot heel stamp across the solar plexus as he held him to the floor.
He came down quickly and with his right hand chopped down to the Russkie's adams apple, once again holding the punch. It was possible to kill, at this point.
Vovo was attempting to roll out and Mike had to exert his full strength.
Still holding his hand wrist lock, he knelt down on the floor on his left knee on the right side of his opponent. With his right knee raised off the floor, he brought his left hand wrist lock that he was still holding and lay it across the top of his right knee. He was now in a position to push the left hand wrist lock downward and with his right hand pull up the upper arm, thus breaking Vovo's arm.
He couldn't do it.
And then something hit him. What, he never found out.
When he regained consciousness, it was to find himself on the floor, his head in Vovo's lap, the emotional Cossack crying.
Several score others seemed to be packed around. Somewhere he could hear Nick Galushko yelling angrily. And then Mike got it. His tablemate was yelling for a doctor.
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Mike shook his head blearily. He still didn't know what had happened. He sucked in air and said up into the Cossack's face, "You won."
The other shook his head, still tearfully. "I am no fool. Twice you could have finished me. Very seriously finished me. And you are a smaller man. You should have finished me when you had the chance."
For the first time, Mike noticed that Catherina, her breasts complete free of her bodice, was on her knees on the other side of him.
Mike said, "Let me up. Holy smokes, I'll probably get sacked by my company for this display." He staggered to his feet, still wobbly. What in the hell had the damn Russian hit him with, a table?
Vovo said, with uncharacteristic, sober decisiveness, "Not if the signature of every member of this vacation tour means anything."
Catherina said, "Come over here and sit down."
"I'm all right," Mike said, in self disgust.
But they led him to the table. The other Russkies dropped away to their own places. On the way to the table, supporting Mike with one arm, Vovo snagged another bottle of champagne from a friend's table.
He got Mike back into his chair, pulled up another one and sat himself down, looking anxiously at the tourist guide.
As Catherina, Ana and Nick took their own seats, Vovo said, "How do you feel? It was a nasty trick that I pulled, eh? But I was desperate, Mike. You had me in a very bad spot."
"In that kind of fighting," Mike said woozily, "there is no such thing as nasty tricks. It's all based on nasty tricks. The idea is to win, whatever way. You won, fair and square."
Vovo took up the champagne and began to pour for them all. "Here," he said. "Perhaps this will make you feel better."
But, surprisingly, Nick Galushko shook his head and put a palm over the top of the glass. "Not for me,"
he said. "I've had enough. I have had more than enough."
They all looked at him, including Mike, who was feeling better by the minute. Nick seemed to be sober.
Twenty minutes ago he'd been potted.
He looked at Mike and said, "While you two were making fools of yourselves out there on the floor, what you told us the other night came back to me."
Vovo hadn't been on the tapa tour. He looked from Nick to the American and back again. "Ha, Comrade Galushko, what did he tell you that would make a bottle man such as yourself refuse a drink?"
Nick said definitely, 'That we should practice moderation in all things. If everyone had been less drunk, there would have been no fight between two grown men over a woman that belongs to "neither, and, I assume, has no desire to belong to either."
Ana Chekova thought about it and said, "Nick's right. Instead of having a truly good time tonight, Page 36
practicing moderation, we all get stupid drunk, most of us well on the way to passing out. And in the morning we will have terrible hangovers to fly back with us to the Soviet Complex. How stupid of us."
Vovo thought about it too. He looked at Mike. "Where did you get this idea?"
Here we go again, Mike thought inwardly. However, it was a good chance to feel out the program he had suggested to Frank Jones.
He said, "It's the teaching of the Old Time Religion Church, to which I belong." He might have added, being the founder and charter member. In fact, thus far being the only member .
"Church?" the big Cossack said blankly.
'That is correct," Mike said with considerable dignity. "As far back as 500 B.C. Theognis, the Greek poet and philosopher taught, "Be not too zealous; moderation is best in all things.' Ever since, wise men have stressed the same teaching."
"Who, besides this Greek?" Vovo demanded, scowling as he considered the idea.
Mike Edwards was on fairly firm ground. Earlier that day, before talking with Jones, Mike had gone to the home of a British friend, who had a fairly extensive library, and borrowed his Bartlett's Familiar Quotations , and had checked out MODERATION.
He said, "Euripides, the Athenian tragic poet, circa 484-406 B.C., put it this way: 'Moderation, the noblest gift of heaven.'"
He pretended to consult his. memory. "More recently, Joseph Hall, Bishop of Norwich in the 17th Century, said, 'Moderation is the silken string running through the pearl chain of all virtues.'"
"Why, how beautifully stated," Catherina said, admiration in her eyes. The admiration was obviously for Mike rather than the good bishop.
Other Russkies, at nearby tables, were listening in, especially those who had been on the tapa crawl.
Several of them came to their feet and crossed over to the table where the conversation was going on.
One of them whispered to several of the others, sotto voce, "It's what I was telling you about. Religion.
Fascinating, eh?"
Vovo said, only half arguing, "Who can you point out that ever profited by this moderation teaching?
Who in history ever got anywhere practicing moderation? Some say you must live to the hilt. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die." He looked about him, frowning. "Where does that quotation come from?"