Breakfall (4 page)

Sean looked at her, surprised. “Should I have?”

Nell sighed. “Don’t worry about it. You couldn’t have known. He’s just… lonesome, I guess. Stella and I will check on him tonight.”

Sean knew he should go, but somehow, he found it hard to lift one foot and put it in front of the other. “Nell…?”

She looked at him expectantly.

“I know this is none of my business, but… you’re Penelopye Thorpe, right? So you’re married to James Thorpe, the karate instructor? I was just wondering… since he was so interested in what we were doing last year, and then I came back after summer break and…. Is he around?”

He watched her shoulders slump a bit as she turned her eyes toward the sleeping Stella’s bedroom door. Her voice was somber. “He died. In a motorcycle accident.”

“Oh. I am so sorry… I didn’t mean to pry.” He was stiff with consternation.

She put on a smile. “That’s okay. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. We all miss him. I am glad he is remembered. He spoke well of you, you know.”

Sean didn’t respond. He shuffled his feet, his fists wedged in the pockets of his blue jeans, as her words reverberated in his mind. Moments later he walked down the concrete and brick pavement, noticing neither the wet ground under his feet nor the torn, blue and gray skies overhead. His feet knew the way to his dorm without the benefit of conscious navigation. His mind was preoccupied with Nell’s words.

“Sometimes bad things happen to good people.”

Yes, he knew that feeling. She gave it words. Sometimes, one’s mother died giving birth to his youngest sister, leaving the father, son, and four younger siblings to fend for themselves. Sometimes, one had to be separated from his family to go to the school of his choice, while his father worked in sunny San Diego and his sisters finished their basic schooling. Sometimes, it was necessary to feel alone.

But sometimes, good things happened too: Burrows-sensei had welcomed him into his school all those years ago and had been thrilled when he and his other students started a string of affiliated dojos at their East Coast colleges. It wasn’t too hard—just reserve space with mats, put up a website and some posters, and teach. Now he had his own chosen family—an interconnected network of aikido schools at other colleges, all taught by his childhood friends.

Keep one point.

Extend ki.

Relax completely.

It was hard work at times, staying upbeat and positive, and aikido helped very much. Even if he just had to be a good example to his students.

His mind drifted to Nell. James Thorpe died, and she was a widow, yet she didn’t give up. If Nell could be so positive, surely he could, too. Despite her soft demeanor, Nell Thorpe looked like a fighter with a core of steel.

It was way past lunch, and Sean’s mild hunger turned into a wild howl that demanded sustenance. He had money in his pocket and knew if he cut up and over, he could take a shortcut to Mary Chun’s on Mass. Ave. and get the best spicy sesame noodles east of the Mississippi. A glance at his watch revealed it was well after two. He’d better hurry, eat, and then hit the books. Studying at MIT was like trying to take a drink from a fire hydrant—falling behind would be disastrous.

Almost there. He crossed a street full of parked cars and ducked between tall brick buildings to cut through an alley. The savory tang and spicy bite of sesame noodles was almost within reach.

He stopped at the sound of soft thuds and muffled cries. Unconsciously, he shifted his weight forward and took a few cautious steps into the deep shade. What he saw shocked him.

“Hey! Stop that right now!” The words ripped out of his throat like a
kiai
at the sight of three guys ganging up on one. The intended victim was short, his face red with tears and bruises, and his arms were hunched around his middle as he huddled into the corner between a dumpster and the rough brick wall.

The three stopped to look up. The one who seemed in charge wore a scarf tied around his head and a down vest. He looked Sean up and down and gave a bellow of laughter that bounced off the alley walls.

“Whatcha gonna do ’bout it?”

Sean straightened himself.

Keep one point.

Extend ki.

Relax completely.

Just like in practice.

“It’s not right for the three of you to beat up on one small guy like that. Leave him be.”

The leader nodded at his friend—a tall, lanky fellow in a red plaid shirt and construction boots. “Just shut ’im up, Jack, why don’tcha.”

Jack nodded and sauntered over to Sean. With sudden speed, his hands shot out to grab Sean’s shoulders.

Just like in practice.

Sean stepped back. Jack overreached, but Sean caught his grasping hand and shoved the guy’s elbow into his ill-shaven face. Sean spun, but instead of gently letting his
uke
down, he allowed him to gather speed. The man’s sandy blond head hit the dumpster with a sickening thud. Sean let go of Jack, allowing his body to slide down the rusty surface. A glistening trail of something wet and dark smeared against the remnants of bright blue paint.

Tsuki kokyu nage. A timing throw.

He assessed the other two with a hard look as he repeated himself once again. “Leave him alone.”

“Fuck, man, no way. You’ah payin’ fo’ this.” The leader spun toward him.

Sean noticed a faint glimmer of a gold hoop earring. The air reeked of refuse and rage. Both of them rushed Sean.

He dropped to his knees at the last moment and curled into a ball. Their boots tripped against his ribs as they flew over him.

Sean stood back up and centered himself.

They scraped themselves off the filthy, broken asphalt. Now that their faces were scraped and bruised from the hard fall, they approached with more caution. The smaller one threw a quick punch. Sean sucked it in on his abs, captured the errant wrist, and stepped backward, bending it in a direction it wasn’t meant to go.

Tsuki kote gaeshi. A wrist lock.

Oops.
His elbow got stuck under the guy’s extended arm. He heard a sickening pop as the joint gave. The guy howled with pain right before Sean drove him into the wall, hard. Outnumbered, he couldn’t afford niceties.

A rough hand grabbed Sean’s shoulder. He grasped for it but missed.

Next thing he knew, he was staring into the barrel of a gun.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Sean felt himself move as though through molasses; even the sound of his heartbeat thudded deep and slow. A glint of blued steel in the dim light, a shift of weight, a subtle move. His body was on autopilot.

He was outside the line of fire.

Sean grasped the slide of the gun.

A deafening crack split the silence and reverberated between the walls of the alley. He felt with heat and pain from vibrations of a discharging gun. Shocked, he let go just as the big, strong guy crumpled to the ground by his feet.

Sean’s stunned gaze met the wide eyes of the short young man.

“I found this old bottle, so I brained him! I hope you don’t mind.” His dark eyes peered out from under the punch-swollen eyelids. “You didn’t get shot, did you? Because if you did, I can help. I’m a paramedic. I’m a nursing student! Thank you… thank you for helping me. I’m Steve. I was actually okay. But you helped a lot.”

Steve would have rambled on if Sean hadn’t put his hand up. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m Sean. Let’s just call the cops.” Dialing three digits had never been so hard. His hand, the one that had grabbed the gun, was still numb from the vibration of the discharge. He misdialed the first two times, not understanding his sudden loss of dexterity.

Three cruisers of Boston’s finest appeared on the scene. The police asked Sean to stick around for a preliminary statement while they took pictures. Sean leaned against the wall. The rough brick had a solid, reassuring quality, and the bits of stone that scratched through his clothes helped him get anchored in the here and now. He was trying not to watch a group of paramedics tend to the two wounded attackers. When they loaded the two perps into ambulances and took them to the hospital, escorted by two police cruisers, he sighed a breath of relief.

“So the two guys were beating up the one,” Sean heard a voice to his right. He startled a bit, but then he gave the tall policeman a tentative smile.

“It was three guys,” he said. “The two with head injuries, and the one with the gun. He was the one in charge.”

The officer looked up from his notebook with a frown. “Three? Not two?” He pulled out his radio and spoke a few coded words into it.

“Describe the third attacker,” the officer said. Sean did, recalling his approximate height and weight and recalling the glint of an earring. It all happened so fast. First, he was off to get some Chinese food, and minutes later, there was an APB on a man described as “armed and dangerous.” The third guy, the one with the gun, was missing.

A
SBJORN
LOOKED
up in surprise. “Sure, I’ll take class today, Nell-sensei.” His form of address reflected the content of their conversation.

“But don’t you do aikido on Thursdays?” She leaned in just a little, her big eyes searching him with unabashed curiosity, and her full lips turned up in a smile.

He flustered some, fighting the warmth that threatened to spread to his cheeks. “Oh sure, but karate comes first. Dud’s working overtime again?”

Nell leaned back and closed her eyes, the wan smile but a remnant of her previously careless expression. “Dud is taking us out to dinner tonight, me and Stella.”

Asbjorn chuckled. “Oh yeah? He finally grew a pair, then?”

“Bjorn.”

He cringed at the nickname and gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, I guess he was careful. I’d be too.”

Asbjorn knew Nell still grieved for Tiger, but it was clear she was determined to not let it hold her back. Her words, when they came, confirmed as much.

“I need to move on, Asbjorn. I’ve applied to all these research positions, and I’ll stay in the area if I can, but my chances are low. It would help not to be alone, you know.”

“You love him?” His voice was gruff.

“I did once. Tiger won. I know Dud never stopped loving me, and he does deserve that chance.
We
deserve that chance. Tiger wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Asbjorn remained silent, but he reached out to Nell and Stella. He felt Nell slide toward him on the sofa, and he embraced both her and the baby as he buried his face in Nell’s lush, long hair.

“Bjorn….”

His chest tightened every time he heard the familiar nickname only she and Tiger were allowed to use. He felt a hand stroke his hair and realized he had forgotten to have it cut to regulation length. Not that it mattered anymore. He was a civilian now.

“You will never lose us, no matter how far we move.”

He embraced them tighter. “I know.” He sighed. “But you’re all I have left of him.”

Nell relaxed into Asbjorn’s shoulder, making sure Stella wasn’t getting squished. “You have more than just us. You have everything he ever taught you. You have yourself—he poured himself into you like you were the kid brother he never had.” Her voice grew clouded, and Asbjorn felt a pang of guilt for being such a burden to her, prompting her to open wounds barely scabbed over.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m being a selfish idiot right now. There’s enough on your plate as it is.” He let go of the woman and her child, but he didn’t pull away as Stella grabbed his little finger in her soft fist.

“No. It’s all good, Bjorn. Look—there is more we need to talk about.”

“Like what?” He wouldn’t meet her gaze, instead drying his eyes discreetly on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Oh, have a tissue for crying out loud. I need one too.” They laughed. “For the almost five years you were gone, Tiger and I studied under somebody quite interesting. Tiger had a will, and he left you something special.”

Asbjorn gave her a puzzled look.

“He left you his sword, Bjorn. His
shinken
—and he wrote specifically he’d like you to continue studying what he couldn’t teach you.
There’s a little ju-jitsu dojo at the Watertown YMCA. It’s small, but a real
gem.”

Asbjorn felt her eyes on him again, assessing, evaluating. Part of him thrilled to this voice from beyond, a postmortem connection to the man whose solid presence he missed with such keen ache. “So what will I be studying—ju-jitsu?”

“No. They also practice
nitto tenshin ryu kenjutsu
. ‘The art of killing with two swords.’ It’s an old, unadulterated Musashi-style sword school, as taught by my current sword teacher, Ken Swift.”

“Seriously? From what I have heard in Japan,
kenjutsu
as such has been lost. I’ve been told nobody teaches old combat techniques anymore. Just sword draws as a theoretical discipline of the mind.” Asbjorn hazarded a tremulous smile. “That should be interesting.”

“S
EAN
,
HAVE
you seen the news?” Casey’s voice was loud, filling the little phone with excitement.