The Brotherhood of the Rose (26 page)

Seeing no one, they eased over. Dangling, Saul let go first, but Chris suddenly heard him groan and peered down, startled. Saul had landed on his back, sliding in a blur to the street.

Chris didn't understand. He quickly jumped to help, bending his knees to absorb the impact, but the moment he landed, he realized something was wrong. Like Saul, his legs shot out from under him. Falling, he cracked his head on the sidewalk and slid out into the street. Dimly he became aware that the snow had melted during the day but now at night had frozen to a slick sheet of ice. Frantic, he failed to stop himself as he continued skidding toward Saul. His boots struck Saul where he lay and knocked him farther into the street.

The sudden clanging paralyzed him. A streetcar swung around a corner, approaching them, its headlight glaring. Its wheels scraped on the icy tracks. Chris saw the driver shouting behind the windshield, tugging the rope that rang the bell, and yanking a lever. The brakes squealed, but the wheels continued sliding ahead. Chris tried to stand. Dizzy from his injured skull 1 he lost his balance, falling again. The streetcar's headlights blinded him.

Saul dove across him, grabbed his coat, and dragged him toward the curb. The streetcar's shadow passed with a wind that made Chris shiver. "You damn crazy kids!" the driver shouted from his window. The bell kept clanging as the streetcar rumbled down the street.

Chris sat on the icy curb, breathing deeply, his head between his knees. Saul checked his skull. "Too much blood. We've got to get you back to the dorm.Chris almost didn't manage the return climb over the wall. A supervisor nearly caught them as they crept up a stairwell. In a shadowy washroom, Saul cleaned Chris's wound as best as he could, and the next day when a teacher asked about the scab on Chris's head, Chris explained he'd tripped down some stairs. That should have been the end of the matter, except because Saul had saved Chris's life, their bond was closer. But neither boy anticipated repercussions or realized what else had almost happened to them.

Ten days later when they next went over the wall, a gang confronted them as they headed toward the stores on the other side of Fairmont Park.

the biggest kid demanded their money, grabbing at Chris's pockets.

Angry, Chris pushed him and never saw the fist that struck his stomach. Through blurry eyes, he saw two -other kids grab Saul's arms from behind. A fourth kid punched Saul's face. Blood spattered.

Unable to breathe, Chris tried to help Saul. A fist split his lips. As he fell, a boot cracked his shoulder. Other boots rammed his chest, his side, his back.

He rolled from their impact, writhing. Muffled punches threw Saul on him.

Mercifully, the beating stopped. The gang took the money. On bloody snow, Chris peered through a swirl as they ran away. Delirious, he nonetheless felt mystified about.

He wasn't sure what-something about... He sorted it out only after a police car found them staggering back to school and took them first to the emergency ward at the hospital, then to the infirmary at school.

The gang had looked more like adults than kids, their hair too short and neat, their boots and jeans and leather jackets strangely new. They'd driven away in an expensive car.

Why had they been so sure we had money? Chris thought. He remembered the last time he and Saul had gone over the wall-when Saul had pulled him away from the street car and wondered if the gang had been waiting then.

His thoughts were interrupted. In the infirmary bed, aching, he smiled through swollen lips when he saw Eliot hurry in. "I came as soon as I could." Eliot sounded out of breath, tugging off his black topcoat and homburg hat, snowflakes melting on them. "I wasn't told till-oh, dear God, your faces!" He glanced appalled from Chris to Saul. "You look like they beat you with clubs. It's a miracle you weren't both killed." He studied them, sickened. "They used just their fists," Saul answered, weak, his face bruised and puffy. "And their boots. They didn't need clubs."

"Your eyes. You'll have shiners for weeks." Eliot winced. "You can't know how sorry I am." His voice became stern. "In a way, I suppose, you invited it, though. The headmaster told me what he discovered you'd been up to-sneaking from school, buying candy. Is that what you do with the money I give you?"

Chris felt embarrassed. "Never mind. It's not the time to raise the subject. Right now, you need sympathy-not a lecture. As long as it happened, I hope you gave them some lumps in return."

"We never touched them," Saul murmured.

Eliot looked surprised. "But I thought the school gave you boxing class. You guys are tough., I've seen you on the football field. You mean you didn't land even one punch?" Chris shook his head, stiffening from pain. "They hit me before I knew what was going on. Boxing? I never had a chance to raise a fist. They were all over us."

"They moved too quick for me," Saul added. "Boxing's a joke. They were better than that. They were-" He struggled for the proper word. "Experts?"

Aching, Saul nodded. Eliot studied them and frowned. Lips pursed, he seemed to consider something. "I assume you've learned not to sneak out of school anymore." He didn't wait for an answer. "Even so, you ought to be prepared for an emergency. You should be able to defend yourselves. I certainly don't like seeing those handsome faces of yours turned into ground beef." He nodded thoughtfully as if making an important decision.

Chris wondered what.

Saul's fifteenth birthday occurred on January 20, 1960. On that occasion, Eliot drove up from Washington to take the boys out on the town. They went first to a Hom and Hardart automat for baked beans and coleslaw, then to an Elvis Presley movie, G.I. Blues. When Eliot returned them to school, he gave them a set of books filled with stop-action photographs of men in white uniforms throwing or kicking each other. At that time, the only thing Americans knew about martial arts came from stories about Japanese soldiers in World War Two. The boys thought the pictures showed a form of professional wrestling. The next week when Eliot came to see them, they'd had a chance to study the books. He spoke of patriotism and counage and offered them the opportunity to forfeit all high school sports, instead to train privately for three hours a day, seven days a week till their graduation.

Both boys jumped at the chance. For one thing, it was a wonderful way of escaping the routine at Franklin. For another, more important, they still showed signs of the beating they'd received, and they were determined not to suffer like that again. Neither boy realized how extreme their determination would become.

The second weekend in February, Eliot took them to meet their instructors. The boys had known for some time that Eliot worked for the government, so they weren't surprised when he told them that seven years earlier, in 1953, the CIA had recruited Yukio Ishiguro, a former Japanese world judo champion, and Major Soo Koo I=, a one-time senior karate instructor for the South Korean army. Both Orientals had been brought to the United States to train operatives in what, prior to killerinstinct training, were the finest forms of hand-to-hand combat. The base of operations consisted of a large gym, called a dojo, located on the fifth floor of a warehouse in downtown Philadelphia, about a mile from the orphanage.

The elevator to the fifth-floor looked like a rusty shower stall. It barely accommodated the three passengers and stank of urine and sweat. Graffiti covered the walls. The dojo itself was a large loft with steel girders in the ceiling and rows of harsh floodlights. Most of the floor was covered by green three-inch-thick tatami mats. Beyond them, a border of oak gleamed before mirrors on all the walls.

When Chris and Saul entered with Eliot, they noticed several gaming tables between the dressing room and mat area. At one of these tables, they found Lee and Ishiguro using black and white stones to play an oriental game that Eliot explained was called Go. Both instructors wore suits, Ishiguro's made of blue silk, Lee's of gray sharkskin. Both men were shoeless. Their socks were clean and white, their shirts heavily starched, their striped ties carefully knotted and pressed.

With no hair on his head and his belly protruding, Ishiguro looked like an oversized Buddha. But when he stood, his sixfoot-three-inch height and two hundred and ninety pounds presented an awesome figure. In contrast, Lee stood five foot four inches tall on a small frame and still had his shiny ebony hair as well as a black thin mustache. His musculature suggested springy steel.

The game stopped at once. The two orientals gave shoshort bows of respect to Eliot, then shook hands with the boys. "I do hope our mutual friend, Mr. Eliot, has explained that we are not here to teach you a sport," Ishiguro said in flawless English. "Sensei Lee and I hope you will accept our service. If you do, we promise you will learn to perceive rapid movement as if it were slow. That much alone will place you above most men. Here, everything you learn will become second nature, as it must, for you will not have time to think of the approaches-instead you will have only a moment to prove that you should live. You may tell your school friends what've you learn, but you will soon discover they don't understan".`, What you must never do is show them. Since you can't predict a future enemy, isn't it better if no one else has the knowledge you do?" Lee said nothing, neither smiled nor frowned. While is'giguro went to boil water for tea, Eliot broke the silence by asking Lee about the game of Go. Lee immediately came to attention. "Appearance is deception," he said with a smile. "As U see, the board is made up of half-inch squares. The spaces are not important- The lines mean everything. By placing a stone on the board and building a pattern from there, I hope to enclose as much territory as possible. The object is simple-to offset my opponent with the suspicion that I'm establishing a network to entrap him. Which of course I am." Lee laughed. He demonstrated how to handle a stone using two fingers like a claw. Ishiguro returned with the tea, and eventually the meeting concluded with the orientals admonishing the boys to consider the proposition and decide in private.

it was all too brief. Puzzled, they listened to Eliot's explanation as the creaky elevator descended. "When you were little, you were interested in sports. As you got older, you idolized heroes in war movies. You've just met two middle-aged men in a sleazy Philadelphia warehouse. Two men who are recognized as great, as having superior skill, by over two-thirds of the world. Perhaps humility is the only visible sign of wisdom. I don't know. But they've accepted the responsibility of training men in specific areas of security for our government. Both are paid well, but I don't think they're interested in money. I believe their interest involves the opportunity to teach young men to become the best fighters in the world. Today was just an introduction, a chance for you to see what's involved. If you decide to participate, the program must be carried out to its conclusion. Never break a promise. They accept you as men. They won't appreciate little kids who stand around with their mouths open in wonderment or who give up. So make your choice wisely and call me collect before next Sunday. Oh, and by the way, if you do decide to join, there'll be no more evening meals at Franklin. But don't expect to be eating hoagies and steak sandwiches. They've got a special diet for you: flank steak, heart, fish for protein, rice to fill you up, tea occasionally, grapefruit juice always. No more Baby Ruths for a while, I'm afraid. Keep to their menu, it'll do you good. But if you tire of the food, you mustn't stop drinking the juice. Lee and Ishiguro swear by it. They say it takes all the cramps and stiffness away. This isn't the Marine Corps-you're gonna have to work your ass off for these guys."

When the boys phoned Eliot to say they wanted to join, he told them he'd pick them up on Sunday. "Dress up, wear clean underwear, be prepared for a ceremony. Think along the lines of a Bar Mitzvah or a confirmation."

On their second visit to the dojo, Chris and Saul were initiated into manhood through a ritual called gempuku. Instead of the traditional short sword and long sword, they were given a judo gi and a karate gi. The uniforms caught their attention. The first was heavily woven cotton, the second lightweight serge. Called haori, the coats reached down to the knees. The pants were hakama, and the purpose of their wide flaring sides was to give no suggestion of the build of the wearer. , Ishiguro noticed the boys' curiosity. "Mr. Lee and I have decided to accept you as shizoku, which means descendants of samurai. It has special meaning to us and to your friend Mr. Eliot. It places the added responsibility on you to protect yourself against humiliation. If you accept that duty, you may need to dispose of yourself some day. That is why this ceremony of manhood tells you how to use the sword. True manhood is well a decision is the. fijin, the proper use of the sword to end one's life."

Ishiguro sat down on the floor with his legs crossed before him. He took the small sword whose blade was only fourteen inches long and moved it from right to left horizontally across his abdomen. "The pain will be intense. Your final act will be to rise above the pain by remaining still with your head bowed. Your assistant will finish the procedure."

Standing beside him, Lee took a sword whose blade was forty inches long and dramatized the final act of beheading. "Be careful not to cut completely through the neck but instead to leave a flap so the head will remain attached to the body."

Ishiguro looked up and smiled. "That is seppuku, and it means disembowelment-death with honor. Anything by other-., means is fisai or mere self-disposal. It is all a part of an honorable tradition, the initiation into a divine way of manhooc we no longer have in this century. The instruction you receive will have no mystery, no glamor. It will train you to kill or, if you fail, to die with honor."