Chapter 3 #2
He nodded to the patriots and turned toward the door.
The tall, lanky student who had tested with him held the front door open.
Walking outside to the fresh Montana summer air, he breathed deeply.
As much as they polished the dōjō, they couldn’t erase the musky smell of a hundred-year-old building mixed with stale beer and cigarette smoke that filtered from below.
The third student he had tested with waited outside and joined them as they walked to the restaurant. “Good job today, man,” the third student said. “I thought I might crap myself when Sensei said we were to spar with him.”
Oscar laughed at his choice of words, but he understood the feeling.
“Sensei can move, right?” the student exclaimed. “I’m only forty-eight and I’m the one that looks eighty-five when we spar.” He laughed and asked tentatively, “Ji-geiko?”
“Hikitate-geiko,” Oscar corrected him with the proper Japanese when sparring with a senior. It occurred to Oscar that the man might be offended; his age and social standing surpassed his own. After all, the man was a cardiologist.
But the doctor nodded without offense. “Oh, yes, you’re quite right.”
The first student, the youngest of the trio, had arrived at the pizza restaurant first and opened the door for Oscar and the doctor. At twenty-five, Oscar’s age fell between these two fellow students. Oscar bowed slightly, indicating the doctor should enter the pizza place first.
The club had rented the entire Bigga Pizza for the celebration.
When the three joined the party, Sensei started clapping, and the club members joined him with a hardy round of applause.
Oscar didn’t know how to react as accolades were not mainstream for kendo.
No one wore a colored belt, denoting their rank.
Part of the philosophy of the marital art involved getting smaller with advancement—more humble—an acknowledgment that the higher you go, the less you know.
Of course, everyone knew the pecking order. Everyone lined up in rank to bow in for the start of class. But little else would be said about their promotion today. It was meant to be a personal achievement—the bettering of one’s own self.
Oscar bowed to Sensei and the club instructor, who sat together at the main table, then pulled at a chair near the door to sit down out of the spotlight. He wanted to sneak out early to meet up with Caroline and tell her about his success.
Pitchers of beer and soda sat between large pizza pies on the tables. His stomach rumbled as he reached for a piece of pepperoni. He was starving. His nerves had gotten the best of him that morning, so he’d skipped breakfast.
“OsCar, please come sit next to me,” Sensei shouted and gave the upside-down Japanese wave to come over.
Sensei pulled on the open chair beside him, as an order and not a suggestion. Oscar moaned under his breath. He’d hoped the old Master would invite the doctor to sit next to him.
Oscar hurried across the room, bowed and sat straight-backed in the chair. Worst of all, Sensei had not helped himself to the pizza yet and Oscar wouldn’t dare eat until Sensei did.
“You seemed to be distracted in your mind at times today, OsCar.”
Oscar stared straight ahead but registered how the Master said his name with the emphasis on the “c.” So much for feeling good about myself.
“Forgive me, Sensei.” He let his head drop.
“I understand you now have a girlfriend?” The old man put his hand on Oscar’s neck, causing him to stiffen.
“Yes, Sensei.”
“I hear she is pretty.”
“Yes, Sensei.”
The man squeezed Oscar’s neck with amazing firmness. “Don’t pull the sheep over my eyes, OsCar. I hear she is a real beauty.”
Oscar’s instructor laughed at his expense. Oscar forced back a smile on Sensei’s use of the idiom. He’d lived in the U.S. for over forty years and still got them wrong.
Oscar sighed, longing for a piece of pizza, but he responded to his interlocutor. “Yes, Sensei.”
“And you didn’t bring her here for me to meet her?”
“Forgive me, Sensei.” Oscar stole a glance to see if the Master was truly angry or just playing with him—now a mouse caught in a trap. The old man’s eyes lit with delight through early cataracts.
“And you are going to marry this girl?”
“Yes, Sensei.”
The Master laughed loudly and playfully slapped the back of Oscar’s head. “My wife and I just celebrated our sixtieth anniversary last month. You know how we could do that, OsCar?”
“Congratulations, Sensei. How is that?”
“I never put a shinai in her hands. She would have beaten me to a poop.” He roared with laughter. Everyone laughed with him and the idiom.
“Were you married in Japan?” Oscar carefully asked.
He really wished to ask the Master about his samurai heritage, but rumors swirled that many years ago a low-ranked student asked about it and instead of getting mad at the student, Sensei slapped the back of the club instructor’s head hard enough to dislodge his glasses.
The new student didn’t know any better to not ask such a question, but Sensei held the instructor at fault for not teaching against such a slip of etiquette.
“Yes, many moons ago. Many, many moons.” The thought seemed to bring sorrow to the old man’s face. “She has been the steady rock of our lives. You must choose wisely,” Sensei gave Oscar another fatherly pat on his head. “Are you certain she is the one?”
“Yes, Sensei,” Oscar said and turned to look directly into the Master’s eyes.
He nodded, appearing satisfied, but added. “Personally, I think you come to Berkry and get your MBA and train with us. We too have many beautiful fishes in ocean. You have so much talent in both kendo and art. I will personally see to cultivating a vigorous spirit in you.”
Oscar bowed at the waist. “Thank you, Sensei.” What an honor that Sensei singled him out, but his fate was set with a wedding scheduled six months from now in December.
The Master probably knew as well. “The offer is always there for you if you change your mind,” he said. “By the way, OsCar, thank you again for designing our new logo. My students in Berkry love it.”