JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi Daniel Linden (feel good novels txt) 📖

We met Mustafa by the entrance and arrived back at the hotel a few minutes before five o’clock. Curtis and Chris climbed in and we were off. Then we were there. Just like that. We could have easily walked. Celine and her family lived about four blocks from the hotel.

I gave a questioning look to Mustafa as he opened the doors for us and he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Celine came walking out of the front door and gave everyone a hug. An older gentleman in a very good suit walked out to join us and I shook his hand.

“Mr. Demiroglu?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said.

Celine spun on her heel and made introductions. Mrs. Demiroglu joined us as we went inside and introductions were repeated. I looked around and the only word that came to mind was opulent. The house had marble columns, plaster facades, gold leaf with embellishments, 12 foot ceilings, two staircases of marble… one to go up, and one to come down? And it was huge. This was clearly a very wealthy man.

We went into a room at the end of the hall and a maid brought tea and fruit drinks. It looked like we were in a sitting room or maybe a library; there were books on one entire wall, but the room was very light and airy, not overstuffed and dark.

On a large table to the rear Celine had all her trekking gear laid out and wanted me to look it over for her. It looked fine and I told her as much.

“But where is your sister?”

“Oh,” she pretended to pout a little, “She likes to make a grand entrance. She will come down soon.”

Her father stood looking us over and seemed to decide that we were not going to steal the books so long as his daughter was present and excused himself.

“Papa is very busy,” she said.

We all settled around the long low table waiting for Esra and had tea.

“My father is happy that three martial artists and their teacher are escorting his daughters,” Celine began. “He has not been very happy when we have gone off on holiday by ourselves. Of course, now he says he has to worry about our escorts – you seem too young and handsome for him – but I told him that I trained with you for a year and you have always been gentlemen.”

There were some surreptitious glances passed between several of those present, glances I chose to ignore, and she continued. “He wants to show you that he is wealthy and powerful and then he thinks you will be certain to do the thing right.” She frowned. “Do the right thing.”

“Behave ourselves.”

I glared at Chris. He looked steadily at me and I understood how he was feeling, but we were guests.

“Please tell your father we will take good care of you and we will always be very respectful of both him and his daughters.”

She seemed relieved. “Thank you, Sensei.”

“Although I really haven’t got a clue what I could do unless someone walks up and grabs my wrist.”

She laughed and bumped my knee which caused me to spill a small spot of tea. She jumped up and made a show of getting a napkin. Suddenly there was a maid with a cloth to dab the tea away. I wondered where the camera or microphones were hidden. I had known that we were under surveillance; strange men in a wealthy Turk’s house with his daughter? I was sure that all meetings between his daughters and suitors happened here.

“Sensei, what would you do? I mean if someone wanted to grab one of the girls… um, I mean, ladies. Women! Darn, I …”

“Christian that is the biggest problem in aikido. How do we defend someone else? I believe that an experienced aikidoka could probably defend himself against most untrained fighters. But O’Sensei specifically said that we are to ‘protect and defend all living things.’ Those are his words. What are you supposed to do, stick your arm out and say “Grab my wrist?”

They all shook their heads. I knew I was now lecturing not only for them, but for an unseen audience. I believe that Curtis had probably made that leap as well because he hitched forward and said, “Sensei, what is the most effective way to engage someone who might be attacking someone else. We’ve never trained for that.”

“No. That’s not true. Sensei taught classes for a whole month on engaging an attacker who was going after a third person.” Chris turned to me and asked, “Was that last winter?”

I turned to Curtis. “I think you were out in Houston doing something on a space shuttle.”

“It was a control issue for the command module…”

“Great. Still, good question. The answer is hanging in the corner of the Dojo; in each corner as a matter of fact.”

Christian said, “The punching bags, that’s how you engage someone who is hurting somebody. Punch them in the head.”

“We don’t have punching bags in our dojos here in Turkey. I’ve never seen a punching bag in any aikido dojo except yours.” Celine raised her eyebrows and looked at me.

“I have spoken with many senseis who believe that practicing yokomen-uchi or tsuki is the same as training to strike. All I can say is that they are idiots. The only way to train at striking is to hit something heavy as hard as you can, over and over. Pretend striking just doesn’t get it done. It’s a joke. Ask anyone who has ever broken or sprained a wrist by hitting a bag or board wrong. It is something that absolutely must be trained if it is going to be used to save a life.” I grimaced, but then continued.

“Okay, here is a lesson I was taught by one of my old senseis. He told me that he and