Authors: Matt Christopher
Cole was about to tell her to stay when Marty beat him to the punch. “Come on, Monique, don’t go! We’ve barely started.”
She hesitated but didn’t put her bag down.
“I’ll give you ice cream later if you stay!” Marty coaxed, his voice laced with laughter.
A smile twitched at the corners of Monique’s lips. “What flavor?”
“Your favorite: mint chocolate chip!”
“That’s not her favorite,” Cole cut in. “Rocky road is.”
Monique looked at him with surprise. Then she broke into a wide grin. “I can’t believe you remember that!”
Cole shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. “I might forget some things, like a transition in a kata,” he said, “but other things
I remember.”
Marty smiled at them both, took the bag from Monique’s hand, and stuck it behind the sofa. Then he planted himself on the
sofa, as if to guard the bag.
Cole, meanwhile, returned to the ready position. “I’d like to start Heian One again. And this time, I promise not to get mad
when you correct me.”
Marty flopped back into his chair. But Monique stayed standing, chewing her lip as if debating whether to say something. Finally,
she spoke up. “Can I make a suggestion? It’s something Sensei Ann told me to try.”
“What?”
“Pretend you’re doing the kata underwater.”
Cole furrowed his brow in confusion. “Underwater? Why?”
“It’ll force you to go re-e-ally slo-o-ow-ly,” Monique explained, drawing out the last words to emphasize her point. “Then
you can focus on hitting every move. Watch.”
She got into ready stance, bowed, and straightened. Then she began to do Heian One in ultra-slow motion. Each of the kata’s
blocks, punches, and shutos was deliberate. Every stance was precisely positioned.
“You look like that group of people in the park who do tai chi every Sunday afternoon,” Marty said, laughing.
“Shhhh!” Monique whispered. “I’m focusing here.”
She finally finished, straightened, and smiled with a trace of embarrassment. “I know it looks kind of silly. But it really
helped me hone my katas.”
Cole and Marty exchanged glances. Then Cole shrugged. “What the heck, I’ll give it a try.”
Marty hopped up. “I want to do it, too! In fact, I’ll bet I can do it slower than you can!”
Monique laughed and settled into her easy chair. “Ooooo-kaaaaay,” she intoned. “Re-aaa-dy? Ssssssteeee-p!”
H
eian One usually took less than a minute to perform. This time, with Marty and Cole vying to out-slow each other, it took
closer to ten! Cole was concentrating so hard on every move, he started to sweat. He was amazed to discover that he felt tired
when he was done.
“Whew!” he said, collapsing onto the floor. “Those tai chi people get a better workout than I thought!”
“Want to go on to Heian Two?” Monique asked. Marty shook out his arms and legs. “Give me two minutes,” he said. “Then I will.”
“Okay, but I’m timing you!” Monique said. She looked up at the clock — and then, with an alarmed cry, jumped out of her chair.
“Oh, man, is that the time? I have to leave!”
“But we haven’t worked on the katas for the contest yet,” Marty protested. “I was really hoping you’d help me with mine.”
Monique shook her head with regret. “Sorry, Marty, but I promised my mom I’d be home to babysit my little sister so she could
go to her book club tonight. And I still have to do my homework, too. See you, guys!”
She took the stairs two at a time.
“What about the ice cream?” Marty called after her.
“I’ll take a rain check!” came her reply.
A moment later, the front door slammed. When it did, it seemed to Cole as if some of the energy in the room had left with
her.
He sat up. “I guess we could do Heian Two in slow motion without her,” he said. But his heart wasn’t really in it anymore.
Marty didn’t look any more enthusiastic. Then he brightened. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “Let’s go polish off that
ice cream!”
One quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream later, the boys returned to the basement.
“All right, time to get down to business,” Marty said. “Let’s — oh, no!”
“What’s wrong?”
Marty reached behind the sofa. “Monique forgot her stuff.” He lifted her duffel bag to show Cole. As he did, a sheet of paper
fluttered out of the side pocket.
Cole grabbed the paper just before it hit the floor. It crinkled in his grasp. He laid it on a nearby table and started to
smooth it out. He saw then that there was writing on it. A few words —
punch, knee, block
— jumped out at him.
“Marty, come take a look at this,” he said.
“What is it?” Marty asked curiously.
“It looks like a kata,” Cole replied. “But if it is, it’s not one I recognize. Do you?”
Marty bent over the paper, too. “Recognize it? I can barely read it!” he said with a laugh. “That Monique sure has lousy handwriting,
doesn’t she?”
“Mmmm.” Cole squinted, working to decipher the words.
“Think it’s part of the green belt curriculum?” Marty asked.
Cole read through the list of moves again. Realization dawned on him. “It’s not part of the green belt stuff. Monique made
up this kata, I’d bet you anything!”
“What?” Marty wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t she say she wasn’t going to enter the contest? That watching made-up katas would
be a waste of time or something?”
“That’s what she
said,
” Cole replied, suddenly angry. “But obviously, she wasn’t telling us the truth.”
“Huh? Why would she lie?”
“I can think of two reasons,” Cole said through gritted teeth. “One, she didn’t want to have to share her precious kata with
us. And two, she wanted us to think the contest was lame so we wouldn’t enter it!”
“Why wouldn’t she want us to enter?”
Cole ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “Isn’t it obvious? The fewer the contestants, the better chance she’ll
have of winning! It’s the same old story — she’ll do
anything
to stay one step ahead of us!”
M
arty backed away from the table, holding up his hands in protest. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Cole,” he said. “You don’t really believe
that, do you?”
Cole crossed his arms over his chest and gave a curt nod.
“There could be all kinds of other reasons why she didn’t tell us about her kata,” Marty continued.
“Oh, yeah? Name one!”
“Well… maybe she forgot about it. Or, um, maybe it’s not even hers! Or…” Marty’s voice trailed off with a sigh. “Okay, I don’t
know why she kept it a secret.”
He came back to the table. “Is it any good?”
Cole scanned the list of moves again. “I can’t tell just by reading it,” he said. “I’d have to do it.” He pushed the paper
closer to Marty. “Here. Call out the moves for me.”
Marty hesitated. Then he nodded.
Cole walked to the center of the room and got into ready position. “All right, what’s first?”
Marty consulted the sheet. “Bow.”
Cole rolled his eyes. “Duh! That’s how every kata starts!” But he bowed all the same. “Now what?”
“The first move is a right upward block, but stepping back with the left foot instead of stepping forward with the right.”
“Got it.” Cole formed a plus sign with his forearms. The left was closer to his chest and pointed up; the right was parallel
to the floor and outside the left. Both hands were fisted and faced inward.
Then he took one step backward with his left foot. As he did, he moved his left arm as if someone were yanking back on his
elbow. His right arm, meanwhile, swept up past his face. At the last second, he flipped the arm with an outward thrust as
if to repel a blow aimed at his skull.
He froze in that position, waiting for Marty to tell him what to do next.
“Left palm-heel strike,” Marty said.
Like a well-oiled machine with multiple working parts, Cole lowered his right arm so his fist was at his hip, circled his
left foot in to the right and out into a left front stance, and drove the heel of his left hand forward.
“Wham,”
he whispered, pretending to hit a target at jaw-height.
“Good. Now turn to the right into a cat stance, pull both hands to your right side, and do a right low punch,” Marty instructed.
Cole hesitated. “A full turn to the back, or just a quarter turn? And what position are my hands in?”
Marty looked at the sheet. “Quarter turn,” he amended. “Sorry. And hands are fisted, left above right.”
“Left fist down, right up. No problem.” Cole drew his hands across his body and spun forty-five degrees to the right, coming
to a stop in a cat stance. His left leg supported most of his weight. His right was bent, heel raised and near his left toes.
Then, using his elbow as a pivot point, he swept his right forearm up and out across his body, like a clock hand moving from
six to twelve.
From there, he stepped forward with a right punch aimed just below belt level.
“Left downward block,” Marty instructed. “Then a right front snap kick.”
Cole moved his right arm over as if to protect his lower body and swept his left hand up to his right ear. Then he stepped
into a left front stance and swept his left arm down across his body. Then he kicked with his right leg, ending the move in
a right front stance.
He waited for the next command. When it didn’t come, he turned to look at Marty. Marty was gnawing on a fingernail.
“What’s wrong?” Cole asked.
Marty lowered his hand. “I feel weird doing Monique’s kata without her permission,” he admitted.
Cole stalked over to the table and pulled the paper out of Marty’s grasp. “Look at it this way,” he said. “If she enters the
contest and wins, then we’ll be that much further ahead in learning her kata. And if she doesn’t enter” — he shrugged — “well,
maybe one of us can use her kata instead.”
Marty’s jaw dropped. “You did
not
just say that. Tell me you did not just suggest that we steal our friend’s work!”
“Friend? Ha!” Cole snorted like an angry bull and shook the paper in Marty’s face. “If she was really our friend, then she
would have shared this with us instead of hiding it from us. But I’m going to teach her a lesson. I’m going to learn this
if it’s the last thing I do!”
Marty snatched the paper out of Cole’s hand. “No, you’re not,” he said in a low voice. “I won’t let you.”
C
ole stared at Marty. But Marty held his ground.
“I won’t let you,” he repeated. “It’s not” — he stopped as if searching for the right thing to say — “it’s not the karate
way.”
Cole looked away, deflated. “Okay,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Marty visibly relaxed. “Good thing you came to your senses,” he said as he returned the paper to Monique’s bag. “Otherwise,
I would have had to bring down my world-famous ‘rain of pain’ on your head.”
Cole snorted. “‘Rain of pain?’ It can’t be that famous, because I don’t know about it!”
“You don’t know about it because you go unconscious whenever I deliver it!” Marty said. “Like now!”
He suddenly wheeled around and leaped on top of Cole, pummeling him with rapid but light punches as they collapsed to the
floor. “Do you not fear the ‘rain of pain’ now?” Marty said, deepening his voice.
Cole would have answered, but he was laughing too hard to even draw breath. “Stop,” he finally managed to gasp, “I fear! I
fear!”
Marty hopped to his feet, grinned, and pointed a finger at Cole. “Let that be a lesson to you, peon,” he intoned ominously.
“Now come on,” he added in his normal voice. “Let’s start making up our
own
katas, okay?”
Cole looked at the clock. “I have to leave in a little while,” he said. “So would you mind if we worked on my grappling for
the test instead?”
Grappling was another form of self-defense. The point of the moves was to first free oneself from an attacker and then to
get control of the assailant by using a joint lock, a throw, or a takedown.
“We can always do katas on our own,” Cole added, “but I need a body for grappling.”
Marty bowed low. “Then allow me to be that body! Do you want to do the moves in order, or do you want me to attack you at
random?”
“Random would be better, I think.”
Marty nodded. Without warning, he grabbed Cole’s right wrist and threw a hook punch at his head.
Cole reacted instinctively by using grappling move number one.
Thump!
He stopped the punch with a left outward block.
Zip!
He delivered a shuto to Marty’s neck with that same hand. Then he brought his captured hand up, wrapped his free hand around
Marty’s hand, and dug his fingertips into the base of Marty’s thumb. That move loosened Marty’s grasp just enough for him
roll his own hand out. Now, with one hand pressed against Marty’s knuckles and the other digging into his thumb, he wrenched
Marty’s wrist into an awkward — and potentially painful — angle.
Right as Cole started to twist, Marty slapped his thigh. That slap was the signal used by karate students to tell their partner
that they had started to feel pain. When Cole heard it, he let go instantly. Marty rubbed his wrist and nodded.
“You got that one down cold!” he said. “Ready for the next?”
Marty spent the next twenty minutes attacking Cole. Sometimes he grabbed him with two hands by the shirt front. Other times
he took hold of his wrist and threw a punch. And a few times, he circled behind Cole and caught him in a bear hug.
Cole fended off each attack as best he could. He accidentally hit Marty too hard with one move, but Marty didn’t mind. He
knew such mistakes could happen, because he had made them himself.
By the end, both boys were breathing hard. “I gotta go soon,” Cole said, glancing at the clock.
“Let me give you something to drink before you go,” Marty said. “You’re sweating like a pig!”
As they climbed the stairs, the phone rang. Marty picked up his pace to answer it.
“Hey, Mrs. Richards,” Marty said. “He’s right here.”