Authors: Danny Dufour
“Cool!” said Tim.
Namara smiled. He knew what Tim lived as he’d lived and he told himself he had a responsibility because the kid hadn’t come to check out the dummy, but to ask for help. He couldn’t refuse him, so he would help him.
“Very well, Tim. What you saw me practicing is in fact a Chinese martial art called Wing Chun.” Danny recalled the day he had been seeing
Sifu
Kwan to learn to defend himself and he tried to imitate his former master. He explained the style and he showed the hits and base movements. He practiced with Tim on the roof nearly every day, sparring with him and correcting his movements and hits. He knew that the goal for Tim was to beat those who hurt him in the near future and not to become an expert in Wing Chun. He adjusted his training toward that. He had to be efficient as fast as possible.
* * *
“If you want to beat your attacker, Tim, you have to have confidence in yourself above all. You must overcome your fears. The more afraid you are, the more your enemy knows it. If you want to live in peace, you have to face your enemy using the same violence toward them that they used towards you to control you.”
Tim listened to everything he was told with attention. He found that Danny perfectly understood the way he lived like he could divine what was happening.
“There is an old teacher at my school who already said that you can solve nothing with violence, that you have to discuss it instead.”
“Yes, well… there’s proof that nobody’s ever run after and beat up the old bird, because I don’t think she’d think of talking it out!”
Tim laughed uproariously at the image of old Mrs. Clark running in her plaid skirt.
“You know, Tim, I understand you pretty well. Your teacher’s suggestion isn’t all wrong, but she isn’t in your place, she isn’t subjected to that violence. You can’t know the real pain of a burn if you haven’t been burned yourself. It’s true that it’s always preferable to resolve a problem through discussion over violence. The problem here is that in reality, it’s not always feasible. In certain situations, you don’t have another choice that to defend yourself against them to protect yourself or to protect your loved ones, you understand? You must develop your fighting spirit. It’s that spirit, that instinct, that will let you stay alive in difficult situations. However, if your spirit is ready, trained and awake, all the rest will turn out in your favour.
“That’s for sure,” Tim responded with a burst of laughter.
“Ok, we’re being serious now. Let’s continue training,” said Namara, taking the position across from Tim for the last spar before the sun set gently over Queens and all the building’s façades became red in its reflection.
* * *
When he couldn’t sleep, he walked at night through the streets. Danny loved leaving on the subway to then lose himself in the streets of New York at night. For him, the city was a show in itself. To see the people everywhere, the lights flashing around him. He wandered and visited different parts of town without really knowing where he was going. Times Square fascinated him for its immense illuminated posters several stories high. There were enough lights in this little quadrangle that the birds thought it was daytime at all hours. When you raised your head, you could see several confused birds flying over this electric world. The odours were indescribable, that is, unique to New York. There was a hint of carbon monoxide and then a waft of souvlakis cooked on kiosks arranged on the road. The mingled smells, the sounds, the lights, the exhaust from the city’s manholes were all little things that Namara noticed and what made New York unique in his eyes. Once, he had been sitting on a park bench facing the Metropolitan Opera and he stayed there for hours looking at five arches of the glass-paned façade. He had watched the people who exited and entered in formal dress while nursing a coffee. Another time, he could find himself on the way to Union Square in the university streets bordered by little cafés and bars. There were thousands of bars and cafés in New York so when he saw an interesting place, he went in and ordered something.
Namara’s nocturnal promenades let him see and notice many things, such as a time among others where he descended into a completely deserted subway station in Brooklyn at three in the morning to notice that on the rail, there was a young uniformed police officer being attacked by two black thugs, likely street gang members judging by their clothes. They were trying to pass an initiation test to attack an officer maybe. Danny approached the scene. He didn’t understand why the officer was alone at this hour in the station, but one thing was certain, he noticed that the officer couldn’t have a lot of experience because of his very young age and the fact that his boots were completely new. Maybe his attackers had made the same observation before attacking him. The officer was grabbed and hit by both at once. By all evidence, he was being bullied. The officer tried to activate the panic button on his radio to ask for help, but he was unable. Danny stayed in retreat, watching the scene to judge the officer’s ability to defend himself, but he noticed that he had no control. There was no end to the blows, disorienting him each time a little more. He bled from his nose and mouth. His shirt was torn. He tried to protect himself as best he could but the thugs continued to rush him with blows.
Suddenly, Danny saw one of the kids try to free the officer’s gun from his belt. At that moment, Namara burst into action. He came on them from behind like a gust of wind, seized the hand of the one that tried to take the officer’s gun and broke it with a jerk. The breaking of bones and the cries of the thug rang through the station. Half a second later, it was his two clavicles that broke under the impact of Namara’s double-punch. The first attacker writhed on the ground shouting in pain. Namara made a 180-degree turn to pounce on the second thug. Before even touching the ground in his jump, he broke his left knee on the reverse spin kick. The thug fell to the ground in a blaze of pain, but Namara caught him by the wrist to prevent him from going to the ground, because he wasn’t done with him. He broke his elbow by swinging a fist right to the joint. This time, he fell on the ground definitively. His face hit the floor hard. A spray of blood came from his mouth. The second thug, half-conscious, groaned. Namara approached the bloodied police officer seated on the ground.
“Are you seriously hurt?” Namara demanded, already knowing the answer.
“How… uhhh… I… no, I don’t think so,” said the office, still dazed and not really knowing what had happened right in front of him.
“You ought to press that panic button and wait for reinforcements.”
“Yeah… you’re right,” said the officer, and he obediently pressed it.
The officer began to collect his thoughts and he realized that he had truly almost died. He looked at his two attackers who were half-dead and who were now stretched out on the ground, broken into pieces and completely out of commission. The whole scene had unfolded in a fraction of a second. He had seen a man arrive out of nowhere and he had crushed them with a blazing speed like a bolt hitting a tree.
“You barely escaped, Officer Franklyn,” said Namara, inclining his head to read the name on the blue uniform of the NYPD.
“Yeah… yeah… I… I guess… I… Thank you, a lot. Those two took me by surprise. They would have surely killed me if you hadn’t been there,” said the officer sitting on the ground who tried to stop the blood flow from his nose. Namara asked if his nose was broken; he wasn’t sure.
One thing that is
sure, he’ll survive his injuries.
“You’re welcome. I saw that you were in trouble, I allowed myself to intervene,” said Namara in a calm voice.
“Few men would have done what you did,” said the officer looking at his torn and bloodstained uniform. “In fact, mister, what’s your name?” he asked, raising his head to look at his saviour, but he realized that he was alone.
The man had disappeared. All that was in the tunnel were the two thugs on the ground beside him. He noticed that beside one of them was a puddle of blood with three broken teeth scattered on the ground that had come out of one of the two hoodlums. The officer, who had sworn as a police officer to protect the weak, had almost died in duty that night. He was convinced that he had had the help of a guardian angel to protect him. This man had appeared like a vision to then leave. Officer Franklyn was convinced that this unknown man whose face he could never forget had saved his life and that, without him, his wife would have been a widow and his two children, fatherless.
* * *
He decided to see the sea on his day off. He took the N train toward Brooklyn to get to Coney Island and walk down the beach. When he arrived on the island, he could almost believe himself in another world. There was the oldest circus in the world and the time indicated to see the state of the attractions. Many rides were rusted by time and the buildings were faded by the sun and years. One could see tons of graffiti over the length of the walls. However, Danny liked to walk by, because he found that there was a sort of magic with the attractions and the beach. He had been surprised to notice the beauty of the beach and the quality of the sand for a place like New York. Tons of New Yorkers came for the weekend to relax and the island was filled with activities for the beautiful hot days. The operators shouted to draw people to their kiosks to win prizes. The rides went without stopping. Hundreds of pedestrians walked over the boardwalk spread over kilometres down the beach. The aroma of cotton candy and frying fish in the pair drifted out of numerous cart-restaurants that one found sprinkled everywhere.
He had walked and sunbathed the entire day and he stayed on the beach to see the sunset at the ocean’s horizon. He had lain on the beach to close his eyes for a few seconds, then he drifted off to sleep by accident. When he awoke, the darkness was complete and there was nobody on the beach. It had to be close to midnight. Danny asked himself how he could have slept the whole time and he rose to take the train and return home. The place that had buzzed with daytime activities was completely deserted at night. The park was dark, the alleys deserted with the sea wind blowing from just off shore. All the rides and kiosks were shut with metal doors or grills.
The presence of graffiti and the age of the buildings left the place lugubrious.
He walked with a decided step without an apparent hurry and a few vapours of sleep. He told himself to get back to the house and eat, because he was famished. He was far from doubting that that day, which seemed peaceful in his eyes, would be a day that would change his life forever. He began to realize that aspect when he realized that he was being followed at a distance by three people. He glanced back to catch a glimpse under the guise of avoiding tripping so as not to alarm them.
He saw that the three people were white and they had long hair that looked dirty. Everything indicated that they were hooligans or junkies in need, looking to attack him, rob him or indeed more. The pack had sensed prey and they looked for the opportune moment to unleash in keeping a certain subtle distance in the streets. He walked on the sidewalk a while when he spotted a public washroom. He entered with a rapid step and walked in to a urinal to simulate the expected action in such a place. The area was relatively vast, empty and dirty. There was a line of four urinals and four stall toilets on the other wall. The place was coated with white tiles and fluorescent lights. He stationed himself at the farthest urinal, glancing around with his peripheral vision at the entrance to his left. He wasn’t ready for a fight and he just wanted to get home. He hoped the three would decide not to enter or even that he was only imagining that they were following him. Seeing the three enter through the door, he concluded that he’d imagined nothing. He hated being right this time.
He mimed pissing, whistling, looking at an imaginary point on the wall as though he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. He saw that one of the three closed the door and he heard a light click that indicated that they had locked the door so nobody could enter. That indicated something in Namara’s head. If they had only the intention to rob him, all that they would want, would be to save themselves the fastest possible to not get caught. They wouldn’t lock the door if it was their only goal. He knew that they were going to try by all evidence to kill him after stealing to avoid his pressing charges. It must have been junkies in need and he had to expect anything. One of the individuals approached him as though to take the next urinal over. Suddenly, he whipped out his knife with his right hand, pounced behind Namara and placed the blade against the small of his back.
“Hey dude… hand over your wallet or I’m gonna cut you!” he whispered while the two others watched in retreat, apparently very nervous.
“Ok, calm down… I’m going to give it to you, it’s in my pocket.”
Namara hadn’t finished his sentence before he spun to his right so the blade couldn’t reach anything and he seized the hand holding the weapon at wrist level. With his other arm, he grasped at the junction of the elbow of his attacker and thrust his arm upwards, dislocating his shoulder and tearing the muscles. His attacker screamed, but Namara seized the knife and planted it into his neck in the carotid, rendering his attack fatal. The scream of his aggressor ceased in a heartbeat and he fell to the ground to empty himself of blood. Another junky pulled out a knife as well and cried while running toward him:
“You son of a bitch! I’m gonna fuck you up!”
Namara blocked the knife blow that flew toward his stomach with his forearm and he seized the wrists to control the hand holding the weapon. With his other hand, he seized the Adam’s Apple and smashed it with his hand like a eagle claw closing on his prey. He heard this second hooligan’s Adam’s Apple rupture. He dropped the knife in a fraction of a second. Namara loosed an upward blow with his elbow from the bottom to top. His elbow hit directly under the jaw. The blow was so violent that his neck broke right away and death was instant.
The third junkie drew on his shoulder and Namara used his momentum to throw on him and grab his neck in his two hands. He pulled his neck from the bottom and gave a powerful thrust of his knee that reached his face. He seized again his head and planted it directly into the urinal. The impact was violent enough that the urinal cracked along with his skull. The water began to spurt everywhere and the violence of the impact and the fight had loosed several wall tiles. Calm settled, except for the splash of water from the urinal.