...in the backyard: ich, ni, san, chi

* this entry from 4/20 *
ich, ni, san, chi (Cusco, Peru)

Round one, 4/18:

The sign was stumbled upon by accident - "Karate, Self Defensa Para Mujeres". From across the sidewalk, while enroute to a Taibo class at a small local gymnasio, I saw it. What the heck, I reasoned. In cheap shoes bought for this evening's aerobics class -- the right shoe a few centimeters larger than the left -- I traverse the street.

Up the stairs of the nondescript building into a dojo with pink square pads attached to one another like a big puzzle.

Bare feet and white robe-like uniforms, a strip of color around waists. "Hiiht", grunts, and a whipping sound, like a towel being flapped briskly

*

Round two, 4/20:

A girl with glasses is gracefully moving around the room, her hands forming angles. The Instructor steps out of the dojo and points at my feet. While untying my shoes, I hear him explaining to a lady behind a small wooden desk that I was here on Saturday, that I have a week before I leave Cusco.

7pm - Stretching in a corner. Two older boys with yellow belts are sparring, the pink pads shift under their feet. In comes a new Instructor with a cream sweater and sweatpants.

"Jasmine [insert plenty of words]." She stands in front of me, lifts her eyebrows, lifts her chin.

I have no clue what she said. I nod my head.

She's repeating this or maybe saying something else. Her voice low, a little gruff, a little scary.

I nod my head again.

In enters two women, black belts tied around their waists. I miss Saturday's class with the small boy I stood in line next to who made me feel tall, where the most challenging part was during jumping jacks where I was instructed to count in Japanese and mumbled half the numbers, "shoo, shii, shee, shoo".

While applying charade-tactics and simon-says, I try to follow the Instructor's direction. She assigns me to stand in a corner and practice a series of defense blocks. Meanwhile, the other women with their fancy angled arms are chopping the air and twirling kicks.

The Instructor approaches. "Lista?"

I nod my head.

Like a flash, a flurry of fists toward me. No more nodding of the head, I'm shaking my head. "No listo," I yelp.

She's smiling.

Breathe, she says. She squats and opens her arms wide as though drawing a rainbow above her.

"Lista?"

Before I respond, a flurry of fists and a kick. I bat the air as though swatting at a cloud of flies.

She chuckles.

Breathe, she points to her nose, exaggerates an inhale and does her rainbow move again.

I'm picturing a scene. I push her mid rainbow-move. Not expecting the shove, she topples over, momentarily stunned. Barefooted, I run awkwardly down the stairs -- two at a time -- out the door and far far away from Karate hell.

This scene does not happen.

An hour later, students bow and start leaving the room. I follow after them, cramp in thigh.

We're not finished, she says. She looks to another student, points at me, she has a lot to learn in one week.

Before I make my great escape, she's poking me in the solar plexus, speaking in Japanese, kicking my waist, and telling me to breathe. Meanwhile, images of the other students outside, perhaps skipping, eating ice cream, and breathing.

Cramp in thigh, exhaling weird sounds, wondering if sometimes the more uncomfortable we are, the more we learn.

*

Round 3, 4/21:

Something about being slapped in the face.. It hurts my feelings.

*

Round 4, 4/22:

One by one, students in the class with their colorful belts are instructed to attack me. The defense technique is really pretty; hands like mudra, legs sliding back, slightly bent.

Swift punches flying. While fumbling to get into the pretty position, I'm getting hit. Feeling frustrated, I digress to what I know - parrying and deflecting.

The Instructor sees this, marches over, No, wrong! She tells the students to aim for my face, to add more force.

Bruce Lee comes to mind, his philosophy about emptying cups. The results of "emptying my cup" -- legs crisscrossing, mistaking right with left, bizarre and wierd, most of the punches landing.

I stay until the school closes, watch the students, their discipline, precision, and concentration.

Round 5, 4/23:

Today is the last class with the Instructor. Warmup -- dragging fingers across the floor while marching in squat position, hopping and crawling. Students collapse. An interlude -- everyone does the rainbow-move. While doing jumping jacks, I make it to six, "ich, ni, san, chi, go, roku..."

I'm picturing a scene. At the end of class, after thanking the Instructor, we hug.

This scene does happen.

*

Sidebar: "Soy bushido siempre mejor" -- the phrase has been recited at the end of each class. Upon reseaching Bushido, the word translates as "Way of the Warrior" and is defined as "the traditional code of the Japanese Samurai which stressed courage and loyalty and self-discipline and simple living."