Bad Blood by Anthony Bruno Page B

real. Tozzi was intrigued. He leaned up against the doorway and watched as the sensei called for an end to the practice of this technique. The partners stopped, bowed to each other, then rushed to kneel in a line facing their teacher.
    The sensei then called on the biggest person in the class, a black guy who was built like a wide receiver. He handed the black guy a wooden sword and announced the Japanese name of the technique he was going to demonstrate. They faced off then, the black guy holding the sword in both hands. Suddenly he raised the sword over his head, lunged forward, and attacked as if he intended to slice the sensei right down the middle. Tozzi swore the guy was going to split his teacher’s head open, but the sensei simply stepped to the side, grabbed the hilt of the sword over the black guy’s big hands, apparently pumped up and down once, and flipped the big guy over head first. Holy shit! The floor shook when the black guy hit the mat. The sensei just stood there calmly with the wooden sword in his hand. Tozzi was impressed. It was just like something out of a kung-fu movie. When the black guy got back to his feet, the sensei presented him with the sword again. They did the same move a few more times. The black guy attacked a little more viciously each time, and each time he hit the mat a little harder. It almost looked fake to Tozzi.
    â€œShomen Uchi Kokyu Nage,” the sensei repeated. “Also known as the ‘sledgehammer throw.’ With motion this time. For demonstration,” he added with a little smile.
    The sensei nodded to his partner, then turned and started to run with the black guy in hot pursuit. Tozzi was surprised to see him running away instead of taking a stand and fighting. There was no doubt that the black guy was going to catch him, given the length of the guy’s legs. The sensei was quick, though, and the black guy had to hustle to catch up and get within striking distance. Suddenly the sensei changed directions. The black guy followed, but when they got to the middle of the mat again, the sensei turned and faced the swordsman rushing at him full-tilt. The sword came down in a loud whoosh . He stepped to the side and grabbed the hilt, made that little pump-move, and the poor black guy was really flying now. Tozzi winced. The black guy hit the mat real hard this time. He took his time getting up. The sensei stood there calm and erect with the sword in his hand.
    When the black guy was ready again, the sensei gave back the sword and they repeated the technique slowly as he explained the fine points to the class. Finally he and the black guy knelt down and bowed to each other. “ Shomen Uchi Kokyu Nage ,” he said. “Please practice in two lines. Without motion, please.” A few people laughed.
    Tozzi was curious. He’d never seen anything like this before. It looked fake, but he had a feeling it wasn’t. He stayed for the rest of the class.
    When class broke up, he waited for the students to disperse beforehe went over to the sensei who had stepped out of those skirt-pants of his and was busy folding them on the mat. It seemed like a very involved procedure.
    â€œHi,” he said. He hunkered down in order to be eye level with the sensei .
    The man stared at his feet. “No shoes on the mat, please.”
    Tozzi immediately stood up and took off his loafers, embarrassed. He should’ve known better. “Sorry. Tell me, this wasn’t karate you were just doing here, was it?”
    The sensei smoothed the pleats of his pants and shook his head. “Adult karate classes meet on Thursday and Saturday.”
    The guy wasn’t unfriendly, but he had that sort of affable evasiveness a lot of people had in the sixties. You ask a question, he answers it, but you don’t feel that you’ve gotten any information. “So what was this class?” Tozzi had to ask.
    â€œAikido.”
    â€œAikido.” Tozzi nodded.