Ransom by Jay McInerney Page A

down the line but unlike most Japanese institutions the dojo was a meritocracy. The sensei didn’t award belts—Ito’s being the legendary exception—but the hierarchy was clear. Practicing seven days a week, at the dojo and on his own, Ransom had moved up through the ranks.
    Kneeling seiza, butt resting on his heels, eyes closed, Ransom tried to drain himself of everything but will. To do this it helped to find an image. He pictured a box and held the image still while he filled it with the junk of his quotidian concerns: the broken English of student essays, Marilyn’s problem, the bald rear tire on his Honda. Last of all he deposited his fear of injury. Then he tipped the box, slowly spilling its contents out into a void. When the box was empty he was clean. The box hovered in front of him, bare and luminous.
    The sensei clapped his hands and it was time to begin. Jumping to his feet, Ransom felt ready for anything. Ito led the stretching and calisthenics, the others facing him in two lines. Ransom concentrated on duplicating his every move. With years of scrupulous imitation he might gain possession of the discipline.
    The sun broke through an hour into practice but itdidn’t seem to cut the humidity. The front of Ransom’s gi was soaked through. He was dragging by the third hour, then got a second wind which kept him going until the sensei called them in. They waited to hear if they would be sparring.
    â€œKata,” the sensei said, to Ransom’s immense relief. Kata were prescribed sequences linking offensive and defensive moves; performed individually, usually in slow motion, they choreographed one side of an imaginary battle. Although it was often difficult to summon the required calm at the end of such a long practice, Ransom liked the kata because no one got hurt.
    The sensei demonstrated the swan kata. There were two aspects of representation. On the one hand, six imaginary opponents were dispatched. It was also a balletic sketch of a possible ornithological mating dance. Both had to be there at once, the fight and the grace of the swan. The sensei stood at attention in his white gi, filled his lungs and drifted through the sequence. The sweep of his arms was unmistakably winglike as he brushed aside attackers, not least in the slow, clapping motion of the hands which represented the popping of an opponent’s eardrums. He finished on the same spot from which he had started.
    The disciples formed two rows. The sensei signalled and they began. Halfway through, Ransom forgot the next move and lost his rhythm.
    That was no swan
, the sensei said to him at the end. Ransom asked if he could try it again. The others watched him repeat the performance. After the third run the sensei said,
Not bad
. They worked on kata for almost an hour.
    When the sensei kneeled, everyone rushed to his assignedplace. Ransom took his time, feeling the operation of musculature up and down his calves as he walked over to kneel beside Ito. Now that practice was finally over, he wanted to continue. He would like to see what he could do with Ito today. But he was not unaware of being grateful at having been spared for another day.
    Have you seen Yamada?
the sensei asked him after everyone had showered.
    I haven’t seen him
, Ransom said.
    I thought you two were buddies
, the sensei said. It sounded ominous.
    I see him sometimes
, Ransom said.
Not recently
.
    The sensei said,
I think he’s got a woman
.
    Good for him
, Ransom said.
    Bad for his karate
, the sensei countered.
You never would have made it this far if you had been thinking about women
.
    I was thinking about them
, Ransom said.
They weren’t thinking about me
.
    The sensei shook his head.
You made a choice
, he said.
    At times Ransom considered the sensei omniscient, but he was wrong to think that Ransom had given up women for karate. He would have to understand the concept of penance.

8
    After practice, Ransom had an hour and a