Chapter 32

Going to bed at night, I am excited. It is the first time I remember being excited about my birthday in 64 years. My mother used to force me to invite the kids that used to gang beat me to my birthday every year. In Canada, your most important birthdays, depending on where you are, tend to be 16, 18 and 19. My family forgot all of those. For my 18th my sister held a birthday party for me and never invited me. My parents were out of town and didn’t phone. A few days after they got home I had an argument with my sister about it not being a birthday party if you don’t invite the birthday boy. That is when they said, “Oh, by the way, happy birthday.” I just ignored them and went to work.

I hated birthdays because it meant facing my oppressors and being disappointed by those that should love me. This year, it is different. I have many people that love me. It should be great, simply because they are around.

In the morning, I wake up just before my alarm. I hadn’t woken up to my alarm since before my girlfriends started waking me up. I figure the girls are just messing with me, so I get up, have my shower and head to the dining room for breakfast. There is no big breakfast waiting, but we have our cycle practice, so we tend not to have a big breakfast. Instead, we have a small second breakfast at school.

As usual, Blair and Kevin show up for breakfast, and the rest of the cycling team shows up just after. Again there is nothing special. I keep my spirits up, even though I am starting to feel a little down. I know they aren’t having a surprise party. It has been decades since anybody has pulled a surprise on me. I always figure it out.

After our ride, we are at school, early as usual. I take my shower and meet everybody in the cafeteria for second breakfast. Moira and Carol sit next to me. Carol is her usual affectionate self, but Moira is a bit distant. Still, there is no mention of my birthday. I don’t know how well I hide my irritation, but I leave before the bell to go to class. I figure that I will distract myself with my university studies in the library.

At lunch, Dahlia and Moira sit next to me, but Moira spends the entire time talking to Ashanti and ignoring me. Even Ashanti notices. Dahlia acts as though there is nothing special. So, I leave lunch early and get back to my university studies.

After school, I was going to take the day off and relax with my family and girlfriends, but as everything is going today, I would rather go to work and distract myself. I get to work, and the trouble is, I already reorganized my companies, and there isn’t much to do besides interview for the new positions, but Paul hasn’t found everybody on my list of people I want to offer the jobs to. I’m not scheduled for my first phone interview until next week.

After 20 minutes of boredom, I call Paul into my office.

“What can I do for you, Boss?”

“I’m bored to death. Has CSIS or the RCMP gotten back to you with their changes for our underground compound?”

“No, they are a ways away from that yet. You know how much red tape government organizations have.”

“Grr. I need something to distract me.”

“You could always head back to the gym and see if you like what I did with it so we can open it up for the rest of the guards to use.”

Do you have somebody that knows ancient weapons? I feel like a workout, and I don’t feel like getting somebody else’s sweat all over me, grappling.”

“Kurt is into that sort of thing. Just don’t break him.

“Have him in the SUV in 10 minutes. We are going shopping. He will watch me test myself, and then I will hit him with a sword a few times. Just warn him I am feeling a bit aggressive today.”

“You got it, Boss.”

I exit the office with Paul, but he turns right to find Kurt, and I head to the shops. It isn’t often I stop by to see how things are moving along. I trust the people I have in place to handle things.”

Ten minutes later, I’m in the SUV with Kurt.

“Paul tells me that you think you know how to use medieval weapons.”

“I may know a thing or two.”

“Where did you learn?”

“There was a club back in Ontario, where I grew up.”

“I’m guessing that means you learnt western weapons.”

“For the most part.”

“What was your specialty?”

“The longsword.”

“Sorry to say, but they couldn’t have been too good in their instruction. There are many different kinds of longswords. What you told me means nothing. Do you know what century the sword was from or if it was an English or Italian longsword?”

“What is the difference?”

“An English longsword is a one-handed weapon. When grasped with one hand and the arm dangles, the blade shouldn’t touch the ground. It is a one-handed weapon but not used for close quarters like the Gladius used by the Romans.

“The Italian longsword is also called a hand and a half or a bastard sword. It can be used one or two-handed but is rarely used with a shield.”

“We always used the sword with two hands.”

“Did you ever use axes or pole weapons?”

“Halberds. Sometimes we would use an axe.”

“How long was the axe, and did you ever use shields with it?”

“The axes were small. Sometimes we would use a shield, and sometimes we would use two axes. What is with all the questions?”

“There is no place in town where we can get blunt western weapons, but just outside of China Town there is a place called Kata Training, where we can get Oriental equivalents. We will also pick up some armour.”

“What did Paul get me into this time?”

“We are just going to do some sparring.”

We get to Kata Training, and I almost have to do a double-take. It is a 40 something woman that mans the store. I was expecting an old woman but forgot it was 25 years from now when I saw her last. She asks, “Can I help you?”

“We will take all your bokken and fighting sticks. I need one cheap iaito for him and two good ones for me. We might as well take half your shinai. We each need a complete set of Kendo gear, and what else do you have for practice weapons?”

I always hated shinai, practice swords made from bamboo. If you properly tape a bokken, they will last forever. You can’t use of shinai at full force or it shatters. Using shinai teaches you to fight sloppy but the students are less likely to get hurt.

“What you need all this for,” asks the shop attendant.

“I am going to teach some people how to defend themselves.”

“No need defend against sword anymore.”

“I’m teaching them how to use anything as a weapon. To do that, I need to teach them how to use swords, so they can learn basic principles.”

“What martial art you teach?”

“A combination of them but mostly Arnis.”

“Ahh, Filipino stick fighting.”

“It is now, but before it was combined with Kali and Eskrima, it taught how to use anything up to five feet in length. Somebody as tall as us could go six feet.”

“Who taught you?”

“It was an old guy up north that you wouldn’t know.”

“Where in north?”

“Fort Grand.”

“You right. I no know him.”

We spend some time in the store, and it is a quarter to five when we are finished, and the SUV is almost full. I probably bought more from them than they sell in a year. I didn’t just purchase practice equipment. I bought a complete Samurai set including Tanto, Wakizashi, Katana and Nodachi.

As we are pulling out, I say, “Given how late it is, you might as well go to the drive-through. I’ll eat while you drive, and you can eat while I test myself at the gym. When I am done, we can spar.”

I had forgotten how McDonald’s used to actually be good. The Big Mac is made with quarter-pound patties, and the fries have more than just preservatives in them. In 2020, the Big Mac was made with the same patties used to make the kiddy burgers, and fries were more preservative than potato.

I savour my food, all the way to our gym. Once we get there, Kurt starts to unpack his food as I unpack the test equipment. In no time, I’m on the treadmill, doing my tests. This time, I don’t bother doing things incrementally. I just start with the baseline and then do my max. I’m not surprised to see that my VO2 max has increased.

It does worry me. It is why I decided to spar with weapons instead of grapple. Grappling gets your heart rate higher and keeps it there longer. I don’t want my heart exploding because it can’t keep up with my body.

I just finish calculating the VO2 max and tell Kurt, “Get your new martial arts uniform on and then don the armour. I’m just going to do a quick set on the bench press.”

Last time, I did 150 lb as a max. I see the press is set up for 160 lb, so I give that a try. Just in the short time it has been since I last tested myself, my muscles have changed enough that I find the 160 lb easier than I previously found the 150 to be. I stick on another 20 lb and can do ten reps. I could do a lot more but there is no need. It gives me an idea of where my max is and that is all I want.

The thing about lifting heavy weights is it causes blood to pool in your limbs and slows you down. Because I was lifting weights, when I switched to sword fighting, Kurt should beat me if his skill is anywhere close to mine.

When I am done with the press, Kurt still hasn’t figured out how to put on his hakama, pants used when training in most samurai arts. I laugh at him. He complains, “What? I have never worn a skirt before.”

“It isn’t a skirt, and the more you talk like that, the less I will hold back.”

“You don’t need to hold back. Now, how do you put these damn things on?”

“To start with, you put the top on first.”

It takes almost a half hour to teach Kurt how to get all his equipment on. We then head to our corner to start a match. We each hold our swords above out heads, Kurt holds his in the western style where the blade is pointed down, behind his back. I hold mine like a samurai, with the blade held at a 45 degree angle pointing up and back.

He attacks first, and you can hear his sword cut through the air but just barely. His sword is coming down, onto my head. I drop my back arm, causing my sword blade to move forward and down. I also move my left arm forward, to drop just slightly and to the left. This parries his blade, causing the head strike to contact my sword, near my head, then slide down my blade, beside me. I take a step forward and drop my lead hand while pushing my trailing hand forward. This causes my shinai, kendo practice sword, to scream through the air, shattering when it makes contact with Kurt’s head.

I take my helmet off, so I can better see if he is ok. I know the helmet is good enough to absorb the blow, but it still stuns most people when you break a sword over their head, even if it is made of bamboo. Technically bamboo is a type of grass, so I tease, “What is wrong with you? Can’t take having a grass sword braek over your head.”

“Some grass ... Where did you learn that? I mean, I know the move, but you move so fast.”

I continue the conversation as I grab a broom, to clean the splinters off the mat. “Let’s get rid of the armour and put the iaito scabbard in your belt. I want to see how you swing a sword. Then we will talk about it. Somehow I think you swing a sword like a dumb white man.”

“I am a white man.”

“That is half your problem.”

“Aren’t you a dumb white man?”

“Half white, not trained to be dumb., No offence, but I’m sure I already know what you are doing wrong.”

Once the mat is cleaned off, I get him to stand at the ready in a high guard position as he was when we started our quick match. Only this time, he has a metal practice sword instead of bamboo.

“Slash straight down.”

He does, and you can barely hear the wwwumm sound the sword makes as it cuts the air.

I comment, “I can tell you did a lot of practicing, but you did a lot of practicing on how to do it the wrong way.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“When you read a book on how to build a boat, it doesn’t explain how to swing a hammer. It expects you to know this because if you are a good enough carpenter to build a boat, you would already know how. It should be common knowledge.”

“Ok.”

“Most of what we know about feudal sword fighting comes from a handful of medieval manuals written for professional soldiers. There are a certain amount of things that are common knowledge that are missing out of those books. On the other hand, the Samurai were about perfection. When they wrote a manuscript on sword fighting, they took it to the most simple of skills and mention everything.”

“So, what am I missing?

“Let’s start with what you already know. You know that when you punch, your shoulders move, causing you to use the muscles in your neck, and you push off with your feet. The absolute best pugilists use everything from their eyebrow to their pinky toe to get the strongest and fastest punch. Why then, do you only use your shoulders when swinging your sword?”

“Because I haven’t been taught how to use the rest.”

“That is my point. You have plenty of practice, but you have plenty of practice doing it wrong. Do you know what a fulcrum is?”

“When you are prying something, it is the pivot point of your lever.”

“It is just the pivot point of a lever. There doesn’t need to be any prying. As it is now when you swing your sword, you have one fulcrum, your shoulders. There should be two. Your shoulders and between your hands.”

“How does that work?”

“If the sword handle is a lever and the pivot point is the middle of the handle, when you push one end of the handle forward, what happens to the other end?”

“It has to move back, But that doesn’t make sense.”

“And that thinking is exactly why you are slower than molasses in the arctic. Let me show you.”

I draw my iaito and raise it to a high guard, then instruct, “What you did is just bring the sword down by lowering your arms.” I do it, and it barely makes a noise. I then lift my sword back to the high guard and continue my instructions, “This time when I bring the sword down, the hand closest to where the pommel would be on a western sword, I am going to pull back as hard as I can, so my hand is almost at my chest. At the end of the swing I lightly punch my navel with the but of the handle. As for the hand closest to the blade, I am going to push out. Now, listen to the difference in speed.” WHUUMM. It is so loud you would think I was a Jedi, wielding a lightsaber.”

“Holy shit, no wonder you shattered the sword over my head. I have to try that.” He lifts his sword and swings it down. This time his sword is considerably louder but still not as loud as it should be.

“You are slowing the sword when it gets near the end of the swing, and that is what is slowing you down. Continue accelerating through the entire swing. Your arms coming in contact with your sides and the handle hitting your navel will slow the sword down, and it will not hurt. The other advantage is by doing it this way is your sword will never hit the ground. The tip of the blade will stop between an inch and six inches off the ground, depending on the length of your blade.”

He tries it again, and the sword sings as it should. It is still not as loud as when I do it, but it is respectable. He is intelligent enough that he doesn’t just get excited about his newfound speed. He says, “Holy shit, that is a lot better. You showed me what to do with my arms, but as you said, a punch uses every part of the body. You have to show me the rest.”