Chapter 29

We hadn’t had any food since breakfast. That was almost four hours ago, and my tummy was grumbling. Good thing ‘Grandma’s Cafe’ was just a stone’s throw from the Crownpoint branch of the Bashas’ Diné. I stopped in and did a little shopping. Who wouldn’t want an excuse to get some new clothes? Food first, though, after all I’m a growing girl. Who knows, I might even grow some more while eating, then I’d have to buy a bigger size.

Grandma’s had a triple burger plate, complete with french fries, and a salad. That, plus a Coke, filled me up after the long fast. The staff of life! Painted Rock had a second breakfast: country omelet, home fries, and a Diet Coke. DIET COKE? Poor boy is gonna get poisoned, drinking that stuff.

I asked Rock about the martial arts studios around the Diné and he pointed me to a Mr. Lee who trained the DU (Diné University) Tae Kwon Do team. Apparently, the DU TKD team was just six guys who were just learning. He had a studio in Gallup.

What I wouldn’t give for the internet right now. But in 1977 the internet was decades in the future.

[Lexi, Carl Lee owns ‘Gallup Tae Kwon Do.’ It’s been in existence for nine years and mostly teaches kids, with one group of advanced students, six in all. Lee is thirty-six and is a second-generation Korean. His parents live in San Diego. He is married and has two children.]

[Better than the internet twenty years in the future, isn’t it?]

Yeah, Red. It is. Thanks.

I gave Rock the address in Gallup and we eventually got to the TKD studio at about three p.m. Apparently, he knew where it was. Rock and I walked up to the glass door and knocked. It was locked, but about five minutes later a small man, about 5’6” with a shock of black hair cut in an honest-to-God flat-top, came to the door. He looked at me, then at Painted Rock, and smiled.

He opened the door. “Good afternoon, PR. What brings you to the studio this afternoon?”

“Hello, Sensei,” said Painted Rock. He put his hands together as if in prayer, and gave an abbreviated bow. “I am here at the request of this young lady. This is Miss White Owl.”

We accepted his invitation to come inside, and I simply explained that I had recently started studying martial arts in Wyoming and, since I needed to divide my time between here and there, I was looking for a way to keep developing my skills while I was here with the Diné.

“Are you studying Tae Kwon Do?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. My Sensei said there is no name for what he is teaching.”

“Interesting. Wyoming, you say? ... Come, spar a minute with me. I would see what style you’re studying.”

“Me? Spar with you?” He finally talked me into it. I made him promise not to hurt me. He laughed. LAUGHED! I took off my shoes and socks. He assumed a relaxed position in the center of the mat. I took a few seconds and went to level, as Sensei Maritsuki taught me. Of course, I’d have no chance in a real sparring match against a sixth dan black belt, as Red’s download informed me that Mr. Lee was. He was recently (three months ago) back from Korea, where all advanced dans were awarded, Red said.

I was in a defensive position and I reached out with my mind. What could I see? His intentions were like a red aura around the foot or arm that was about to be used. How could I see that, I wondered? Maybe his intentions caused a temporary tensing of muscles? I dunno.

He took a step, feinted with his right hand, and went to strike with his left leg. I stepped forward inside his right feint. I blocked his left-side kick, grabbed his foot and twisted it slightly. This should have worked, but he leapt up, balanced (somehow) on his captured left leg, spun in mid-air and unleashed another kick with his right foot aimed for my head.

I ducked it easily (which, frankly, surprised me), and kept twisting his left foot. He had to follow his trapped leg and placed his hand on the mat. He pulled sharply and freed his leg. The Tae Kwon Do master scrambled to his feet, and dropped into a defensive posture. The whole thing took about ten seconds.

I saw, with my mind, that he was relaxed and not planning anything offensive. I took a step back, slapped my hands against my thighs, and bowed. He did likewise.

“Your sensei had not taught you to strike at the knee when you have trapped a foot. I assume you are learning some aikido, but that was not an aikido throw. A true aikido throw would grasp my foot, twist it hard and force me to the ground. What you did was almost a jujitsu grappling move, but you did not follow it up. I was impressed with your reflexes.”

“Uh ... Thank you. Well Sensei Maritsuki-san did not want me to learn any offensive moves at this point. I am only a few months from having my ribs broken. So he didn’t want me actually fighting.”

“I wish you had told me earlier. I would not have sparred with you. You could have been hurt,” he said.

“First, you promised not to hurt me,” I smiled. “Second, Sensei taught me how to avoid his attacks and he is VERY fast. You were not trying your best, I think.” I smiled again. “And third, I have good reflexes, as you pointed out.”

“How long did you say you have been studying with Sensei Maritsuki?”

“I didn’t say, actually.” That’s me, the wiseass. “It was a couple of weeks just on the mental disciplines and Tai Chi. Then the almost-aikido,” I smiled again, “for a few weeks.”

“You are a quick study, I guess. That wouldn’t be Sun Maritsuki, by chance, would it?” He pronounced it more like the ‘sun’ in the sky, less like ‘soon.’ “I met him once at the Martial Arts Expo in Denver several years ago.

“You won’t fit in with my regular classes. I will work with you one-on-one for the time you are here. Let’s say, twice a week, for a couple of hours each time. Say for...” he paused “... $25 per session. Each session would be about two hours. Can you come on Monday and Thursday afternoons, say about one or two o’clock?”

I looked at him. I never thought about paying for martial arts training. What an ass I was. Maritsuki gave me so much of his time. I repaid him with only a ‘Thanks, Soon-san. See ya next time.’

“Sure, assuming I can get a ride from Painted Rock. I’m don’t have a car, and I’m not old enough anyway,” I said to Sensei Lee.

“PR?” he asked as he turned to Rock.

“Sure,” answered PR. “I can bring her here. I assume I can study for my classes, while she’s studying with you?”

“Or, you could work with her. She’ll need someone to spar with.” Everybody is a matchmaker. Sensei Lee is no different. “Okay, then. I’ll see you on Saturday, PR. And Lexi next Monday.”

We shook on the deal, and then PR and I mounted up for the drive back to Wild Mustang’s. All in all, it was a good trip to Crownpoint. A jet jockey and a martial arts instructor in one trip. Not to mention Grandma’s Cafe. If we got on the road and made good time, we’d be back at the Medicine Man’s house for supper!

...

I went with Rock to his Saturday TKD training session. I sat on the sidelines and watched, with my mind, how each student’s body went through the excitement/relaxation cycle as he attacked and recovered during the sparring session. I noted that only some TKD team members used his muscles the same during a kata as he did during sparring. The others were just going through the motions.

After that, I asked Wild Mustang if I could use his sweat lodge. Of course, he said yes, but he would not go with me. So, on Sunday, I convinced Painted Rock to take me to the sweat lodge. It wasn’t a date. NOT a date.

“Do you need me to dress as a Navajo brave?” he asked.

I said ‘no,’ but I did think that it would be ... uh ... entertaining, to see him in a loincloth again. As it turned out, Rock would be dressed in jean shorts, an old T-shirt, and sneakers.

“I need to go shopping first, Rock.”

“Of course you do,” he said with a laugh. “It’s been – what? – maybe two whole days since we visited the Bashas’ Diné.” I slugged him on the bicep. It wasn’t like hitting steel, like the guys in Maritsuki’s advanced class, but more like a bear steak. Firm but pliant. So, we went shopping on Saturday, on the way back from the DU, where Rock’s TKD team training was.

I noticed that I came up to his shoulder now. Growth spurt, I guess. It didn’t hurt as much as in life #1. And it’s coming sooner than in life #1.

Red? Did you mess with my hormones to change my growth spurt?

[Not consciously, Lexi. I did adjust some of the hormone activators in your brain.]

Which ones? And were you ever going to tell me about them? Never mind, I wouldn’t know which one affected growth spurts or anything else.

[Nothing harmful, I assure you. I made a slight adjustment to your adrenaline response. It should increase your reflex response.]

I thought you said you couldn’t alter my current body.

[It’s not an alteration to your physical brain. It’s more an adjustment to the way your consciousness reacts to your synapses. As you put it, I can provide a fire hose of information on the physiology of brain function, if you like.]

No, thanks. I’ll just trust what you said. Did you do anything to ‘adjust’ my reaction to Painted Rock?

[Nothing directly. I suppose that my adjustment to adrenaline might have an impact on how you respond to him.]