JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi by Daniel Linden (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

eyes open and my head clear enough to shrug away from Chris and Curtis. They had grabbed me and lifted me up when the rebels had told them to leave the village. We were almost to the bridge. “Stop,” I said. “Just stop.” I slumped down on a boulder and took a few deep breaths. That helped to clear my mind. My cheekbone hurt like hell and I knew that it was just the beginning. My right kidney was certainly bruised, but I would not know if it was fractured until I had to urinate. I had experienced both injuries before, several times over my forty year martial art career and they both hurt like hell. Don’t let anyone tell you they don’t. But neither were they fatal. I would live. I just had to suck it up. I can do that.

I sat for a moment and felt a sharp, cold breeze gust down through the river valley. It had a bitter tang to it and felt wonderful. It dried the perspiration on my forehead and cooled me. At the first stirring of the breeze Bim had swung his nose like a weather vane. I enjoyed it for a moment and quietly thrilled at being still alive.

“Sensei, when you feel better, we need to go. They looked like they wanted to kill us.” Christian sounded very young, I thought.

“They aren’t going to kill us.”

“Well you were unconscious and…”

“They don’t shoot Americans, Christian. The Chinese would be after them with an army if they killed Americans. The Nepali government would send the goddamn Ghurkas after them if they killed Americans. We are their bread and butter. Jesus, China owns half of America’s debt. They won’t allow an international incident. This isn’t the middle east.”

Bim moved close to me and looked up at the mountain trail. “Sahib, the weather change is here.” I turned my own nose into the wind and could smell it myself. I didn’t need to be told. Snow.

“How much?” I asked him.

“I think blizzard, Sahib.”

The fog was lifting and swirling away even as we spoke. I could feel it clearly now as the cold blast of air swept through the valley. A big front had arrived and with it wind. I was cold now. The sweat had evaporated and left a sticky clamminess inside my clothing. I knew we needed to get our coats.

“Where are our porters? Bim? Where is our gear?”

He shook his head and pointed back down the trail. “Maybe with Nawang.”

“You mean they stole that, as well as all our money? I don’t believe this.”

Christian said, “Sensei! We need to go. You might not think they’ll shoot us, but you might be wrong, you know.”

I looked up the trail and then back at the village. Chris grabbed his arm and turned Christian around on the trail and said, “They won’t have to shoot us. They just need to make us climb up that trail without coats. We won’t get back over that pass in a blizzard without any foul weather gear. They won’t have to do a damn thing else. We won’t make it.” He looked over at me and I could only nod my head at his assessment.

“What are we going to do?” said Curtis.

I looked back at the village. A quiet cold rage was filling me and I felt very little like an aikido sensei. Without dwelling on it too much, without risking my resolve I said, “I’m going to go get my coat and money back.”

Chapter 16

The Love You Take…

I stood then and went through my pockets. I wore a shirt with many zippered pockets and trail pants with several deep cargo pockets. I had on a money pouch that they had not found inside my trousers next to the skin. Inside that I had several hundred dollars in Rupees, Euros and Dollars. It was still there. My other hidden pouch, really a rabbit patch (one meant to be found) had been found and everything but my passport and visa taken. I felt in the deep cargo pocket on my leg and was thrilled to find my old Leatherman tool still there. “All right!” I said and held it up.

Everyone else looked through their kit to find what had not been stolen. Christian found a tiny key chain flashlight. Chris still had his trusty Swiss Army knife. There were a few other odds and ends but that that was about all.

Bim suddenly stiffened and pointed. “Guard!”

We hustled across the trail and slipped into a stand of bamboo on the opposite side from the stream. The bamboo had been harvested from the inside out – old to new – and left a small chamber inside. The guard took his time ambling past us down to the bridge and when he got there he looked around for a second and then lay the gun down on the boulder where I had recently been sitting. He reached inside his coat and pulled something out. A moment later a match flared and he bent his head against the wind, clearly lighting a cigarette.

I smiled. I looked at Curtis and pointed at him, then the guard. He nodded. He would be the one. I pointed at him once again and then did the two finger point at my own eyes and then again at the guard. Then I pantomimed lighting a cigarette and the flash from lighting the match. He smiled a very hard little smile and nodded. I looked at him and pointed to myself and pantomimed the drawing of a knife and then made a slashing motion. I pointed at the guard once again. He understood. Be careful. The Tibetan smugglers are famous for having their knives at all times and being very good with