Tengu Read Online Free Page A

school and I tempered my throw with a touch of mercy.
    He could fall pretty well, but the thud still echoed in the room. Outside in the murk, thunder rolled in mocking imitation. I came around to the godan ’s side and looked in his eyes to make sure he was okay. They focused on me all right, and the look on his face was not pretty. I gave a mental shrug and helped him up. To survive in this dojo , you must learn to let go of some pride—no hard feelings, just hard training.
    Yamashita glided up to us. “So. To assume a technique will work is to provide your enemy with a weapon to use against you. I have made Burke do this thing,” my teacher turned to look at the class, making sure that the point he wanted to make was heard. Many of them were eyeing me warily. “In time, you will come to know him. His technique is . . . ” he waved a hand as if to show what had just taken place, “as you see. But he sometimes holds back and does not push hard enough.”
    His students , I thought, or himself ?
    “Burke is a humane man,” Yamashita continued. “It is a great gift. But each of us needs to balance mercy with . . . efficiency. The proportions are mixed differently in each of us. And we struggle for balance. Listen to him. Train well. Ultimately, you will find him a good teacher.” Then he looked at me, his eyes dark and glittery in the lights, like the flash of stormy weather that was held at bay by the dojo walls.
    “You must push them, Burke,” he told me.
    “Yes, Sensei ,” I bowed.
    By the time class had ended, night had arrived. The rain came in waves, the distant drumming echoed in the murky night. Yamashita and I went up to the loft portion of the dojo where he had his living quarters. The training floor below was dark, and the soft lights from upstairs gave you a sense of warmth and comfort.
    My sensei left me in the sitting area. I heard water running as he filled a pot. “I will make something hot to drink,” he called to me from the kitchen. “I have a new blend you will like.” I smiled to myself. Coffee was one of Yamashita’s obsessions. He was like a mad alchemist and fussed over the process of brewing with all the attention and precision he brought to life in general.
    “Where’s it from this time?” I called. Last Christmas, I signed him up for monthly deliveries of something they called “new kaffe.” So far, we’d sampled the produce of Jamaica, Madagascar, and a variety of other places that Yamashita delighted in pinpointing with the aid of a huge hardbound National Geographic atlas. He sits with the atlas splayed across his lap, stubby fingers tracing the contours of the countries in question. At those times, he looks like a happy child.
    “Peru,” he answered when he finally came in. He set a square wooden tray down and poured me a cup. It was an act of courtesy and hospitality on his part. I had come to look forward to the ritual. My teacher would invite me up. We would drink coffee, letting the smell and the steam wash against our faces. And I would see another side to this complex man.
    I looked at his cup. There was a tea bag in it. “You’re not joining me, Sensei ?” It was unusual.
    He smiled tightly. “This evening, Burke, I have a desire for something soothing.” He picked up a spoon and fished the bag out. I could smell the mint.
    “Is something wrong, Sensei ?” I remembered the transient glimpse of trouble I had seen earlier in his usually stoic face.
    Yamashita sipped at his cup, his eyes almost closed. He set the cup down and sat back, hands on his stomach. Then he looked at me. “I wonder, Professor,” he replied, pointedly ignoring my question, “how the godan felt about the lesson you gave him?”
    I shrugged. “He probably wasn’t too happy. But you were right. It needed to be done.”
    “So,” he said and sipped at his tea again. “As a teacher, it is difficult to know when a student is ready to hear something, neh ?” I nodded in agreement.