John Hawks - The Traveler

Hollis Wilson’s martial arts school was on Florence Avenue, wedged between a liquor store and a video rental outlet. Someone had painted words on the sidewalk window in garish reds and yellows. DEFEND YOURSELF! KARATE, KICKBOXING, AND BRAZILIAN CAPOEIRA. NO CONTRACTS. BEGINNERS WELCOME.

They heard drumming as they approached the school and the sound got louder when they opened the front door. Hollis had taken sheets of plywood and built a reception area with a desk and folding chairs. Pinned to a bulletin board was a class schedule and posters advertising local karate tournaments. Maya and Vicki walked past two small dressing rooms with old bedspreads hung in place of doors and looked into a long windowless room.

An old man was playing a conga drum in one corner and the sound bounced off the concrete walls. Wearing T-shirts and white cotton pants, the capoeiristas stood in a circle. They clapped their hands in rhythm with the drum and watched two people fighting. One of the fighters was a short Latino man wearing a Think Critically! T-shirt. He was trying to defend himself against a black man in his twenties who was giving instructions between the kicks. The black man glanced at the visitors and Vicki touched Maya’s arm. Hollis Wilson had long legs and muscular arms. His braided dreadlocks came down to his shoulders. After watching for a few minutes, Maya turned and whispered to Vicki, “That’s Hollis Wilson?”

“Yes. With the long hair.”

Maya nodded. “He’ll do.”

Capoeira was a peculiar mixture of grace and violence that looked like a ritualized dance. After Hollis and the Latino stopped sparring, two other people entered the circle. They began lunging at each other, mixing in cartwheels and punches and spinning kicks. If one person went down, he knew how to kick upward with his hands flat on the floor. The motion was continuous, and everyone’s T-shirt was damp with sweat.

They passed around the circle once, Hollis cutting in to attack or defend. The drummer beat faster and each person fought a second time and then a final series of matches that emphasized leg sweeps and lightning-fast side kicks. Hollis nodded to the drummer and the fighting was over.

Exhausted, the students sat on the floor. They stretched their legs and took deep breaths. Hollis didn’t look tired at all. He paced back and forth in front of them, speaking in the cadence of a Jonesie preacher.

“There are three kinds of human responses: the deliberate, the instinctive, and the automatic. Deliberate is when you think about your actions. Instinctive is when you just react. Automatic is when you do something from habit because you’ve done it before.”

Hollis paused and stared at the students sitting in front of him. He seemed to be evaluating their strengths and weaknesses. “In New Babylon, many of the people you know think they’re being deliberate when they’re just on automatic. Like a bunch of robots, they drive their car down the freeway, go to work, get a paycheck in exchange for sweat and pain and humiliation, then drive back home to listen to fake laughter coming from the television set. They’re already dead. Or dying. But they don’t know it.

“Then there’s another group of people-the party boys and girls. Smoke some weed. Drink some malt liquor. Try to hook up for a little quick sex. They think they’re connecting with their instincts, their natural power, but you know what? They’re on automatic, too.

“The warrior is different. The warrior uses the power of the brain to be deliberate and the power of the heart to be instinctive. Warriors are never automatic except when they’re brushing their teeth.”

Hollis paused and spread his hands. “Try to think. Feel. Be real.” He clapped his hands together. “That’s all for today.”

The students bowed to their teacher, grabbed gym bags, slipped rubber flip-flop sandals on their bare feet, and left the school. Hollis wiped some sweat off the floor with a towel and turned to smile at Vicki.

“Now this is a real surprise,” he said. “You’re Victory From Sin Fraser-Josetta Fraser’s daughter.”

“I was a little girl when you left the church.”

“I remember. Wednesday night prayer service. Friday night youth group. Sunday night potluck social. I always liked the singing. There’s good music in the church. But it was a little too much praying for me.”

“Obviously you weren’t a believer.”

“I believe in a lot of things. Isaac T. Jones was a great prophet, but he’s not the final one.” Hollis walked over to the doorway. “So why are you here and who’s your friend? Beginner classes are Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday night.”

“We’re not here to learn how to fight. This is my friend, Maya.”

“And what are you?” he asked Maya. “A white convert?”

“That’s a foolish comment,” Vicki said. “The Prophet accepted all races.”

“I’m just trying to get the facts, Little Miss Victory From Sin. If you’re not here for lessons, then you’re here to invite me to some church function. I guess Reverend Morganfield thought he’d get a better reaction sending two pretty women to talk to me. That might be true, but it still doesn’t work.”

“This has nothing to do with the church,” Maya said. “I want to hire you as a fighter. I’m assuming that you have weapons or access to them.”

“And who the hell are you?”

Vicki glanced at Maya, asking for permission. The Harlequin moved her eyes slightly. Tell him.

“This is Maya. She’s a Harlequin who’s come to Los Angeles to search for two unborn Travelers.”

Hollis looked surprised, and then laughed loudly. “Right! And I’m the Goddamn King of the World. Don’t give me this garbage, Vicki. There aren’t any Travelers or Harlequins left. They’ve all been hunted down and killed.”

“I hope everyone thinks that,” Maya said calmly. “It’s easier for us if no one believes we exist.”

Hollis stared at Maya, raising his eyebrows as if questioning her right to be in the room. Then he spread his legs into a fighting stance and snapped off a punch at half speed. Vicki screamed, but Hollis continued the attack with a head punch and crossing kick. As Maya stumbled backward, the sword carrying case fell off her shoulder and rolled a few inches across the tile floor.

Hollis went into a cartwheel that ended in a crossing kick and Maya managed to block it. He moved faster, attacking with full power and speed. Using kicks and punches, he pushed Maya toward the wall. She knocked his fists away with her hands and forearms, shifted her weight onto the right foot, and aimed a front kick at Hollis’s groin. Hollis fell backward, rolled across the floor, and jumped up with another combination.

They were fighting hard now, trying to hurt each other. Vicki shouted for them to stop, but neither person seemed to hear her. Now that Maya had recovered from her initial surprise, her face was calm, her eyes intense and focused. She moved in close, throwing quick punches and kicks that tried to achieve maximum damage.

Hollis danced away from her. Even in this situation, he had to show everyone that he was a graceful and inventive fighter. With roundhouse punches and spinning back kicks, he began to push Maya across the room. The Harlequin stopped when the sword case touched her shoe.

She faked a punch at Hollis’s head, reached down, and grabbed the case. And then the sword was out, the hilt clicking into place, as she lunged toward her attacker. Hollis lost his balance, fell backward, and Maya stopped moving. The point of the sword blade was two inches away from Hollis Wilson’s neck.

“Don’t!” Vicki shouted, and the spell was broken. The violence and anger vanished from the room. Maya lowered her sword as Hollis got to his feet.