How To Be A Guest

The teacher had been talking with the man for some time at the edge of the mat before pointing me out to him and calling me over.

Roppo.

This is Elder Brother Josh…

I had already anticipated what I was going to be asked, having overheard a conversation in the dojo a few weeks prior between the teacher and a senior student. Conversations between the teacher a senior student are not *overheard*, they are a way to keep the harmony.

They are a way for the recipient to later decline politely when the conversation is later brought up, a way to not be put on the spot.

As part of the local martial arts community, as a way to support martial arts fraternity a number of the schools in the area were participating in a student exchange program.

One student from each dojo would study at the other dojo as part of the exchange, and I was being nominated from our dojo.

The teacher explained to me that the exchange would last for six months, and during that time I would be expected to attend every class and only study at that martial arts school.

Total immersion.

Elder Brother Josh looked me up and down, and regardless of what he expected, this was what he was getting.

The other school was held in a community center across town and my only instruction beyond directions on how to get there, was to arrive early for my initial instruction, of which I did.

Elder Brother Josh was there waiting for me, as he handed me a wrapped and folded paper bag containing a uniform. Per his instructions, for now and the time that I was with the school it was my job to arrive early and hold the door open before class, followed by holding the door open after class.

Simple enough.

The rest I would be told along the way, and there was this last important point.

Any questions should be addressed to him, and I was never to talk directly to or look at Master Kevin who was the instructor of the school.

Understood.

Change into the uniform and stand by the door.

Twenty minutes before class, students started to arrive.

Not just students, but students already changed into their uniforms and carrying a variety of objects.

Wooden poles and sticks.

Iron rings.

Banners.

Pictures of masters.

A chair.

Nobody looked at me, or introduced themselves to me, and I did as was instructed opening and closing the door.

Elder Brother Josh was outside talking to one of the students, when another mis stepped and dropped the sticks that they were carrying right next to me.

Instinctively I wanted to help them, but instead I just stood there holding the door open as they fumbled around to pick up the sticks as Elder Brother Josh looked at me.

When the last of the students had arrived and the start of class was only a few minutes away, a man got out of a taxi and made his way to the door.

Knowing this was Master Kevin as he was walking like a martial artist would, I opened the door and averted my gaze as instructed.

About ten minutes after class started, Elder Brother Josh’s voice called down and told me to lock the door an come inside.

What awaited was something from another place and time, and when contrasted to the spareness and utility of the dojo took my by surprise.

The room was transformed.

Banners and colorful curtains hung from the wall.

Large wooden poles with sticks sticking out lined up against the wall.

Exotic weapons rested from the other walls.

And on the far wall sat Master Kevin in a chair, the pictures of the masters hanging on the wall behind him.

Stand here was the instruction and there I stood with my hands behind my back, taking my cue from a few of the other students standing against the different walls.

I stood there for the entire class, using the time to observe the flow of the class.

Knowing how to operate and where I stood was going to be the key to this experience, and making sure I navigated correctly for this school, and the dojo.

My most important concern was not for myself, but for the tradition I trained in. Nobody here really knew about the dojo except for Master Kevin and probably didn’t care about it either. They didn’t know I was a nobody in the greater scheme of the art, but for the next six months everything I did or didn’t do would be what they thought of it.

Without being obvious I tried to meet the gaze of each student in the class, some meeting me eyes, other looking away, and a few not even noticing me. I tried to notice any structure of who was practicing what and how they were doing it. What were the mechanics, how were they moving, and what were the key points of balance, distance, and timing?

What I did notice, and what was most important was Master Kevin.

It was if there was an invisible force field around the guy as none of the student would look at him, or even come within ten feet or so of him.

Nobody crossed passed him or spoke to him at any time.

He would occasionally call Elder Brother Josh over using some sort of bugo, whisper a few things to him, followed by Elder Brother Josh going over to one of the students and making a correction or pointing something out.

This and the structure of the class itself was different then the dojo.

There appeared to be not direct instruction.

Students worked on a specific drill for the entire class, drills being broken up into groups at different points in the space.

As class was ending I was instructed to unlock the door and again hold it open as the process reversed itself- Master Kevin leaving first and getting in a taxi followed by students leaving the dojo taking everything with them.

Elder Brother Josh was the last to leave as he handed me a key and asked if I understood my job.

Yes.

My first lesson in the school was with a group of new students, instruction on how to stand and throw a punch. Elder Brother Josh showed the form for a few seconds and we were left on our own to practice it for the night.

My first instinct on seeing that one of the key points was getting low in the stance was to copy it and get even lower than Elder Brother Josh, but I quickly amended that imagining what signal this would send.

Instead, I would copy the movement.

Not perfectly, maybe ninety percent.

Over the next three weeks, as I completed my first month of the exchange I observed more on the workings of the school.

Different groups practiced different things, and nobody seemed to move from th different workout areas of the school.

Beginners worked on punches, while other moved around iron rings, or practiced hitting wooden poles.

The more advanced students worked on what appeared to be forms involving the use of punching and trapping with the hands.

Everything was done in silence, and unlike the dojo there was never any laughing.

Which was strange.

In the dojo I was used to the art being taken seriously, while the students and even the teacher didn’t take themselves so serious.

At the start of the second month Elder Brother Josh updated me.

I was still to hold open the door, but I would be working with some of the different groups in the school as time went on.

He was very specific that this had nothing to do with my skill or any merit on my part as I had none, but rather to give me the full experience of the exchange and for this month I would be working on the iron rings.

With this new group we sometimes worked alone or across from each other, and when doing so I would sometimes instinctively and reflexively bow to the other student when we finished a part of the drill.

Most of the time I was able to catch myself.

I heard Master Kevin call out Elder Brother Josh, and even though I could not see them from where I was standing as they were behind me, I knew they were talking about me.

The other students in the group with me seemed to tense up and slow down a tiny bit.

Elder Brother Josh came over and addressed me letting me know that students don’t bow to each other in class, they only bow to Master Kevin.

Yes was my response.

Month three had me working on the wooden poles.

Punching, kicking, and slipping past the wooden arms that jutted out.

I copied the forms.

Did them the best I could.

When there was a part I couldn’t do, I left it at that.

It was tempting to fill in the parts I couldn’t do with stuff from the dojo.

I suspected Elder Brother Josh wasn’t showing me all of the forms.

I could understand that.

Month four had me working with weapons, specifically the board sword which I suspected was

an exception out of curiosity. The weapons work of the school also had an observable pattern to it.

Different weapons based on progress.

Long poles, bladed daggers, and swords.

I suspect I was instructed on the broad sword to see how it would compare to what our art was known for.

If I was going to let something slide to wrong judgement, this would be it.

This had to be it.

How could a student of a sword school not show master of the sword?

Previously where I was going ninety percent, now it was one hundred percent.

It had to be as I was also a student of my school and my teacher.

I copied the forms exactly and applied my understanding of ma-ai to give them life beyond just imitation.

After a few classes, and after Elder Brother Josh took notice I dialed it back before anything was said.

My last month of the exchange was spent working the forms with some of the other students, practicing the punches, kicks, and strikes together, and for the first time I felt a genuine warmth from the students I was working with. Elder Brother Josh also worked with me a few times, from which I could see was unexpected and didn’t regularly happen based on the reactions of the other students.

On the day of the last class, as I held the door open for the last time, when the school was empty I handed the key and folded uniform back to Elder Brother Josh.

He took the key, told me I should keep the uniform, and expressed that he hoped I could appreciate the beauty of Master Kevin’s martial art given how it was older then mine.

I couldn’t wait for the next class and after the bow in I just stood in place for a few moments.

Everything ok, asked the teacher.

Everything was fine I told him as he asked what did I think of the exchange program.

Their customs were strange was my response.