The Man With the Crow

It was a cold late December afternoon.

The sky was grey.

We had been lined up outside in the parking lot for about twenty minutes.

Snow was about to roll in.

I didn’t care.

You could hear it approaching in the distance.

The rumble of the pipes.

Alone.

Getting closer.

The bike pulled into the parking lot and past the lineup with us.

He was riding on the back.

With a crow on his shoulder.

I shit you not.

I didn’t break the line, but tilted my head just a bit to steal the glance of my friend who was thinking the same thing.

The warm up wasn’t just a warm up, it could have easily passed for the entire class, eventually I lost count of the repetitions.

The actual class itself was very different.

No instructions.

No corrections.

Just watch and repeat.

I had expected a translator, and there was one present, but for class they weren’t used or needed.

Some of us were lucky to get an extended invitation back after that first visit and soon it became a regular thing when he visited.

We had out theories about the crow.

I decided not to go out during the lunch break, better use of the time to hydrate, stay limber and collect my thoughts as the room had completely emptied out.

I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know how long he was standing there, my eyes were closed, but I should have heard him walking as nobody else was in the room yet.

He asked if he could please see my katana.

I knew he spoke English.

He inspected the blade, checked the mekugi, and then it happened.

It was only a few flashes of movement, but in that moment an understanding of what could exist a few decades from now.

He complimented my katana and handed it back to me.

That was the only time in all our time together that he ever spoke to me.