Proving True

The following afternoon, I enter the gymnasium for my first Shra Kuhn class. Looking around for familiar faces, I wave at Mitra. She’s talking to a little man I presume to be the instructor. He’s a small fellow, about four and a half feet tall and doesn’t look like he could weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet. Like Mitra, and everyone else in here except me, he’s wearing a simple white jacket with pants that come to just above his knees, a belt around his waist holds the jacket closed. I believe it’s called a gi but I’m not certain. I have seen similar clothing in the movies and always thought the belts were different colors to distinguish rank. Everyone in here is wearing a white belt, but they are all soiled to different degrees. The short man’s is the darkest belt, essentially black but some of the exterior fibers are breaking down, showing the white ones inside. He is mostly bald, but the hair that he has is wispy, white, and gathered into a queue at the back of his head. Our eyes meet as I walk towards them. He has a friendly demeanor and gives me a very broad smile when Mitra points at me. He waves me over to them.

“Master,” Mitra says, “this is Sonia MacTaggert, from the Engineering department. Sonia, this is Master Kreq, the Shra Kuhn instructor.”

He bows deeply, I don’t know otherwise so I mimic him. He straightens up and offers me his hand. “What she isn’t telling you,” he says in a very pleasant baritone voice, “is that when I’m not wearing this,” he spreads his arms displaying his jacket, “I’m moving crates of consumables from cold storage to the kitchens. When the command group found out I was doing Shra Kuhn shrakas suddenly I’m teaching it a minimum of two days a week. Welcome, Sonia.”

“Thank you, sir, uh, is that what I’m supposed to call you?”

He smiles. “My first name is Arnold, ‘sir’ is fine with me. Traditionally, I would be addressed as ‘Master’ but I will answer to practically anything that isn’t overtly insulting. Have you decided to join us or do you want just to watch for today?”

“I will watch today, sir,” I answer, “if that is okay with you.”

“I would prefer you participate, but if you just want to observe, that’s fine,” he says pointing to starboard, “over by that wall, please.” I walk to the wall and start leaning against it, but to get more comfortable I slide down the wall and put my back against it as I sit on the floor. He steps to the front of the class and claps his hands. The rest of the class had been standing around in twos and threes either conversing or helping each other with techniques they had learned previously. When Master Kreq claps, they all stop talking and move into a formation. It’s then that I realize how many people are here. They are essentially a heavy platoon, four ranks of about twelve people each. They leave a double arm’s length on each side as well as in front as behind. I note that the people at the back have the newest gis and the cleanest belts while the people at the front have darker belts and their gis look like they have been washed and mended many times.

They all follow Kreq’s lead in a ceremony of some sort, he kneels, they kneel. He bows, they bow. He stands, they stand. He summons the student in the front rank on the far left to the front. I guess he’s the senior student. They exchange a few words and Kreq leaves him to move among the rest of the class. The student leads the class through some exercises to get their heart rate elevated and to get them stretched out. While that happens, Kreq helps the newer students, correcting mistakes where he sees them, always with a smile as he shows them what they should be doing. The exercise session lasts for about twenty minutes then Kreq takes over.

He lectures the class on a technique then summons the three largest students in the class from the front rank. Of the remainder, the front two ranks kneel to allow the ranks behind them to see. Of the selected trio, all roll their eyes and moan to a certain degree. I guess they get picked on a lot. Before they join him at the front, each picks a two-meter pole from a bin. One end of their poles is painted red and they all orient that end towards him as they surround him. He looks to each in turn; each nods to him. Kreq barks, “Attack!”

I’m not certain exactly what happens next, but it happens at lightning speed. I see one student fall, his legs knocked from beneath him. I presume the red end of the pole is supposed to represent a blade, the other two blades attack Kreq, one is high the other low and he dodges both. Suddenly he is behind one of the remaining attackers, propelling him into his confederate. Each tries hard to avoid “stabbing” his fellow, Kreq kicks the butt end of the staff nearest him and the red “blade” strikes the other attacker in the neck. To his credit, he “plays the game” and falls pretending to be slain. The first to fall is getting to his feet, but as quick as he is, Kreq is quicker and kicks him in the chest, sending him back to the mat.

The standing attacker lunges at Kreq who evades the cut and uses the staff as a tool to throw the attacker to one side. Kreq kept hold of the staff and uses it to keep the sitting attacker at bay. All three of them raise their hands in surrender. Kreq smiles and helps them to their feet. I expect applause, but there is none. The three students return to their place in the class.

Kreq then divides the class into smaller sections and has the senior students, now armed with similar staves, tutoring the junior. After a short period of time, Kreq is satisfied with the progress of the class and approaches me. “So, Miss MacTaggert, what do you think?”

“I think,” I say slowly, “that I’d like to know where to get one of those uniforms before your next class.”

His smile broadens.