The Study of Falling

by Lesley C. Johnson

a.k.a. 'the politician, the lighthouse and the trained cormorant'

Chapter 6

Ukemi: The Study of Falling Safely

He led me down several corridors and increasingly narrow staircases to a door marked "Exercise Room." We entered and I found we were in a good-sized gymnasium. An unusual setting for a couple in full formal evening attire. In the centre of the room was the large padded floor mat used for tumbling and other forms of exercise. Holmes picked up a neat bundle of cloth from a bench and handed it to me.

"What's this?"

That disconcerting light was still in his eyes, but he said reasonably,

"This is your judogi.

"That," (pointing to the mat) "is the dojo."

"Go in there," (pointing to the change room door) "and change."

"Is that a 'direct order,' Holmes?" I asked, cautiously alluding to his proviso to our pre-marital agreement. I certainly felt chastened enough to accept any direction he felt disposed to give.

"A request, Russell. Merely a request." He took up a similar cloth bundle and walked into the other change room.

What on earth did he have in mind? In the small room I thoughtfully removed my hair ornament, earrings, shoes, stockings and my silk and satin finery, stripped to underclothes and then put on the rough cotton uniform. I tied my hair up in a more secure knot, then padded barefoot out to the mat. In a physical sense at least I felt vastly more comfortable than I had in days.

In the past we had, once or twice at my request, engaged in practise sessions when I was first learning the techniques of Jujitsu and other martial arts, and on occasion he had come to observe my training. But Holmes had preferred to leave the regular drills to the professional instructor he had found for me. I assumed at first that it was due to a sense of caution with regard to his age, but later events made me reconsider that assumption.

One such experience came after I had noted the attitude of great respect my instructor displayed towards Holmes whenever he appeared at the school. I ventured to ask my teacher about it, and was rather taken aback when, with an appearance of breaking a confidence he told me Holmes had once studied with the revered Master Jigoro Kano, the founder of the modern discipline of Judo.

While I was near equal to Holmes in height, the reality of male versus female anatomy made me no match to him in strength. The techniques of the sport and the skills in which I had some proficiency would help to neutralize his advantage, and I had already enjoyed some practical success in using these techniques against unsuspecting victims in several of our adventures. But I harboured no illusions that I had reached a level of competency that would challenge an expert. And Holmes would not tell me what level of 'dan' he had attained.

As I walked out to the mat Holmes left off from his taiso, the ritual warm-up exercise, and faced me. Standing straight, arms at my side, I bowed from the waist in the traditional manner. Holmes did the same, then took up a fighting stance.

"Ready?"

"Hai, Sensei." (Yes, Honoured Teacher)

He advanced quickly and in an instant I was down on the mat, having been rolled over his leg before I knew it. I hit the mat with my hand in the prescribed form to acknowledge the defeat. I would have to focus on this, I decided.

We advanced once more and this time I countered his attack with a defensive move that had us switching places. He came forward and once more I avoided his grasp, but he caught me in the turn and I was thrown again. With his knee resting lightly on my sternum he looked down on me and recited,

"'It has been said that a person may have ten years of experience, or one year of experience repeated ten times. '"

I frowned thoughtfully up at him, then slapped the floormat as a sign of submission.

Holmes stood back waiting for me to face him, bouncing lightly on his toes. Climbing to my feet I tightened the cloth belt at my waist. But when he advanced I was again overwhelmed and easily defeated by his quickness. I was also impressed by the subtle economy of his movement. Twice more I found myself thrown down to the mat, and twice more had to concede defeat. However, I was beginning to find the repeated hard landings tiresome and rather jarring.

"Focus, Russell. Attack! Has so much soft living blunted your edge?"

Was he taunting me? That glint was still in his eye. We squared off again in the centre of the mat.

Just as he advanced I said, "No hair pulling, Holmes!"

As I predicted, he was so affronted by the suggestion that he might engage in dirty tricks that he quite lost his momentum. I was able to get beside him and hook my foot behind his heel to force him backwards and down onto the mat, rather inelegantly. He stared up at me, not at all amused.

"That was low, Russell."

Nonetheless, it was within the rules, and he hit the mat with his hand. Then he was up and, ever the sportsman, assumed the starting pose again.

Before advancing he quoted,

"'Thirst for victory leads to defeat; not tiring of defeat leads to victory. '"

This time I was able to prevent him from overpowering me for some minutes; he even broke his grip and repositioned. But when I was finally thrown to the mat again I grunted from the impact. Clearly I would have to make an effort to remember the more advanced holds and throws I had been taught, but rarely had a chance to practise.

He reached down and pulled me up onto my feet.

With some anxiousness I resumed my stance, but Holmes held up his hand.

"Yamé." (Stop) "Russell, your breathing is all wrong. Attend to it."

He must have seen the strain on my face. I stopped, considered and listened. Of course! -- I was almost holding my breath, my chest muscles tight and painful.

"Hai, Sensei." I dropped down to the mat on my knees, eyes closed, and worked towards a slow, even, rhythmic inhalation and exhalation. When I had found it I rose up and faced him again. He looked at me appraisingly,

"'To study and not think is a waste. To think and not study is dangerous. '"

He reminded me of the correct way to roll out after a throw, demonstrating several different methods and giving me time to practise them.

Then we bowed to restart the match.

From that point on the session slowly, gradually transformed from exercise into art, from Randori into Kata: instead of the stop-and-start confrontations punctuated by my hard falls to the mat, we began to move in a choreographed rhythm of give and take, advance and retreat. I put aside my fear of being hurt in a fall and began to attack steadily, and while Holmes easily turned me aside, I learned more with each throw.

As we worked together, Holmes said,

"Remember the words of Master Kano: 'Softness triumphs over hardness, feebleness over strength. What is more malleable is always superior over that which is immovable. '"

And after I had rolled out and recovered from another fall, he added,

"Good Russell! As Kano Sensei says, 'This is the principle of controlling things by going along with them, of mastery through adaptation.'"

Now each move flowed into the next, each throw was smoothly followed by a roll, recovery and counter-throw as if we had rehearsed it. And when at last I actually broke his balance, pulled Holmes forward as I moved back, and felt his own momentum carry him over my shoulder, he rolled upright onto his feet and met my look of astonishment with a proud smile.

As my responses improved Holmes' intensity of focus and adherence to the classical techniques increased and I realized why he had avoided sparring with me before. As a less knowledgeable student not only was I no challenge to him, but his advanced skills would have been dulled by my inability to engage at the same high level. It seemed now he had made the decision to try to change this unequal balance, and I was moved by this further revelation of his dedication and the generosity of his spirit.

Under Holmes' masterful guidance my confidence and my understanding of the techniques that I had studied and practised in isolated units began to shift into a sure knowledge of form.

It was one of the most satisfying things I had ever experienced.

Finally we came to an unspoken agreement to stop. We bowed, Holmes fetched water from the changing room and we sat down together on the mat breathing heavily and wiping sweat from our faces with our sleeves.

"That was good, Holmes! Domo origato, Sensei."

He shook his head,

"You need not call me 'Sensei,' Russell. Your improvement has changed my position to 'Sempai,' Advisor, rather than Master."

I smiled at the compliment -- this was high praise indeed.

"Perhaps I should have thought to work with you in this discipline earlier. But I have been guilty of a certain egotism the Masters warn of: 'In study and in competition, practise humility, for if you become self-centred, you will build a wall around yourself and lose your freedom.'"

I was astounded by his candid self-evaluation. Watson would never credit it.

"Russell, your Nage-waza and Katame-waza are excellent, however I think you were holding back with the Atemi-waza. It is not necessary to do that, you know."

Was he giving me permission to strike him?

"I... think it is a trait of my sex -- we are defenders but not natural aggressors."

He looked at me with scepticism and waved this off dismissively.

"Mere social convention, Russell. Of all women I would expect you to be able to get past that."

Then he paused and waited until, in the silence I looked up into his eyes and he had my full attention.

"Russell, we would both make great improvements if you gave up that newly acquired pretence of demureness."

I stared at him.

"Are we talking about Judo, Holmes?"

But he merely smiled as he got up from the floor and said,

"In the interests of Jita Kyoei -- 'mutual benefit and welfare,' my dear Russell."

Then he produced another selection from his apparently limitless stock of aphorisms, "'A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials.'"

Bowing formally he said, "Origato, deshi."('Thank-you, student').

Then he turned and walked into the change room.

I sat and puzzled over his words, a feeling of uneasiness coming over me. 'Demureness?' When had I ever pretended demureness?

Very slowly a cold realization welled up in my mind as I grasped the meaning of those scenes in the saloon, the lounge, on the promenade and tonight in the ballroom. Each time I had been confronted with the uncomfortable social manoeuvring of my peers and other passengers I had reacted by merely bridling with silent anger or uselessly running away from the confrontation. Neither action was successful, I had learned nothing to improve the situation, and I had at this last instance stupidly walked into a disaster of my own creating. Because of my reluctance to deal with these encounters properly I had caused embarrassment to myself, to my friends, and worse, to Holmes.

Yet he had shown me again and again that he was quite capable of turning these various confrontations harmlessly aside. I reviewed Holmes' first encounters with Caroline, with Kennington, and with Mr. Coyne and understood how he had taken hold of their self-interested curiosity, diverted it and neutralized it. Subtle, effortless and effective.

Now I realized that from the moment we had set foot on the ship he had been trying to make me understand that, in these sorts of encounters, he needed to be able to rely on me as much as I knew I could rely on him. He was teaching me that by drawing an opponent forward (a social 'opponent' -- so closely mirroring a political opponent), by moving in the same direction, instead of counter to it, the force could be neutralized or even used to advantage.

And he had just now deftly illustrated this to me with a one-on-one Master Class in Ukemi -- the study of falling safely. The technique was to give the appearance of falling back or giving way before an opponent, but in fact the action was to draw the opponent along with the same motion and gain control in the encounter.

I began to understand what might be required of me in this new assignment. Rather than scrambling over desert wadis, through labyrinthine tunnels and underground chambers, we would be entering the even more treacherous landscape of political intrigue. Faintness of heart, demureness, would be worse than useless. Confrontation would be suicide. And simple knife throwing would not get me, or Holmes, safely through this case.

I was still on the floormat when Holmes emerged from the changing room, slightly damp from the shower and dressed rather less formally than earlier in the evening: he had merely pulled on the trousers and left his shirt open at the neck and wrists. He frowned to see me still sitting there, set his other clothes on the bench and came to drop down beside me. I looked at him thoughtfully.

"You... couldn't have simply explained things to me, I don't suppose?"

"I have been trying, Russ, but it is not something that is easily communicated. It wouldn't do simply to say, 'By the way, Russ, don't start an argument with a terrorist' -- or 'Don't let your guard down with this informant, he may be a double agent.' A little subtlety was required.

"I had thought that the circumstances of this little sea voyage might provide an opportunity to illustrate the kinds of skills needed for the investigation. You see, it is often fascinating to observe what develops in a given group of subjects, forcibly confined in a limited space: the inevitable eruption of rivalries, factions and alliances... Very much like the situation we will encounter in this new case.

"However," and here he had the grace to look uncomfortable, "this particular laboratory did not contain the random population I had expected. And because of that your position in the experiment was not the same as mine. I sincerely regret that, Russ, for your sake.

"Not only were there the influencing variables of your pre-existing relationships with your Oxford peers, but there was also a significant and... completely unanticipated factor in this equation."

I blushed. Then he said quietly as though broaching a delicate topic,

"Perhaps I had better ask you this now, Russell, before we go any further."

He studied the floor and his expression was very grave,

"In fact... it would be a serious misjudgement on my part to bring you into the present assignment without first determining this."

I felt a certain trepidation as he raised his grey eyes to mine and asked,

"Do you know of anyone in Italy with a vendetta against you, Russell?"

I stared at him for almost a minute before I realized he was joking. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. I rolled my eyes, forcefully released both tension and exasperation with the breath I had held, but said nothing.

He stood and offered his hand to me. I reached out to take it, and he pulled me up into an embrace,

"As I said, Russ, a little subtlety was required."

"In my case the subtlety of a full body throw to the floor."

"Yes, that seems to have worked eminently in your case." He said, smiling.

"Holmes, I am sorry about tonight. I know I have disappointed you. I've disappointed myself."

He said lightly across the top of my head,

"'We stand in our own shadow and wonder why it is dark.'"

"How many more of those analects have you got up your sleeve, Holmes?"

"I believe there are seventy-three more, Russ."

"Enough to get us back home again?"

He pulled away and looked seriously into my eyes.

"Russell, if you wish it I will have the ship turned around tonight, figuratively speaking. There are others whom Mycroft could rely on."

"No, Holmes," I said, straightening my spine and meeting his eye, "If your brother has confidence in me, I would not wish to let him down. In fact I would appreciate the opportunity to prove that his confidence is not misplaced."

He smiled approvingly,

"'Without anxious thought, doing comes from being.'"

"That's enough of those for tonight, Holmes."

"Perhaps you are right."