"Donahue, John - Sensei" - читать интересную книгу автора (Donahue John)

this match serve any type of purpose in terms of teaching his students?
Who would be the most appropriate opponent? Ken was a senior student
and could be a logical choice. We all knew and Sensei did too that his
wife had just had a baby and that a great deal of Ken's mental energy
was not totally focused on training at this time. He was good (even on
his bad days) but a match like this was bound to be one where both
parties limped away. Ken didn't need that right now and Yamashita knew
it.

Yamashita's head swiveled along the line of students, weighing each one
for potential, for flaws, like a diamond cutter rooting carefully
around a draw of unfinished stones. The more experienced among us sat,
trying to be totally numb about the situation, not really focusing on
Reilly, listening to the hum of the fluorescents and the faint rumble
of trucks. The newer students sat in various states: the smart ones
were secretly appalled at the prospect; the really dense were
excited.

When he called me, I tried to feel nothing. "Professor," Yamashita
said. Ever since they found out I teach in college, the nickname has
stuck. It could have been worse. Early on I had worked out at a kendo
school where the Japanese kids simply called me "Big Head."

I bowed and scooted up to the front. In this situation, you sit
formally, facing the sensei, which put me right next to Redly.

"This is Dr. Burke," he told Reilly. "I am sure you will find him
instructive."

Reilly jerked his head around to size me up. I looked back: flat eyes,
sitting there like a blue lump with relaxed muscles, no energy given to
the opponent.

"You think you want a piece of me, asshole?" Out of the side of his
mouth, like he'd picked it up from old Bogart movies. I swung around
you could see a slight jerk before he realized what I was up to and
bowed, saying nothing. Silent. Passive. A shade. Heiho was keeping
yourself in shadow.

Reilly looked back at Sensei. ""You must be joking. I'm not fucking
around with this piece of shit."

Yamashita is funny about foul language. He spends his days teaching
people how to do serious harm to others, but he has this real thing
about keeping conversation civil. Part of it's just that Japanese
politeness, but I think the other part is that he is a man dedicated to
an art that celebrates control of one sort or another, and foul
language strikes him either as the result of a bad vocabulary and poor
imagination or as a lack of mastery over one's temper. In either case,
this kind of language is forbidden in his dojo. Reilly may not have