Chapter 14

George sat alone in his room with the TV on. It had been twenty minutes since he’d been sent there after Hector left the academy. Ricardo said he’d be up soon to talk to him after he was through talking to Scott, though George didn’t know what they were talking about. George had a pretty good idea what Ricardo was going to talk to him about though, and the idea left a lump in his throat.

On the television George could see Ricardo, much younger, fighting the giant Gashimov. Gashimov, as it turned out, was a great wrestler among other things, and defended himself well on the ground by trying to stay on top of Ricardo’s defensive guard and keeping his head and arms as drawn in as possible to avoid being trapped in a submission. Ricardo, visually so much smaller than his opponent, made up for his size disadvantage by making Gashimov’s every attempt to strike him a death wish. Whenever the big Russian reached out to pound his smaller opponent, he could only strike him once or twice before he found his arm trapped in a near-finishing move and had to fight to free it again. The battle was taking an obvious toll on both fighters.

As soon as the twenty-minute match was through, the referee separated the fighters and declared a draw. It was before the time when rules changed to give the sport gloves, weight divisions, five-minute rounds, and points. It you didn’t finish your opponent in twenty minutes, it was a draw. George looked in wonder as the referee raised both men’s hands in the air to the spectator’s mixed reaction. He wondered why he hadn’t watched this before.

He wondered if he had if it would have changed anything. If he might have been less tempted by Hector to participate in their secret challenge matches. If he himself might have been less angry with Ricardo. If he might have been happier and better off, had he only watched the fight before and known the truth.

“That changed everything, that match,” Ricardo said as he walked into the room.

George reached for the remote and paused the video. “Hector told me on my first day that you’d lost,” he said.

“A lot of people see it that way,” said Ricardo, who sat on the bed next to George and looked at the screen. The image was paused as a moment when both fighters were still standing with the referee with their hands in the air. “If you were to go by modern rules, Gashimov would certainly have won by unanimous decision.”

George looked at his teacher. “Modern rules would have had you two in completely different weight classes,” he pointed out.

Ricardo nodded his head. “True, but I was the champion. I was the man to beat. I went there to represent my father’s art, to show how the system he’d developed could be used to defeat an opponent who was bigger and stronger. Not to make a name for myself. But people didn’t see that. I was a prizefighter, and so when I started to win they wanted someone to beat me.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” asked George.

“Oh, newspapers. Sports channels. Fans,” he said dismissively. “Enough people to get attention from the owners of Elite.”

“And when you tied with Gashimov,” George began, but Ricardo finished.

“Everyone chose to see it as my big defeat. That’s how most fans saw it. The fall of the Gracia dynasty.”

George sat silent on his bed, absorbing what he’d just heard. How could they see Ricardo’s amazing resilience to this huge Russian a defeat?

“That’s just the way people are,” said Ricardo, answering George’s unspoken question. “They see things the way they want to see them. They wanted someone to finally beat the greatest fighter on earth. So that’s what happened. After that, I couldn’t stand the disrespect to my father’s legacy anymore. I stopped competing. Even if I did come back to professional fighting, it wouldn’t be my father’s Jiu-jitsu they would be talking about. It would be Ricardo Gracia. And that’s not what my father gave me his Jiu-jitsu for. He gave it to me because he loved me, and it was the best thing he had. So I focused on teaching.”

“People see what they want to see,” repeated George, “and they wanted to see a great fighter lose. So what did Hector want to see in you? Does he blame you because his dad used to beat him or something?”

Ricardo was silent for a minute. His eyes fell on the cage at the foot of George’s bed. Shinobi and Shuriken were beginning to wake up as the night grew later, the two of them happily gliding the short distance between their cage walls.

“Hector’s father was named Fransisco Vargas. We called him Frank. He came to me about eighteen years ago, back when the academy was in a smaller building on the other side of town. Frank had seen me on TV, and wanted lessons. Said he’d been jumped a few times on his way home from work. I didn’t know back then that ‘work’ meant dealing in drugs and stolen electronics.”

George got up from the bed and opened the cage. The two sugar gliders crawled up the long sleeve of his hoodie and perched themselves on his shoulder, apparently happy to be handled.

“So Hector didn’t like his dad, and he’s mad at you because you knew him?” George asked. “Did he think you two were friends?”

“No,” Ricardo corrected him as he gently took Shuriken from George’s shoulder. “Frank was secretly a cruel man. He enjoyed inflicting pain on others. He knew the rules of the academy, and complied while he was here. He didn’t want to get kicked out. But when Frank went home, I think he tested out his favorite techniques on his four-year-old son.”

“Hector,” whispered George, who suddenly felt pressure in the corners of his eyes. Like he wanted to cry.

Ricardo gently stroked Shuriken’s fur. “When Hector came to me, I knew immediately who he was. He told me he’d been beat up, too, though he didn’t say it was by his own father. But I suspected. He wanted to learn how to keep anyone from hurting him ever again. And so I taught him. He immediately became interested when he started seeing lessons on how to defend against the sorts of things his father did to him. It wasn’t until a few months ago, I think, that Hector finally realized I’d taught him those things. Hector has never been fond of people telling him what to do, but when he found out that his father was a student of mine, he finally began to hate me and my family’s Jiu-jitsu.”

“So what happened to Frank?” asked George.

“Who knows?” he answered. “He stopped coming to class after a few months. Troublemakers usually don’t last. I don’t think I ever gave him a single stripe. Sometime later, I’m not sure when, someone noticed Hector wasn’t safe at home, and they took him to a foster home. Hector and his father didn’t keep in touch. He left as soon as he was old enough. I think he prefers to live alone now.”

George nodded. He knew for a fact that Hector liked to live alone. George had seen his apartment only a few times, and Hector had never allowed him to stay long. It was just a pit stop on their way to the gym or a challenge match or a movie.

“So all this time, he’s been trying to find a way to beat our Jiu-jitsu,” George said.

Ricardo nodded. “He wants to prove to himself it can be beaten. That’s why he tried to provoke me tonight. He wanted to fight me.”

“Why didn’t you?” asked George.

“Because beating him wouldn’t prove anything to him,” said Ricardo. “Hector’s great weakness is no one can teach him anything anymore. Just like all those people who said I’d lost. They think what they think. Nothing will change that.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while. George couldn’t help but remember Hector’s last words to him, and how they were no longer friends. His thoughts were so wrapped in Hector, it took him a moment to realize that Ricardo had started talking about him instead.

“You have a choice to make, George.”

George shook his head, trying to bring himself out of his thoughts. “Wait, what?”

Ricardo sighed and tried again. “Your father sent you here because he wanted you to stay out of trouble long enough to figure out what you were going to do with your life. Before you came here you were coasting, letting other people tell you what to do so you didn’t have to.”

George shook his head again, but this time in disagreement. “No, I didn’t. I just…”

“Do you remember your little brawl with your friends in the back yard?” Ricardo reminded him. “Was that your idea, or someone else’s? And going to the beach? Weren’t you going because your friends were going? Even coming here and learning Jiu-jitsu. It was your father’s decision, not yours. You had no plans of your own. No ambition. You just wanted to horse around and have fun. And if you had, you could have gotten into trouble, or at the least, wasted time achieving nothing.”

George had nothing to say to this. He wondered why all this was coming up now.

“And so you came here. The plan was, as your father and I discussed it, keep you busy and productive doing something you like: fighting. But not competing. We thought you would get into the rhythm of working on a schedule and it would help you realize there was more you wanted to do with your life. But Hector got to you, and once again you let someone convince you to do something. You even went so far as to hide it from me.”

So Ricardo knew about the challenge matches. George suddenly felt ashamed. But why? He hadn’t done anything illegal, had he?

“I don’t understand why…” George tried, suddenly finding himself affected by his guilt.

“Because you violated my trust,” Ricardo answered, “and offended the people that Hector had tricked into accepting his challenges.”

“Tricked?”

“Yes. Hector only chose those schools he was sure the two of you could beat and that were easily enough manipulated to accept the challenge.” Ricardo sighed as he saw the look on George’s face. “I know you didn’t break any laws, but what you did was wrong. I gave you a chance to stop on your own. I even had a challenge match of my own, hoping it would appease you enough to give up going behind my back on your little quest for excitement.”

George could feel hot tears starting down his cheeks. He felt as though a great weight was on his chest, like he was being crushed. But there didn’t seem to be a way out from under all that pressure, not like in Jiu-jitsu. There was no escape here. He’d done something wrong, and now he was sorry.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Ricardo. He wanted to say more, but knew if he did it would only make him cry more. So he stayed silent.

“I know,” said Ricardo, scooting closer to put his arm around George. “You’re my nephew. And my friend. I don’t want you to suffer. I just need you to know what you did. That’s all.”

George started to feel the pressure ease from his chest.

“But like I said, George, you need to make a choice now. What are you going to do? You’re different now. More grown up. You’ve been given some of the best things from both your father and myself. It’s now time to choose the life you want to live and use what we’ve given you. But whatever you choose, you can’t just do the same things you’ve been doing. You have to move on.”

            Both of them were quiet for a while, watching the sugar gliders climb on top of nearly every high place in the room and go zooming from surface to surface.

            “How long do I have to think about it?” asked George.

            “A few days.”

 

            Ricardo left George’s upstairs apartment and crossed the hall from the stairs to his own office door. The light was still on, and the chairs were still where everyone had left them. Ricardo looked at the chair he’d offered to Hector, the one he didn’t take, and took it back to the nearby closet where he kept extra chairs and other supplies. He wondered if there was anything else he could have done to help Hector, or maybe if he would have been better off if Ricardo had never took him into the academy. Would it have changed things? Or changed Hector? Who knew?

            Ricardo had trained hundreds of people since he’d opened Brotherhood Jiu-jitsu Academy. He thought back to all the ones who’d eventually stopped coming and disappeared. He wondered what happened to all of them, and whether their time at the academy had ever done them any good. Ricardo had heard stories from those few who’d had to use the things he’d taught them in the battlefield or the streets or the bars or their own homes. They were always grateful. But that happened to such a small minority of his students. Most of them never have to use it at all, something Ricardo was grateful for.

            But that meant that everything Ricardo had dedicated himself to, everything he’d inherited and worked hard at and lived for, meant so very little to everyone else. In fact, the most attention Jiu-jitsu had ever received since the days of the samurai was in the cage, as a sport. A spectacle. Entertainment. That was the value of his family’s legacy to most people, he supposed.

            Ricardo crossed the office to the desk, where he juggled all the innumerable little things it took to make a martial arts business work. He found the small, wooden picture frame and picked it up, rubbing his thumb along the worn frame as he stared at his smiling father in the photo. He also stared at the other man in the photo, also smiling.

            Ricardo’s cell phone rang.

            “Ricardo, my friend, I’m sorry to call you so late. It’s Kelly Bairde.”

            Ricardo smiled. “Kelly, how’ve you been? It’s been a while. How’s business?”

            Kelly’s voice was a calm, professional tone barely holding back his excitement. “Everything’s great here, Ricardo. Really good. I’m good. Elite is good. We miss you around here.”

            Ricardo slumped into the chair and placed the picture frame back in its place on his desk. He continued to stare at it as he spoke. “Oh, you know me, Kelly. I never was in it for the belts or the money or anything like that. I just like to train people.”

            “That’s not what people are saying. Word is you have a fighter representing your academy making waves in Prodigy.” Ricardo was silent for a moment, trying to find the words to explain, but Kelly didn’t wait. “Relax, Ricardo. I know a fraud when I see one. If he really was there with your blessing, you would have been in his corner. I’m guessing you had a talented, head-strong student who didn’t agree with your no-competition policy.”

Ricardo sighed with relief. “I’m glad you understand. That boy’s caused a lot of trouble here over that. You’re not the only one who called. And I’ve been getting tired of explaining it to everyone. I thought you were calling me to recruit him. I’m glad you’re not. That’s just not what I got into the sport for.”

“We’re old friends. We both know why you started it all. And we both know why you quit.” The voice on the phone was quiet for a moment. Patient. Not wanting to push too far.

            “True,” Ricardo admitted. “I forget how well you know me. Anyway, you’ve done great there without me. You’ve got one of the fastest growing sports in the world, millions of fans, network deals.”

            “I think we could still use you around here, Ricardo. I was disappointed when I found out that whole thing with the Vargas kid was a hoax. I think you and your family still have something you could offer this sport.”

            Ricardo laughed. “No, Kelly. Don’t try to tempt me. And besides, my family already accomplished what we set out to do. It’s done.” Ricardo’s smile faded, wondering if he really believed that anymore.

            “You care a lot about your father’s art. You want everyone to know how amazing it was for him to develop that Jiu-jitsu, right? But you ought to hear some of these guys around here. You should hear how they talk about some of the fighters from the old days. About you and your brothers.”

            “Let them talk,” said Ricardo. “They’re professional athletes. A lot of them are like that. They just like to talk smack.” His voice was calm, but he still felt a swell of anger in him. He tried to ignore it.

            “You’re right,” said Kelly, “but it gets to me. I hate it that these people talk about themselves and their careers like they’re the only ones who had to bust their butts to get them where they are today. So many of them have no respect for their trainers or the pioneers who figured out this sport before them. It gets to me.”

            Ricardo nodded. “It gets to me too,” he admitted.

            Then Kelly’s tone changed. “That’s why I think you’re going to be interested in what I have planned for Elite.”

            Ricardo listened for several minutes, asking questions here or there to clarify. Kelly’s explanation, he noticed, was organized, smooth, and well thought out. He’d been planning this for some months, it seemed. And the more Ricardo listened, the more he found himself wondering what his father would think if he were listening. Because it was, Ricardo knew, something his father would have been very, very interested in.

            “So what do you say?” asked Kelly after he’d explained it all. “How would you like a shot to undo all that Gashimov nonsense? To finally show the world your family’s influence on this sport on your terms?”

            Ricardo thought back to the day he fought Gashimov. He thought of how it had made him feel to hear everyone spin his draw into a defeat, and how people looked back on that day and laughed at the Gracia family’s Jiu-jitsu. He remembered all the frustration he felt when people talked about the sport moving on from him, and how he’d seen himself as a failure for not getting some decisive victory that day over the Russian. What would he have given to erase that day and do it over again?

            “I’m in. What do you need from me?” asked Ricardo.