When I arrived at the dojo I was excited to tell Sensei Pantonovitz the story of the disc, the kata and the snafu.  Sensei made it a habit to always listen to the complete story before commenting, so I was surprised when he cut me off in the middle.  He arched an eyebrow and said, in his inimitable South African accent, “You did kata to music?”

I began to explain that it was a fundraiser and he cut me off again.  “You did kata to music?”  But you see, it was a good cause, and…  “You did kata to music?”  By now I was feeling mighty uncomfortable and understood that I had done something terribly wrong.

In an effort to save face I mentioned that the song was by Ray Charles.  I figured that might help, since Sensei Pantanovitz was fond of good music, especially jazz, and this was sort of like jazz, right?  “Well, you know Sensei,” I was still floundering, “you can also do randori (fighting) to music.”  He arched the other brow.

“Let’s do it!” I said.

“You want to do randori with me?” he looked surprised.  I had known him at that point for 25 years.  We’d attended tournaments together, gone out to eat together, done kata together, done kata self-defense applications together, heck, we were even pen-pals when I lived in the US… but we had never squared off to fight.  What was I thinking?

“You want to do randori with me?”  I was starting to regret that I’d suggested it, but my pride wouldn’t let me back down.  Staring at me like I was nuts (which I was) he repeated the question with even more incredibility.

I got the offending disc out of my backpack and handed it to him.  He inserted it into the sound system, pressed play and the song began.  We bowed.

What happened next happened at a speed that was impossible to process.  I felt a flutter of blows that were as light as butterfly wings touch my body in numerous places so fast as to seem simultaneous.  There were at least 20 blows, maybe more.   I closed my eyes instinctively and felt myself falling – and yet I never hit the mat, he must of thrown me while holding on – and then a sensation of being wrapped up, swaddled like a fly in the web of a giant spider.  When I opened my eyes I saw we were lying side by and side and I knew that had he put any force whatsoever into those blows I’d had died before I hit the floor.  I lifted my right arm and whacked him in the groin.  Talk about futility.    The entire episode was over in a matter of seconds.

The song played on.  I looked up to see Ariel, one of the black belts, looking as amused and amazed as I felt.  I never asked to fight with Sensei Pantonovitz again.  There are some things in life in which once is simply enough.  But I have the memories:  Magic.  Precious.  Few.  Unlike any others.