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American Wasabi

Michael W. Clark

    The arena was loud and dark, flashing blue, red, green, purple, yellow at an epilepsy inducing rate. Flashing almost too fast to distinguish individual colors. The shouts of the crowd though were not distinguishable in anyway. The roar was only loud and louder. The air smelled of sweat, adrenaline, and fear. Beer vomit scent came and went. The cage walls surrounding the octagon ring impeded the air flow, thus the smell was a humid blanket over the arena.

#

    It was a painful Aikido handlock followed through with a body thrown against the cage wall. The maneuver made the crowd roar louder than before. The crowd was overly sensitive to events in the ring. The fight had gone longer than expected. The fighter who was slammed against the octagon wall was much bigger than the fighter in the middle of the ring. No one expected this result. The smaller fighter had Chinese fighting crickets tattooed on his chest. The crickets boxed as he flexed his chest muscles. The bigger fighter had many more tattoos but none were moving because he wasn’t moving. He remained still despite the crowd’s chant to get up. The referee thus declared American Wasabi the winner. The crickets danced the victory with him.
    The crowd roared, booed and cheered all at the same time. Who was for and who was against who seemed unimportant and an unnecessary detail.

#

    American Wasabi was his fighter name. In Ohio he always had to explain. “Wasabi is not horseradish.” He would shake his head so hard his straight black hair would cover his face like curtains being drawn. “It’s hot but it’s mustard. Really hot mustard.” He got tired of explaining it. There always seemed to be new Ohioans to explain this to.
    His mother was a Japanese Japanese, named Chiharu Murakami, but his father, Jonathan Anderson, was a European-American. A Eur-Am, his father called himself. So, his name was James Warochi Murakami Anderson, a Jap-Am. He was a Hapa-haole as the Hawaiians called it. Half white. The Hawaiians meant it as an insult. It just made him angry.
    Warochi Anderson refused to be half anything. So, he was as Japanese as he could be and as American as he could be. It meant he was very polite while being pissed off most of the time. Warochi thus put wasabi mustard on everything: hamburgers, hot dogs, mashed potatoes, corn. He tired it only once on breakfast cereals. Wasabi milk shakes didn’t work either. His American grandfather told him once that you should learn from everything you do even if it’s never do that again. Especially, if it’s never do that again. Warochi quickly discovered there were limits to cross cultural experimentation. Still, he could mediate while shooting a rifle. He was a very good shooter being so calm.

#

    “Chinese fighting crickets.” Jon Anderson shrugged in the manner which told Chiharu he was drunk again. He never slurred his words, just certain body movements. “It’s his heritage.” He placed the two bamboo cages on Warochi’s dresser. The five-year-old was faking being asleep.
    Chiharu wanted anger to flare within her but she still loved him in a way. “Which is heritage? Cricket? He, I, Japanese not Chinese!”
    Jon frowned drunkenly. “It is Asian is all.” He looked down at fake sleeping Warochi. “Jim’s all-American anyway. He’ll love 'em. I didn’t know crickets were territorially?”
    “Must all be male crickets. All men are.” Chiharu didn’t have a very good education. She came from a poor fishing village on a southern island. She had moved to Yokohama to be a waitress and make money for the family. She had met Jon there. He was an American sailor. “Territorially.”
    Jon turned toward her too quickly. Chiharu didn’t flinch. She came from a large family with many brothers. She could take a punch and give one back if she needed. It always upset her when she did. Jon didn’t seem drunk enough to throw a punch. “Just love. An expression of love. We want to protect our women.”
    “From who?” Chiharu walked out of the small bedroom.
    “Jimmy will like 'em no matter their ethnic background.” Jon giggled and then laughed as he walked out too.
    Warochi had been so good at faking being asleep that he had fallen asleep even though he wanted to see those crickets.

#

    The crickets’ singing woke Warochi as if they wanted to see him too. When he opened his eyes slowly his mother was there with the bamboo cages in her hands. “Warochi-chan, mommy needs explain.”
    Warochi smiled at his mother. When he was younger, he had asked her if she were a ghost because she always seemed to float into his room. She had ghosted again. “Yes mommy.” Warochi had to pee but he would wait for his mother’s words.
    “These are called Chinese fighting crickets. I know you heard you father say it last night.” Chiharu smiled knowingly at Warochi. Her small face smiling that way always made him giggle. “You were not asleep as you should have been.” He giggled louder. “Anyways, these crickets you can hear sing. They are singing for you to wake up. But these creatures also fight with their songs. They make battle through singing. The best song wins.”
    “Who judges the songs mommy?” Warochi liked the idea of a singing battlefield. In the Animie shows, he saw war and battlefields but they only had destruction. A singing battle did seem safer for everybody.
    “They judge each other’s song, my thoughtful son.” Chiharu gave her proud smile. “A wise cricket is a fair cricket. When a better song is sung, both acknowledge it.”
    “Could I become wise by knowing the best cricket song?” Warochi listened intently to the cricket’s songs. “They are both so good. How can you tell the best?”
    Chiharu shook her head. “I am not a cricket, wise or not.”
    “Not a cricket but wise.” Warochi watched his mother’s face. He liked to see her smiles change from one form to another.
    “You will know the best song when you hear it. You just have to listen close enough.”

#

    It was the natural light of dawn in his bedroom. Warochi’s room was small and in the back of the house. It looked out on the empty playing field of the park. The sun could rise unobstructed. Chiharu wanted him closer to her at night but Jon wanted otherwise. Otherwise meaning 'manly reasons.’ Chiharu thought Jon meant privacy for sex. Jon had meant other things than just that Warochi knew nothing of any of it. It was his bedroom was all he knew.
    Warochi had the cricket cages on the windowsill. He had the cage doors open. He had never been able to decide which cricket sang the best. He had listened and listened. One seemed as good as the other. Warochi decided they should both win their freedom. So, he was releasing them at dawn. They seemed reluctant to leave. He wanted to push them out but then he thought what his mother would say.
    “Be patient. Let nature be nature.” She would say when he wanted something to happen faster. It was hard for him but he loved his mother and wanted to please her. So Warochi waited. He waited for the sun to rise and the crickets to seek their freedom. Eventually, all did achieve their nature. It pleased Warochi that his mother was right again.

    Confirmation 1: This is not a text! The sky is not weeping. It is only rain.
    A cockscrow from American Wasabi – www.Theroost.mma/AmWa

#

    Thunk! Thunk! Warochi stood dripping with sweat. He was standing in the middle of the MMA’s media management center. Warochi had been warming up for tonight’s matches. He was called to the Coordinator’s office. His hair was pulled up and tied on the top of his head. There was a faint sound of music in the office but Warochi’s heavy breathing overshadowed it.
    Thunk! Thunk! This sound came from Warochi’s left palm as the middle and ring finger of his right hand popped into the left palm. “I need more warm up.” Warochi stated with the deep resonant voice he used for business matters.
    “Ya need more flash!” Said the Coordinator sitting at his desk.
    “I win most of my matches. It’s all the flash I need.” Thunk! Thunk!
    “Ya don’t punch anybody in the face.” The Coordinator punched his own fits at his own face.
    “Said on my application, grappler not striker.” Thunk!
    “Ya but not even an elbow in the face. Knee in the groin. Make the audience feel the pain.” The Coordinator was a middle-aged man and sweating almost as much as Warochi. “Mirror neurons or some such medical shit like that!”
    “This is not Professional Wrestling. Wrestling is fake you know.” Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
    “Yar doing good on the wins there War. Can I call you War?”
    Warochi shook his head. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
    “But War, ya need more flash and gimmicks.”
    Warochi shook his head. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
    “Ya also need a manager. Then I could talk to your manager about this.” The Coordinator punched at his own face again. “More flash and you’ll get more cash. Ha! Ha!”
    Sweat dripped from the end of Warochi’s nose. He shook his head more violently for emphasis and his hair tie broke loose letting his black hair fall across his face. Warochi pointed at the door. “I am going now.” He said in the same deep resonant tones.
    “Ya won’t be goin’ as far as ya could. More flash! Get a manager. He’ll say more flash too.” The Coordinator leaned over in his chair but didn’t get up. “For the cameras, at least. Put on a show.”
    Warochi was already out the door.

#

    Confirmation 2: The fist without a hand, strikes as fiercely but without guilt. The wind has no intent
    A cockscrow from American Wasabi – www.Theroost.mma/AmWa

#

    “He just little boy!” Chiharu stood at the door of Warochi’s small bedroom.
    Jon sat on the floor so he could be eye to eye with his five-year-old son. “Time, he start growin’ up. Become a big boy now, right Jimmy.” Jon pointed at the empty cricket cages. “Those critters cost a bundle. You know that, boy?” Warochi looked up at his mother. Jon pulled his face back. “Time you stop relaying on your mommy. The bundle for the crickets. You know that?”
    Warochi looked at the floor and shook his head.
    “Yeah and you let them out!” Jon’s voice got stronger. “Threw the money away.”
    Chiharu stepped forward. “He not.”
    “Quiet! Leave now!” Jon shouted without turning around. “Go!” His shout made both Warochi and his mother jump. “Now. Shut the door!”
    Chiharu sighed and did as he asked. Making him angrier would only worsen the situation.
    Warochi started to cry.
    “Nope! No crying! Big boys don’t cry. Or steal! You stole by throwing those crickets out into the field.”
    Warochi shook his head. “They hopped out.”
    Jon thumped Warochi in the stomach with the middle and ring finger of his right hand. “No back talk.”
    Warochi cried out.
    Jon thumped him on the stomach again. “No back talk or crying. No crying. Life is full of pain.” Thump. “You have to get used to it. Take it like a man!” Thump. “Take your punishment like a man!” Thump. Thump.
    Warochi wished he could call for his mother. Warochi wished he could cry. Warochi wished he could hide, but he couldn’t do any of those things. He couldn’t stop the tears but he made no noise. Thump.
    “Ten thumps for each critter.” Jon thumped his son’s reddening stomach. “Tighten those muscles too. So flabby. Like a girl. Your mom’ll ruin you. I just won’t let her.” Thump. Thump.
    Warochi knew if his father got too angry, he would punish his mother. Warochi never wanted that. Warochi tried to hold back the tears with the sound but failed. He was only a little boy. His cheeks were soaked.
    “Pussy. She’s made you a pussy.” Jon thumped his son’s red stomach two more times. “We need to do this every week to toughen you up. Be a man Jimmy. You will be a man!” Jon got up slowly. “Mommy needs a lesson or two now.”
    Warochi wanted to cry out , “No just me!” but he was just a little boy and couldn’t. When the door closed and Warochi was alone. He clawed into his bed, put the pillow around his face and cried as loud as he could. He cried himself to sleep, so he didn’t hear the crickets singing in the dark field.

#

    Confirmation 3: Stone has no ambition. Water has no hope. Ah, the virtues of nature.
    A cockscrow from American Wasabi – www.Theroost.mma/AmWa

#

    The crowd had been subdued. American Wasabi was up against a long time favorite of the audience. Rahl Danebick was small and violent. He was a rapid striker with fist, elbow and knee. The crowd was quiet because Warochi hadn’t allowed one punch to land. He had avoided all of Rahl’s strikes. Rahl had been able to avoid most of Warochi’s holds and throws. Nothing much was happening in the ring but avoidance. The audience didn’t seem to like avoidance.
    At the round break Warochi thought about what the Coordinator had said. At the start of round two Warochi allowed Rahl to land a series of punched and kicks into his abdomen. Warochi barely felt them but the crowd really did. With each connected strike, the crowd got louder and louder. Rahl was scoring points against American Wasabi too. The only way to win was a knockout. Warochi was thinking as Rahl caught Warochi in the face. It was a hard punch and knocked him backwards.
    “How’d your whore of a motha drop a puppy dog like you. While she was on the run to her next fuck!”
    Warochi was used to insults. He was used to pain, but the combination at this moment caused him to lose his usual emotional control. He stepped back to the center of the ring and squared himself. He was trying to calm down but not succeeding.
    Rahl then rush at him. “I’m next to fuck your motha.” He shouted.
    Warochi leaned forward and just as Rahl made contact, Warochi raised both arms and his body and threw Rahl back against the wire mesh. Rahl bounced off the wall and the floor. He finally landed hard on the mat. The crowd roared louder. Warochi roared in reply. The crowd cheered. Warochi jumped over Rahl’s back and applied a throat hold on Rahl’s left carotid artery. Rahl was immediately unconscious. Warochi released him the instant Rahl’s muscles went slack. Rahl’s head bounced twice. The crowd roared, cheered and booed.
    Warochi calmly walked to the opposite side of the ring.
    “What was that?” The announcer shouted. “Some kind of tsunami attack.”
    The crowd started a chant, “Tsunami! Tsunami! Tsunami! Tsunami!”
    The ref stepped over Rahl’s limb body. He picked up Rahl’s hand. It was completely limb. He let it fall to the floor. The ref pointed at Warochi. Rahl’s crew rushed to Rahl as Warochi’s crew rushed to him. Warochi just stood there still attempting to control his breathing.
    The announcer shouted over the crowd noise. “American Wasabi! American Wasabi! American Wasabi is the winner!”

#

    Confirmation 4: Flesh is not stone. But the stone never submits.
    A cockscrow from American Wasabi – www.Theroost.mma/AmWa

#

    Chiharu wouldn’t turn around. “Mom? Mom? Mommy? What is the matter?” Warochi stood next to her. He was almost her height. For eight years old he was tall, but she had always been short. “He, but he. I was. His tests. I wasn’t tough enough?” Warochi hung his head. “It’s never enough.”
    “Warochi-chan, not your fault.” Chiharu turned only slightly. She wanted things hidden. “He well, he like this at times. No one’s fault. Drink fault!” Chiharu cried only slightly and not because of the pain in her cheeks. “Not my sweet child fault.”
    “Yes mommy.” Warochi knew when things were like this, she wanted to be alone. He didn’t want to go, but he did. He walked through the calm quiet of the house now into the noisy calm of the backyard and field. He just kept walking. He focused on one specific noise. A dull hum. As he got closer, sharpness intruded. It added an overlay of buzz.
    All his classmates were afraid of this hive and its thousands of bees. It was pain. It was fear. To all of them. His father wanted no pain felt. Or no pain expressed. It didn’t matter to him. Pain was always felt by Warochi. He knew he wasn’t good enough to remain painless. No matter how much pain he endured. It never lessened. It never went away. The pain was always there. His father could always see it there in Warochi.
    “Just not enough pain.” was Warochi’s conclusion. The bees were a solution for Warochi. They were a potential source of great pain. “Minor pain then disappears compared to this greater pain.” Warochi walked directly up close to the hive and stood there. He was not going to move not matter what.
    He just stood there with his eyes closed waiting for the first of thousands of sharp jabs of pain. He expected fire, but got only light touches, bees walking over his skin. It almost tickled. Warochi opened his eyes slowly. Bees were flying around him with no sense of panic or alarm. There was no dread in the air. There was no pain either. He thought was confronting fear of pain more manly than enduring pain? He knew he could kick the hive, make the bees feel a threat, but why. The bees would die defending the hive, but for no reason. An unnecessary fight and unnecessary deaths. Enduring fear was harder than enduring pain. Fear was anticipation, expectation. Fear was not real. Pain could be both, but mostly it was real. It was substantial but knowable.
    As the bees flew by him, Warochi lifted his arms slowly. The bees continued on. He had just become part of the surroundings. Warochi was part of nature now. No need to fear.

#

    Confirmation 5: It was a pain so intense. It induced pleasure.
    A cockscrow from American Wasabi – www.Theroost.mma/AmWa

#

    It was a night spot. A popular one, otherwise celebrities wouldn’t be there. It was full of distractions and intrusions. The SPOT it was called. It had come and it would go, but this night they had asked the American Wasabi to come. Warochi didn’t usually go clubbing, but he had become so popular on the mixed martial arts circuit that it was best if he showed himself in public. Otherwise, the fans would think him a snob and become anti-fans. His business manager had told him that.
    His business manager insisted he “go have fun.” The same manager insisted he have a bodyguard. Warochi laughed at this idea, but the SPOT wanted it too. Warochi shrugged his response. “It helps the image too.” the manager added. How appearing paranoid and helpless helps a fighter’s image Warochi couldn’t fathom. A shrug was the only appropriate response.
    Warochi wasn’t drinking anything with alcohol in it. He was smiling and dancing. But others around him, particularly men, weren’t smiling, alcohol and jealousy were involved.
    One guy stepped in front of Warochi. “Pro wrestling is fake!” he shouted in Warochi’s face.
    “Yes, most of it is.” Warochi nodded smiling.
    “You’re a fake!” The man shouted his reply.
    “You left out a step. I think it would be,” Warochi stopped and still smiling said. “Pro wrestling is fake, I am a pro wrestler, thus I am fake. Your flaw is that I am not a pro wrestler.” Warochi smiled walking on.
    “Yous guys are all frauds!” The man shouted at Warochi.
    The bodyguard then stepped in front of the shouting man. “You need to go sit down sir!” The bodyguard was just standing there talking in a voice that could be easily heard over the distractions and intrusions.
    “Fuck you!” The man shouted at the bodyguard. “From Sunday!”
    “We hardly know each other.” The bodyguard said calmly.
    “What? You son of a bitch!” The man shouted and let loose a punch at the bodyguard’s face.
    The fist never made contact with any body part. Warochi had grabbed the fist from the air. The handlock had driven the drunken shouter to the floor in agony.
    “If you can’t play nice with people.” Warochi said into the ear of the shouter who only communicated pain now. “You can’t play at all. And as you can see. I am not a pro wrestler and, more importantly, I am not fake.” Warochi patted the shouter’s forehead as Warochi stood up.
    “That was my job sir.” The bodyguard said calmly.
    “No one touches my people.” Warochi shrugged. “Just the way I am.”
    “Yes sir.” The bodyguard nodded.
    “This place is sort of dull don’t you think?” Warochi smiled at the bodyguard. “You can call me Jimmy.” Warochi extended his hand for a shake.
    “Thomas Jefferson.” The bodyguard had a very firm handshake.
    Warochi smiled. “Oh, the names our parents give us.”

#

    Confirmation 6: Water! Solid, liquid, gas! Change of state without change of weight.
    A cockscrow from American Wasabi – www.Theroost.mma/AmWa

#

    It was his tenth birthday. Instead of ten mock swats on the behind from his dad, Warochi was going to get ten punches in the stomach.
    “To prove he is a man.” As his dad put it.
    “He a boy, not man.” Chiharu had replied in disgust.
    “Yeah, you want it that way.” Jon had replied with his own disgust.
    Jon had been preparing his son for this growing up ceremony. He had Jimmy doing fifty sit-ups and fifty legs lifts. Jimmy’s stomach could take it. It was solid. Chiharu wanted her son to be a woman as far as Jon could tell. Jon was going to make Jimmy a man. Jimmy was always tough though, in a stoic way. Jimmy hadn’t cried in ages. Jon was proud of his son’s control.
    Jon wanted to give Jimmy a drink of bourbon, but ten was still too young a man for that. Jon liked bourbon on birthdays. “Plenty of B’s!” Jon would laugh. “Bbbbbbbb!” He would say while chasing Chiharu around the yard. She never seemed to get the joke. “Culture thingy.” Jon would shake his head after failing to understand his wife’s reaction. The ten punches, she couldn’t understand that either. He should’ve married a white woman, at least a woman born in the USA. Chiharu just didn’t try to fit in. She just held back too much too much of the time. She did it to punish him, Jon knew. He shouldn’t have married her. He thought Japanese women were supposed to be submissive. She wasn’t. She fought him too much, much too much. She wasn’t like this in the beginning. She lied to him. She lied to him all the time it seemed. Lied from the very start. She cried a lot too. He thought they weren’t like that either. He thought the Japanese were more stoic, like Jimmy was, and Jimmy was only half Jap.

#

    Jon wouldn’t do the ten punches in front of people. He wanted Jimmy to be able to cry out if he had to. Jon also didn’t want his friends see Jimmy fail, in case Jimmy couldn’t take it. They were in the garage.
    Warochi stood under the single exposed bulb. Warochi had taken his Cleveland Browns sweatshirt off.
    Jon waved his arms around. “No, no need to take off the sweats.” Jon shook his head with too much emphasis.
    Warochi said nothing but braced himself for the first punch. “I’m ready.” Warochi kept his voice unemotional. His father drunk was a very explosive father. So much bbbbourbon.
    Jon threw up his arms. “Who’s to argue?” Jon looked down at his son. He looked smaller than usual for some reason. Jon pulled back his fist and punched not at full speed.
    Warochi didn’t react at all. A red mark did appear on the skin of his stomach.
    Jon nodded. He punched just a little harder the second time. “Two!” No reaction except a redder stomach.
    Jon drank the last of the bourbon and punched harder. “Three!”
    Warochi stepped back a little.
    “Four!” Jon said as he punched.
    “Five!” Warochi shouted as the punched landed.
    “What?” Jon frowned. “Was that five?”
    Warochi simply nodded.
    Jon hadn’t eaten much. He didn’t like hot dogs, not with bourbon, at least. Jon was dizzy and felt strange, red in the face. “It was...” Jon pulled back to punch again.
    “Seven.” Warochi said calmly.
    “Seven?” Jon stood up and scratched his head. “Ok, seven.” This time though, Jon punched full force.
    Warochi gasped and bent over but came back up quickly.
    “You?” Jon’s dizziness started to overwhelm him.
    “That was eight.” Warochi said with effort. “Nine is next.”
    “Nine?” Jon shook his head. “Ok, nine!” Jon punched but his fist glanced off Warochi’s stomach.
    Warochi didn’t react this time.
    “OK?” Jon held on to Warochi’s shoulder to steady himself. “It’s ten!” Jon punched one last time but without effort. Jon’s fit bounced back off Warochi’s stomach.
    “Ten!” Warochi said calmly. “So, can I go?”

#

    Confirmation 7: It is not a dog. Well, it doesn’t have to be.
    A cockscrow from American Wasabi – www.Theroost.mma/AmWa

#

    “There aren’t enough punches.” The league chairman sat in the Coordinator’s chair. He had the red eyes and smell of an alcoholic. Warochi thus didn’t listen to what he was saying. “Yeah, I know this isn’t pro wrestling. I’ve heard it all before, but all men like punches. Giving punches and watching other people receive punches. It’s a guy thing.”
    Warochi’s business manager was a woman named Kate. She nodded. She was paying close attention to the chairman. She felt there was money to be made from him, so he was her focal point. “I, of all people, understand the guy thing.” She was a faux blonde. She even bleached her eyebrows. She did it for the guys. It was a guy thing, blondes, especially the Asian men. Kate didn’t understand the male fascination with blonde hair, but she didn’t care. It worked in getting them focused on her but making them distracted at the same time. They thus paid less attention to what she said and would agree to most any deal she proposed. “Warochi, the American Wasabi, takes all kinds of punches. Well, not to the face, but everywhere else.”
    “Any where else, is where I’d like to be.” Warochi said in his low resonant professional voice. It was the voice of the American Wasabi video game. “This is so redundant.”
    “But useful notes!” Kate insisted. She frowned at Warochi, scowled actually. Warochi just rolled his eyes back so she could only see the whites of his eyes. Warochi called it his American Revolution. The maneuver scared a lot of people the very first time they saw it. It hadn’t frightened Kate.
    “The crowds love that. But War here could be more aggressive.” The Chairman waved in Warochi’s direction. The American Revolution had scared the Chairman so much he couldn’t look at Warochi.
    “I am going to be that right now.” Warochi got up from his chair and walked out of the room.
    The Chairman tapped on the Coordinator’s desk. “I don’t think he understands the word aggressive.”
    Kate shook her head. “He does. He also understands the word lawsuit.”

#

    Confirmation 8: This is not a pipe! It is a club!
    A cockscrow from American Wasabi – www.Theroost.mma/AmWa

#

    Her bonsai trees seemed to be shrinking. Warochi first thought that it was him growing. The trees grew too but much slower than him. He was just getting bigger faster so the trees appeared to shrink.
    Warochi accepted this confusing situation until he was a man. After he was ten, he measured the height of each of his mother’s bonsai trees. Somehow, to Warochi’s surprise, the trees actually did get smaller. This result confused Warochi further. He finally, on his eleventh birthday, asked his mother about it.
    “Are these trees getting smaller?” Warochi asked one day as she worked on them. She didn’t turn around, so he was talking to her small back. He realized that day too, she also seemed to be shrinking.
    Her answer was simple and straight forward as was most of her answers. She said only. “Yes.”
    “Could you tell me how?” Warochi wasn’t used to asking his mother personal questions.
    She shrugged her slight shoulders. “You need to learn Japanese.”
    Warochi nodded. It seemed to be a reasonable answer to him, so he then secretly started to learn his mother’s language. He had to do it secretly because his father wanted him to be American, just American. Japanese wasn’t an American thing. Warochi realized, looking at his mother’s shrinking form, that he was both American and Japanese. He needed to be both.

#

    At first, his becoming Japanese wasn’t obvious. Warochi had started listening to Japanese language tapes at the library. He spent all of his free time at the library. His father thought he should be doing sports but he tolerated the library if Warochi worked out regularly. Warochi did just that to become more Japanese. He worked out seriously and obviously. Warochi kept his growing understanding of Japanese to himself. He didn’t even tell his mother. His father never let her speak anything but American English in the house. His mother always obeyed that command. Warochi didn’t want to put his mother in a compromising position. He kept his interest in Japan away from the house.
    He took a chance though when he found a Japanese Aikido techniques book in the sports section of the library. He read it with fascination. Circles and momentum. Centripetal force. Using the opponent’s weight and motion against them. It wasn’t enough to read about it. Warochi wanted to try the moves. He checked the book out of the library. He kept the forbidden book under all his other books in his room. While his dad was at work, Warochi would practice Aikido moves, throws, arm bars and handlocks on his friends. Aikido wasn’t just using force; it was manipulating force. Warochi loved it. His friends did too. Even though they were still small, they could throw the biggest bullies off when attacked. The bullies soon left them alone. Warochi became a friend to all the small and weak. The kids talked about Warochi’s Japanese skills despite Warochi asking them not to.
    One day, right after school, Warochi went for the new Aikido book he had asked the librarian to acquire, but it wasn’t in his room. Warochi knew it could only be taken by his father. Warochi rushed around inside the house not knowing what to do. His father wasn’t home? But when Warochi ran to the back porch, he found the book. He found the library book with a piece of paper taped to its front. Written on it in his father’s scrawl was, “Not American!” The book was all dirty.
    His father had used the book to smash all his mother’s bonsai trees. It was very clear this time why they were smaller, they were smashed flat by his father’s rage. Warochi ran to his mother’s room. He knocked gently. He never entered her room without knocking first.
    She came to the door, only opening it slightly. The room was unusually dark. She just stood in the shadows.
    “Your trees!” Warochi almost shouted.
    “Hai, ah, yes. Well, your father changed his mind about them.” She said in almost a whisper.
    “It was me. It was the Aikido wasn’t it?” Warochi was in tears but quiet tears.
    His mother’s shadow shook its small head. “No, not your fault. Your father changed his mind. It is me. Not you. Do not worry.” And then the shadow fell silent. Warochi fell silent too. There was nothing more to be said. Warochi finally turned and immediately took the Aikido book back to the library. He brushed the dirt off it the best he could on the way there.
    At the library Warochi took out all the books on boxing he could find and studied them. When he joined the boxing club at the local recreation center, his father happily paid for lessons and boxing gloves.

#

    Confirmation 9: Victory? Is that the price of failure or the reward?
    A cockscrow from American Wasabi – www.Theroost.mma/AmWa

    Simul-cast in Anime!
    For the first time ever!
    American Wasabi
    Vs.
    Kern Vontenhoort
    MMF enters a new century
    with a new technology

#

    “Yes, Chuck! Warochi’s video game is so popular in Japan, the demand for an action hero show drove this new concept in entertainment.” The announcer was shouting into his microphone.
    The crowd noise was overwhelming. Japanese student groups were chanting, “Tsunami! Tsunami! Tsunami!” American fans were doing the “War” chant,
    “War - O - Chi! War - O - Chi! War - O - Chi! War - O - Chi!”
    “Brot, yes it’s like pro wrestling here. Not any mixed martial arts tournament I have ever hosted. Simul-cast to Japan but a graphics arts computer over there is going to immediately, only a couple seconds of delay, turn live action into a cartoon, well, the video game Anime, world. The world of the American Wasabi game. Yes, hard to believe but really in this high-tech Internet world, is it? Anything is possible now and now you have it.”
    The crowd overwhelmed all audio with the entrance of Warochi James Murakami Anderson into the octagon. The announcer shouted American Wasabi! More out of form than necessity. Kern had been announced already but no one seemed to care.
    Warochi stood calmly as he always did at the start of a match. His bare chest shined with sweat from his workout. The fighting crickets there seemed as alive as the crowd.
    Kern jumped around like popcorn popping. He shouted at Warochi. “Enjoy your show. You are to be the first defeat in simul-cast Anime! Ha! Ha! Thanks for the chance to take you down globally.” And Kern punched at Warochi before the match officially begun.
    Warochi dodged the punch easily. There was first a Boo! For the illegal punch and then a “Yeah!” with Warochi’s easy evasion. Warochi turned his back on Kern and walked to the nearest wall.

#

    In the Anime simul-cast, the fighting crickets on Warochi’s chest were actually fighting. Warochi’s hair changed color and his face was stern and determined. Kern’s face though was demonic and demented. His body was ghoulish and vacant. He roared and spit fire. Ghostly whispers accompanied the roars. Blacks and reds trailed after Kern’s punches and arm swipes. As the crowd chanted “Tsunami! Tsunami! Tsunami! Tsunami!” The giant wave appeared in the background. The roar of the monster wave drowned out all else. Only the image of a glowing Warochi could be seen through the water.

#

    As Warochi turned to face center ring, the Japanese section of the crowd started to sing. It was a traditional Japanese children’s song. He hadn’t heard it since he was a boy. His mother used to sing it to him, when everything in the house was in turmoil. After his father’s raging voice disappeared, this song calmed them both. Warochi turned to look at the Japanese fan choir. As Warochi’s gaze drifted, Kern double punched Warochi in the face, first the left side then the right.
    “Pussy boy!” Kern shouted as he punched.
    Warochi fell backwards, stunned by the blows. The crowd fell silent.

#

    Anime Kern blazed with hell fire. The background darkened and pulsed. Warochi dissolved into star particles. To then swim up into the darkened sky and become stars. The stars reformed a brighter, larger Warochi as he jumped back up.

#

    Warochi shook his head. His hair covered his face. He swung it backwards. His hair was wet with sweat and stuck back on his head.
    “Pussy boy!” Kern shouted in the crowd’s stunned silence. “Can’t take a few punches. Pussy boy!”
    Anime Kern roared and spit fire. Anime Warochi’s face transformed from calm to anger.

#

    The partial loss of consciousness surprised and thus frightened Warochi. Fear just made him angrier. He usually controlled fear and anger. The song had changed that. Warochi raged inside. He just stood in the ring trying to control himself. Kern did the opposite, unleashing a barrage of body blows and kicks on to Warochi. Warochi dodged any facial punches but otherwise stood there absorbing the assault, attempting to gain self control again, but he was failing. All the time the points for Kern were clinking away in both the real and Anime world.
    Warochi’s anger was building too. Clinking up and up. He slid backwards to the edge of ring octagon. Kern laughed and bounced to the other side of the ring. He cackled and did a back flip. The crowd wasn’t certain how to respond. It mumbled in that uncertainty.
    “Pussy boy! I can take your tsunami. Go ahead! Make my match! Ha! Ha!” Kern did another back flip.
    Warochi couldn’t stop his rage. But he had to use his opponent’s force against him. Warochi’s rage was now his most dangerous opponent.
    He could only think of a move he had developed for the video game. He had never actually used in the ring. The Divine Wind, Kamikazi, it was an all or nothing move. It appeared to Warochi he could only go all or nothing or lose the match. Kern had so many points already.
    Warochi made the opening of the Video game move and the Japanese section of the crowd recognized it. They started the chant, “Kamikazi! Kamikazi! Kamikazi!”
    Kern laughed. Anime Kern cackled ad spit more fire. His hair became fire too. The background was violent with wind and purple hurricanes.

#

    Warochi ran at the laughing Kern, jumped up in the air and slammed down on Kern’s shoulders with both fists arm rigid. All of Warochi’s weight and momentum transferred to Kern’s shoulders and collar bone. Both clavicles snapped. The shock of the sudden pain stole Kern’s consciousness. He collapsed heavily on the ring’s mat.
    Anime Kern dissolved completely into nothingness, not even a sound was left. Anime Warochi glowed with white light expanding and eventually filling the screen with his serene smiling face.

#

    Confirmation 10: In darkness with open eyes. Sight does not matter.
    A cockscrow from American Wasabi – www.Theroost.mma/AmWa

#

    Jon threw the boxing gloves down. “Pussys! These gloves are for pussys! Too soft. Boxin’s not a dance. Not a game even.” Jon and Warochi were in the garage. Warochi had won the 12 and 13 year ago boxing division championship on points. His father was furious. Jon was above his normal state of drunkenness. “Boxin’s a contest between men. Pussys shouldna apply.” Jon wanted Warochi to fight him. “No gloves!” Jon shook his head. “Just knuckles and guts.”
    Warochi shook his head. “No dad. My coach said no fighting without the gloves or I would be off the squad.” Warochi picked up the gloves. “Can’t we celebrate some other way. I won!?” Warochi punched into the air.
    “Won checkers. Won shit.” Jon tore at his shirt to get it off. “Knock a fucker out. Only way ta truly win.” Jon pulled the shirt off over his head. “Ya need to be a man Jimmy. Become a man! Tonight’s good as any. Stop being a pussy!” Jon punched at his son’s head. Warochi dodged everyone.
    “Come on.” Warochi waved away his dad’s punches. “Let’s go in and have some coffee.”
    Jon punched harder at his son. “Pussy! Boy! Don’t be a Pussy! Hit me! Or try.” He slapped the back of Warochi’s head.
    Chiharu came to the open garage door. “Jon come to kitchen for kohi, coffee. Warochi tired from boxing. I am so proud he won.” Chiharu smiled at Warochi.
    “He won shit. Barely touched those kids. He needs a real fight. Needs to be a man sometime.”
    “Warochi-chan my little boy and man. He good.” Chiharu reached out to hug her son.
    “Pussyfied!” Jon slapped Chiharu’s arms away from Warochi.
    She screamed and fell backwards. Warochi turned to grab her but she hit her head on the door frame. She started to cry.
    “Pussyfied you. Come on have a real fight for a change.” Jon slapped his son’s head as he helped his mother. “Leave the Chink bitch alone for a change. Fight me!” Jon kicked Warochi in the side.
    Warochi spun around. “She is Japanese not Chinese. Get your insults right. Damn it.” He balled his bare fists.
    “Got a dick do ya? I always wondered. Had one when yous was born. Wondered what happen to it.” Jon punched at his son’s face. “You always took it. I had kicked my asshole dad’s ass by your age. He was a drunken bastard.” Jon shook his head.
    “You weren’t required to enter the family business.” Warochi was controlling his breathing. “I should look after mom’s head.” Warochi turned and Jon finally connected a punch with Warochi’s jaw. Warochi fell to his knees.
    Chiharu screamed. “Stop!”
    “Shut up bitch.” Jon shouted kicking at her.
    Warochi blocked the kick with his leg. “Leave her alone!”
    “Never bothered ya before. Ha! Ha!” Jon laughed and rapidly punched Warochi in the stomach and the face. Warochi barely reacted. “Ya could always take a punch, must have learned that from your Jap whore of a mother.” Jon laughed again. “Just a pussy though. Never fight back.”
    “Stop! Stop it all!” Warochi yelled.
    “Make me stop boy! Pussy. Make me stop!” Jon punched Warochi hard in the face again. Warochi’s lip started to bleed. “Do somethin’!” Jon screamed and Warochi punched back as hard as he could.
    Jon’s head immediately snapped backwards. There was a cruel crack and Jon collapsed on the garage concrete floor. Both Chiharu and Warochi knew Jon was dead. Neither of them moved. Warochi felt his anger replaced by satisfaction. He had trained so hard the last few years and finally delivered the only real punch he had needed to throw.

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