In the Course of Human Events. Mike Harvkey

they want?”

      “They say they made a mistake three years ago and now I owe them more money than I got in the bank.”

      “In my opinion, the IRS is a rogue agency. I don’t recognize their power. Personally I ain’t paid them a penny in years.”

      Clyde had never heard such a thing. “You haven’t?”

      “Do me a favor, Clyde, and bring the letter when you come over tomorrow.”

      Clyde wanted to, but he didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case.

      Jay said, “Clyde?”

      “None of your students pay?”

      “Don’t you worry about my other students, Clyde. Every case is unique unto itself.”

      “You sure, sir?”

      “I’m sure, Clyde, I am a hundred percent sure. Question is, are you sure? You’ve plumb run out of excuses.”

      Clyde grinned. Jay could already read him better than some people Clyde called friends. What the hell? he thought. If he didn’t like it, he could always quit. “Okay,” he said.

      “Hot damn! What I like to hear. See you Sunday morning. Be on time, that’s all I ask.” Then Jay said, “Osu,” which sounded like “oh” followed by a long hiss. Clyde didn’t know what it meant but Jay hung up before he had time to say anything.

      Getting back in his truck, Clyde wondered how Jay had got his cell phone number.

      At eight the next morning, breath visible on the air, Clyde stood in the cold grass in his bare feet, shivering. The belt Jay had tied around his waist was the same color as his gi but dirty and limp. Jay grunted some Japanese stuff before Clyde, the only student there. “Let’s start with a little run,” Jay said, jogging into the street on bare feet. “Five miles.” Clyde nearly stopped right then and there; he hadn’t run five miles since junior high. The macadam was hard and cold. Less than a mile in, Clyde stumbled to the edge of a pit and threw up, vomit the color of tea dappling the water below. He hadn’t eaten any breakfast and had drunk only half his bottle of rocket fuel on the drive over. Puking, he was sure, would excuse him from training. “If you’re gonna puke, puke hard,” Jay said.

      When Clyde finished he said, “Sorry.”

      “No ‘sorry’ in training. No shame in upchucking. The body gets rid of what it don’t want. The more you train, the better it gets at doing it.”

      Clyde wondered when Jay would say, “Well, you done good. That’s enough for today.” Jay executed a series of techniques. Clyde had never seen anybody with so much raw power and it gave him a chill. “Four laps left,” Jay said. “Then we train. Don’t worry about puking. Don’t worry about what happens later. Worry about entering the mai.” He didn’t elaborate on that, pulling Clyde by his gi back into the street. By the time they were in the yard again the sun was up and the balls of Clyde’s feet, what Jay called his chusuku, were bloody, the bones of his heels bruised. The left side of Clyde’s chest ached. When he headed for the house, Jay said, “Get back in line, Clyde-san. We ain’t done, we’s just getting started.”

      “I was just gonna see what time it was.” Clyde hadn’t forgotten that he had to drive his mom to the Omega today.

      “When we train, we leave everything else at the door of the dojo. And dojo don’t mean a little room with mats an’ shit, some cross-eyed Jap pouring tea. Wherever we choose to train becomes our dojo. Right now, it’s this patch of grass. We decide to do some kihon in a McDonald’s lobby, that lobby’s our dojo.”

      “Osu,” Clyde said, already understanding that much. He also understood that he probably wouldn’t make it home in time to drive his mom to her first day of work. He understood that, without a fight, he wasn’t going anywhere until Jay said class was over, and no part of him wanted to fight this man.

      All morning they trained against the cold and Clyde pushed his mom from his mind. It felt good learning how to throw a punch, straight and fast and hard. At midday, Jay went into the house and came out with a big kick bag. He held it against his body and Clyde threw front-snap kicks, what Jay called chusuku mai geri, into the bag as Jay yelled, “Gotta move me, Clyde. Push me back!” Clyde never did move him, but after a hundred kicks, his toes were stubbed and swollen and he’d overextended both legs.

      When Tina and Jan came out of the house and took to the front porch, watching, Clyde again wondered about the time. The sun was high. He thought that he might, if he left right now, still make it to Strasburg in time. Distracted by the women, Jay said, “All right, let’s take a break. Clyde-san, you bring that letter?”

      “Osu,” Clyde said, getting it from his truck. He handed it to Jay and turned his phone on.

      Jay stood in the yard, a cigarette in his mouth and the letter held up to his face. He made noises as he read. He laughed. When he finished he tucked it inside his gi.

      “How’d he do?” Jan asked.

      “I think we got us a damn warrior here,” Jay said, snickering, and Clyde couldn’t tell if he was joking. “Light lunch, Clyde. Banana. Some crackers. No more than one glass of water. Ten minutes, then we train till five. Dale’s on his way.” When his phone powered on, Clyde tried to read the time, but sweat ran into his eyes. The muscles that wrapped his ribs burned and his hands shook. It was one thirty. He’d missed five calls, all from his mom. Clyde stood with the phone in his hand, staring at Jay.

      “Ought oh,” Jan said.

      “Think you just broke him, Dad,” Tina said, giggling.

      “Nah, Clyde’s tougher than that.”

      Clyde crossed the distance in the yard so that only Jay would hear what he had to say. “I’m really sorry, sir.”

      “Sensei. And say ‘osu’ when you want to talk to me.”

      “Osu. Sensei,” Clyde said. “My mom needs me to drive her to work.”

      “Do she?”

      “Yes sir. Osu.”

      “Sunday class don’t end till five though.”

      “Yeah, I didn’t know that. Osu.”

      “When we train, we leave everything at the door, Clyde. That’s all I ask.”

      “Osu. I’m sorry.”

      “You were doing so well too.”

      “I guess, sir, Sensei, if I’d known this was all day . . . I woulda had to . . . skip it.”

      “What’s the problem?” Jan asked Jay from the steps.

      “Turns out,” Jay said, loud enough for everyone to hear him, “Clyde-san’s got other obligations.”

      “Oh, man.” Tina fixed her mouth in a grimace. “You screwed up, buddy.”

      “I’m sorry,” Clyde mumbled to Jay. He hit the button on the side of his phone. 1:43 now.

      Jay snickered and slapped Clyde’s shoulder. “I’m just playing with you, Clyde. Go on, git. Your mommy needs you, don’t let us keep you.” Jay said all that grinning but he still looked mad, Clyde thought, still looked disappointed. Clyde bowed the way he’d bowed at the beginning and limped to his truck just as Jimmy-Don pulled up in front hollering about the FBI. Dale slammed his door and ran off down the street on bare feet in a filthy gi.

      “What’s happening?” Jay said, hurrying across the yard. Clyde wiped his eyes and saw a brown sedan parked near the entrance of the Ridge, a K-car or some other shitty make and model. When Dale got close, the engine started and the car lurched from the curb. Dale yelled after it and snatched up rocks to throw. They peppered the trunk. The car jerked into second, getting a scratch, and raced away.

      “You’re shitting me,”