American dream (Американская мечта)

roof, secret support, or some problems with competitors and racketeers. Usually, Russians pay to Russians, Italians to Italians etc. We as Russians are your natural friends and …
 - How much?
 - Oh, we take only ten percent of the income. Like Catholics for the Church. Some take thirty percent. Some can take all.
 - Did you see me fighting in the film?
 - Certainly.
 - Do you think it’s a game?
- Ye, it’s a film.
- You are mistaken. I don’t need any support, so thank you for you proposal, gentlemen, and good bye.
- Do don’t understand and you are new to America. What can you do against several guns?
- I’ll think of something, when I see them.
- OK. Here they are, - and they showed their weapons.
- It’s a friendly demonstration or a serious hint?
- A hint. Timanov suddenly jumped to the back of one racketeer, grabbed his hand with gun and pressed his finger on the trigger, targeting it to others. They shot too but hit only their companion, Oleg’s shield. So everything was over in seconds. And he quietly walked on. In a minute a police car buzzed by and stopped at the corner. But he went on and on, unrecognized and unremembered by any one.
  The singer-girl phoned him next day and told about the murder near the club. She advised him to avoid such places without bodyguards and with them too. The Russian club was occupied by businessmen; people of art gathered in another place. If he wanted, she could accompany him there and show the way. He accepted her invitation and she picked him up in the center in her own car.
 Her name was Tanya and she came from Moscow five years ago. Unmarried, but not alone, lived with two other girls in one flat and worked as a secretary at daytime. She had red hair, but it was colored from blonde.
- You must have an image here. And mine is a fox.
- What does it mean?
- Fire and energy, wit and trickery. Blondes are lazy and self-conceited. I was such in Russia and then I cut my past and went here for luck.
- American dream?
- My own. You are lucky here and I want to become like you. Or more exactly like American girls in films, who marry millionaires. By the way are you married?
- No.
- And you must have at least a million for your film, - she laughed. – I know the prices for everything, and you are the man I need. Ha-ha-ha! It’s a joke. I have a rich boy-friend and he is OK. I’m not going to change the horse at the finish. This car is his present. He is Tom, a pilot and his father owns an air lines company. I told him about you before we met to avoid misunderstanding, and he wished me good time with you. He is really kind and never jealous a bit, so I trust him too. You know, Russian wives are popular in the West, because we don’t demand as much as their women. And we work hard.
- So he’ll be richer than me?
- Ha-ha-ha! He is not alien here and I want safety and stability. Russians risk and leave bad reputation. I don’t want to fear all my life. Did you notice that I speak only English with you? I want to be assimilated.  
- That’s good. I can relax with you, because I’m the same. And I don’t need another girl. I have already enough.
- Two?
- How did you guess?
- No one complains for one.
- And what do you think of Russian mafia?
- They are fools like all criminals and end in prison or get killed. Mafia is similar everywhere. They can control only those, who are scared. Police here is more powerful than in Russia ant there is FBI. If they buy a policeman, that’s not final. Everything is checked and sooner or later they get caught, or catch a bullet like yesterday.
  The arts center, they came to, was more intellectual and safe. Tumanov interested people there too, but they were more calm and reserved. They discussed not him personally but art in general, mostly books. Like Moscow intelligentsia. It reminded him of his youth in Moscow, when he was a student.
- Russians are the same everywhere I belong to this type and enjoy the company.
- I also like this place, though I’m nobody and they noticed me only with you.
  Then her Tom came too. He didn’t know Russian and they left. Oleg said he would get home himself and called Lulu. She was curious and wouldn’t mind to have a look at Russian intellectuals, though she herself wasn’t intellectual a bit. She came and took him to dance, then tasted wine, Russian cuisine, talked to some writers about Russian literature and said she was tired and wanted to go to bed.
- With you, - added to his ear and they went back. – Don’t buy a car, it’s too dangerous. Better call me, whenever you need.


                                         Shaolin

    Mike preferred original sources and for some new kung-fu material for his films decided to visit Shaolin monastery in China, maybe, to find new fighters, or just new ideas of plots. Naturally, he took with him Ole as a consultant and an intermediary.
    Monks demonstrated their martial art and the miracles of chi, inner universal energy, which can protect the body from any harm – a spear, pressing to the throat etc. That was already known from many documentary films and Mike wanted something else. Chinese showed beautiful fights with diverse complex strikes and Mike liked it more. Especially kicks in jumps.  They were very spectacular and he filmed all he could.
  - And can you repeat their trick with a spear to the throat? – asked he Ole.
  - Never tried and I don’t think I should. There no spears in Russia or America.
  - Than do you believe in chi?
  - Certainly, it’s absolutely real.
  - Well, can you do anything like that at all?
  - Maybe, something, when it’s unavoidable.
  - And in a film?
  - Not sure. It requires a real extreme situation. The energy sleeps inside and awakens only in response to a real mortal threat.
  - It’s a pity, - disappointedly closed the topic Mike.
  This night Ole had a bad dream, some shadows with red eyes, like demons, tried to drag him to a cave and sacrifice to some goddess of death. Suddenly he awoke and realized that something was wrong in reality. Someone was standing behind the door and he was hostile. Then a key turned in the lock, the door opened and someone entered the room. The fight was short but hard. He was a very effective warrior and nearly killed Oleg with his sword and missed only because Oleg became invisible. He stood in the corner and watched the man. He slowly turned to Oleg and moved in his direction. Evidently, he felt him and there was no way out but … He struck him at distance before he approached with an impulse on astral energy. The intruder collapsed and lost consciousness.  
    Oleg switched on the light and looked at the fighter. It was the Chinese champion of the competitions, shown to Mike the day before. Oleg pushed his sword with the leg aside and tied the man’s arms and legs with belts. Than he slapped him on the cheek and the man came to his senses.
  - What’s the problem? Did you take me for someone else?  
  - Sorry, it was a mistake, - agreed the man.
  - Really? You don’t know the rooms in your own monastery?
  - I know, but I had to test you.
  - Why? I don’t take part in your competitions. I’m a guest.
  - Your boss wanted to awaken your chi and asked me to frighten you to death. I would never kill you. It was a joke.
  - Why did you obey him? He paid you or just convinced?
  - Both. I was curious myself after the boss showed your film. He donated a large sum to the monastery and it was impolite to refuse.
  A nock at the door stopped their acquaintance and Mike entered the room. He smiled and silently offered Ole a paper with a pen.
  - Sign it. It’s your permission to shoot the scene.
  - Or to shoot me?
  - Frankly speaking, cameras are already here and I just want to take them out.  
  - Than why do you ask me to sign it?
  - I don’t want to break the rules. We live in democracy and everything must be fixed.
  - OK. And what’s the price of this democracy?
  - It depends on what I’ll see there. But surely you won and now you are in the team for the film, with brother Lea. And he nodded to the Chinese on the floor.
  In the cadres of their fight Oleg disappeared too. So it was not hypnoses. The astral strike was a black ray from his hand to Lea’s head.
  - Why is it black and not white like in films about magicians? Is it real chi or black magic? – wondered Mike
  - Neither. It’s destructive astral, a warrior’s individual will, a weapon like a sword. White light is constructive and serves for support and healing. If I sent a white ray, he wouldn’t fall. I save white light for friends.
  - But is it possible to stop an attack with white? Or films lie?
  - Possible, if you buy the attacker with your energy, like with dollars. But that’s not my style.
  - Ninjas prefer black clothes, -added Lea, - and they are crueler than Shaolin. That’s their psychology. Did you study in Japan?
  - You are close to the truth. I like ninjas for their will and decisiveness, but I’ve never been in Japan. Though I wouldn’t refuse a trip their. It would be interesting.
  - Wow, that’s an idea! – acclaimed Mike. – Why not? After China we can go with the whole team to test ninjas and to invite them to filming. Lea, do you join?
  - Shaolin is soft, ninjas are hard. It’s an ancient question, which is better. It’s philosophy and culture. We argue each time we meet, without words.
  - And who wins? - asked Mike.
  - We meet very rarely, - smiled Lea.
 
    In Japan Mike found Kate to probe the situation. She preferred soft style too and had to compete with Japanese karate fighters in her new film as an American girl-friend a Chinese kung-fu teacher. Events started in the USA and developed in Japan, finally they were to leave for China and return back to America. Kate plunged into Japanese space and couldn’t think of anything else so their meeting with Ole was friendly but businesslike, no emotions, and no trace of feelings from their common film. Ole wasn’t disappointed because he was not in love with her and their sympathy was just inertia of acting.
   Kate knew nothing of ninjas and Mike decided to search for them on his own. Ole didn’t believe in his luck, because real ninjas didn’t like filming. A man could be recognized by his stature, pace and moves even in masking clothes and ninjas preferred security to fame. But he had a secret clue to their clan in the form of an e-mail address. He never met the girl, who taught him at distance, but he could ask her for help in case of necessity and he asked. He sent her his address and explained the situation. If she could help she would send someone or come herself.
  Kitty, that was her nick-name, answered with refusal to filming, as he expected, but invited him to a ninja qualification tournament as her disciple. They made acquaintance in the Internet through talks about Zen-Buddhism, she was surprised by his real personal experience and understanding of Japanese culture and as exclusion accepted him to her secret school. And now she gave him another rare chance in their clan.
   If he passed the exam he would be accepted as a relative, because ninjas usually trust only gens, and friendly ties usually lead to unions by marriage. It was not a strict rule, no one would force him to marry a Japanese, but if he didn’t do it personally, his descendants would be able to do it in any generation. It was a great honor for a non-Japanese and he would never miss the opportunity.
 Kitty came directly and openly to his hotel room at daytime without any masks. It was a gesture of trust to raise his spirits before the fights and he was grateful and very polite. Like a real Japanese. He suspected that she might be beautiful but the reality was just striking. She was a lotus flower in the bloom, polite and refined too. He had a temptation to ask if she was married but he didn’t dare, because it would sound European. Ninjas had to guess everything they needed and his inner voice said him she was free. But she was of higher rank as a teacher and any signs of sympathy would be inappropriate. He could only listen and obey.
 To relax him she smiled and joked but he felt inner distance and was not misled. She was not for him as a star in the sky. He could only watch her and enjoy her light. They went in a car to the outskirts of Tokyo and then by a helicopter to some island. There she gave him ninja clothes, a sword and explained the rules. All fights should be with real weapons but at distance to keep real combat reflexes. He should feel his rivals and win the fight in the parallel world, astral. If he really did, they would never approach him in reality and leave alone. Then she would fly back and take him away.
 The helicopter whirled up and he was left on the shore near the bamboo forest with his sword and his fate. Yes, it was the right method. His senses switched on to the full and he looked around like a scanner through the whole land. In his inner vision there were several black spots. They were alive and moving towards him. These were ninjas. And the game began. He ran to the forest, relaxed and as easy as wind. The spots reacted and changed direction. They saw him too and it was useless to hide. He made some swift strikes with the sword to feel it better as a continuation of his hand. It was perfect and alive.
 In ten minutes ninjas encircled him and he felt their close presence by skin. The first strike came from behind; he hardly reflected it and struck back. Then everything was so quick that couldn’t think anything over. Only reflexes worked and it was over in seconds. He didn’t feel any cuts on his body and several times felt the contact of his sword with other bodies. It was so realistic that he understood that he passed the exam and went back to the beach. At the sea he stopped and relaxed. His soul melted in the eternity and infinity of light and he thought that now Kitty was not a star but a Moon. Though still out of his reach.
  Her helicopter took him to a lonely castle yard, where he had to fight with a bamboo sword and real contact. Karate was possible too.  She didn’t leave him and stood at distance like a black bird, watching his moves. Soon the fighters appeared, black-clothed as usual, and silently pressed him to the edge of the castle wall. He stopped and met them on the safe ground. This time they fight lasted longer and neither side got decisive advantage.
 Then he suddenly stumbled and began to stagger like a wounded or a drunken man. Maybe, he was tired, may his felt sick and ninjas decided that it was the end and bravely attacked. But his bamboo sword as if without his will meet them with casual precise cuts and the tournament was over.
 - That’s the school of drunkard! – came closer Kitty. – Shaolin!
 - I thought you don’t use it, - relied Oleg.
 - We don’t, but you did. Who taught you?
 - Nobody. I just saw kung-fu films and imitated it myself, by intuition. It’s based on Chinese philosophy and I studied it as the source of Zen.
 - Great! I was not mistaken in you. Now it’s your turn to teach me. To pay the debt, - and she happily laughed. – You’ve passed the exam and as a Russian you can use any tradition you like.
 - I don’t want to be your teacher. That’s too official; I want to become your friend.
 - We are friends from the time we met in the Internet. Japanese don’t teach Russians. Japan and Russia are not political allies and even don’t have any peace treaty after the war. We don’t seriously teach even Americans though they defend Japan from a possible aggression.
- And what about Hollywood films about American ninjas?
- It’s diplomatic gestures. Americans don’t have ninja intuition and without it a ninja is not a ninja. He is only a masked samurai. We are a mystic tradition and you got here only due to Zen.  Buddhism is open for everybody but white people don’t really understand it. Enlightenment must come first, combat secrets next. In American films about Eastern martial arts it’s vice verse.  Secrets come first only for Japanese in ninja clans. Now you belong to mine and you can know my name. I’m Yuriko.
 - But you invited me to a tournament as your disciple …
 - It was an experiment, as all my teaching, exclusion from the rules. My father permitted it at my request, because you taught me Zen.


                                       Yakudzu

  Next morning Yuriko came again, without invitation and warning. She knew he would be glad to spend with her another day and invited him for another round of adventures.  
 -  There is a third test for ninjas in Japan, though it is voluntary, because not quite legal, though laws in our country differ from American and Russian.
 - In the Soviet Union law prohibited democracy and market and now they are the basis of Constitution.
 - In Japan mafia is legal by law but it is illegal by nature so there must be a counterbalance. Ninjas do the job, when there is a hint from police.
 - I see. Yakudzu clans become impudent?
 - When they compete, they ere weaker. When they unite they become dangerous and don’t show proper respect to police and authorities. And we teach them a lesson.  
 - OK. When shall we start?
 -  They expect us at night. And we really like darkness. But you have different habits, as I feel.
 - Yes, take me right to the place.
 - They meet today in a hotel to discuss conditions and spheres of influence. What do you need?
 - A wig, a beard and moustaches with an old man’s clothes.
 - A rubber Japanese face too?
 - Especially if it resembles some yakudzu leader.
 - Possible. I’ll return in an hour.

   Oleg didn’t know Japanese and couldn’t imitate much. The idea was to approach the guards and to leave after the work unrecognized. Besides he took a gun with a silencer. It was not a Japanese style and passed the guarded corridor very quickly, shooting quietly everyone he met. In the room with yakudzu bosses he threw three gas grenades and put on a breather. Then took from the last guards their swords and cut all bosses their heads. Cameras in the corridor recorded his attack (and his face) and he had to hurry away. So he opened the window, threw a thin rope and glided to the ground. The rest was simpler and in an hour he was back.
   Yuriko stretched on the sofa like a cat and switched on TV.
  - I think they will show you soon on all channels. By the way you have deserved a prize. Try to guess. It’s a work of art but very useful in life.
  - I can’t guess your thoughts; you are still a riddle for me. I know nothing about you, even whether you are married.
  - Ha-ha-ha! - laughed Yuriko. – But I understand you very well and I know what you need. It’s not me as a girl-friend but a legal sword.
  - I didn’t plan to make you my girl-friend.
  - I know, but you asked, whether I am married and I know my impression on men. You are influenced too; I saw it in your eyes from the first meeting.
  - Well. You are right, but it’s pure esthetical feeling on my side. I enjoy beauty in all forms but I never grab it and draw to myself.
  - That’s good, because I wound never emigrate to America and you would never settle in Japan. We can be devoted friends but not a dull silly married couple, annoying each other with dull silly arguments about home trifles, like ordinary people. Your fate is different, you are a lonely warrior and I’m too.
  - Ha-ha-ha! You are going to stay alone?
  - I am not. I have some friends like you and relatives. I am busy with my duties and have no time for regrets about love, though frankly speaking you make me hesitate. But it’s only esthetical feeling on my part; just I love your style. So