Dragon and Tiger (eBook)

Johnny and his mother spent a nice Sunday afternoon together at the city festival. Now they were heading back to the parking lot, past the main tent and market stalls and through the crowd. There was always a lot going on during the festival. Even the narrowest alleyways and darkest corners of the city were filled with life then. The closer they got to the alley that led to the parking lot, the louder they could hear strange noises coming from that direction: “Tsh-tsh-ding-dong-dong, tsh-tsh-ding-dong-dong.” Johnny’s ears perked up. He had never heard such strange sounds before. They didn’t fit in at all with festival atmosphere and the brass bands that you could hear much more clearly coming from the tent.

“What kind of music is that?” Johnny asked his mother. But she was tired from all the walking. “I don’t know. It’s probably some kind of street mu­sicians. Come on, let’s go to the car!” she said, ready to turn into the alleyway. But Johnny was curious. He wanted to see where the sounds were coming from and continued to make his way through the crowd. His mother could hardly keep up with him, but she saw how he stopped and stood between two other onlookers.

Johnny could see a circle of people in white T-shirts and white pants. A man with black hair and darker skin stood out because he was ­playing the ­instrument that was making the peculiar sounds. It looked like a bow and it was at least as big as the one Johnny had seen in his book about Native Americans. He was surprised that you could make music with it and won­dered where the man was hiding the arrows. But the man didn’t have any arrows — his face wasn’t painted and there were no feathers on his head either.

‘He’s not a Native American then!’ Johnny thought to himself.

Instead, the man hit a short stick against the tight string between the ends of the bow. Johnny could also see some kind of ball on the bottom that the man moved back and forth rhythmically.

“Tsh-tsh-ding-dong-dong, tsh-tsh-ding-dong-dong,” he kept playing over and over on the bow.

‘That’s a really strange instrument,’ thought Johnny.

At least he had already seen drums like the ones the other musicians were accompanying the bow player with. Suddenly the man playing the bow began to sing loudly and the people in white pants joined him just as loudly in chorus. Johnny looked around shyly at first. But it didn’t take long for the rhythm of the music to get him and others began to clap along with it.

Then something started to move.

Two men had come out from the crowd and were now huddling on the ground in front of the bow player. They stared directly at each other and it seemed as if they were about to fight.

Johnny was tense.

Before he knew it, the two men started doing cartwheels on the hard asphalt towards the center of the circle. First they pranced around in broad and fast rock steps — keeping an eye on each other the whole time. But then they began to spin and jump very quickly in circles. Johnny was amazed and could hardly believe how fast they spun around with their legs in the air. Both dancers performed incredible moves — on one leg, on one hand or doing a headstand. The scene quickly turned into a breakneck act. Johnny was so close to the action that he could feel the breeze in his face from the circular, swinging steps. He took a step back and watched how the fighters kicked their legs past their opponent, barely missing the target each time.

‘Why don’t they just use their fists to fight? Maybe they’d hit their target better!’ Johnny thought to himself.

But it seemed as if the two men were not trying to hit each other. Apparently they were having plenty of fun just faking the attacks and outwitting their opponent. Johnny was confused. He had never seen such happy fighters before.

He recalled a fight that happened at school not too long ago. Two of his classmates had gotten into quite a scuffle. It ended in tears. But this here certainly was not a fight. Johnny could see that the men were smiling. And they were accompanied by music and singing. Now he wasn’t sure at all anymore whether it was a fight or a dance.

It was something completely new for Johnny. Something that he couldn’t quite explain.

After a few minutes, the bow player ended the breathtaking spectacle with a loud “Ieeh!” The music stopped, the two men in the circle shook hands and patted each other on the back, smiling. There was much applause after the performance and the crowd began to disperse with everyone going in different directions.

But Johnny stood there for a while, as if his feet were stuck to the ground. He stared at the group of people in white clothing who were packing up their instruments when suddenly someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind. He turned around to see who it was.

A boy in white pants and a white T-shirt was standing there and hurriedly handed him a piece of paper: “Here, our flyer!” he said, before turning to the next passer-by.

‘CAPOEIRA’ was printed on the slip of paper in capital letters.

Johnny had to read it very carefully because it wasn’t an easy word. Also, he had never heard or read it before.

His mother had been keeping an eye on him from a distance and was ­getting impatient. She called to him: “Johnny let’s go! We wanted to be home a long time ago,” she said.

“Yeah, but …,” Johnny stammered. “Did you see that? That was ca­po­ei­ra ! It was amazing!” he called to her and held up the flyer.

Johnny’s mother simply nodded and motioned for him to come. “But now it’s time to go. You can tell me all about it in the car.”

When they got home, Johnny couldn’t help himself. He danced around wildly in the living room. He attempted cartwheels and handstands, tried to do some kicks and jumps — just like he had seen this afternoon. It didn’t take long for his mother to tell him to stop, otherwise he might break the glass cabinet with his wild kicks and moves.

“Johnny, stop it! This isn’t a gym!” she shouted sternly now, and Johnny stopped. He was almost out of breath anyway, but he had to make one more run and jump onto the couch next to his mother. He put his head on her shoulder and panted: “Now I’m just as tired as you are.”

“Well, that’s no wonder,” she said now in a gentler voice. “You seem to be totally under the spell of that capu …, caputto …, caputteira.”

His mother tried to pronounce the name right, but her son immediately corrected her: “It’s called ca-po-ei-ra !” He took the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket so that she could read it. It also said:

‘Ca­po­ei­ra is a martial art from Brazil. It combines such contrasting things as fighting and dance.’

Johnny’s mother looked at him and said: “Oh, that’s why they were playing music.” Then she read further: “Stop by for a free lesson! We meet Tues­days and Thursdays in the gym on Oak Street.”

Johnny looked at her expectantly. He asked: “Mom, can I go there? I’d really like to learn ca­po­ei­ra.”

“Hmm,” she muttered, and thought about it. “I think we’ll ask Dad first if he’s okay with it. After all, one of us will have to take you there.”

“You mean you’ll let me go?” said Johnny excitedly and jumped up from the couch.

“I don’t see why not. But I hope that you’ll go easy on the living room ­furniture and do your moves there. Dad will surely like the idea of you practicing a martial art,” his mom said.

“Where is Dad anyway? I want to ask him right now!” cried Johnny.

Johnny’s father didn’t live with him and his mother in the apartment. If he wasn't able to come during the week, he always stopped by Sunday evening to visit Johnny. His father liked to tell him stories then, and he usually had something for his son like a toy car or a large bag of gummy bears. One time he even had two tickets to a soccer game at the stadium.

But this evening Johnny was the one who had a lot to say. He started telling him about what had happened that afternoon, about the music, the bow and the strange fight.

His father listened intently, but then said: “What could that be? A fighter who dances or a dancer who fights?” And his father, who would have preferred to sign his son up to play soccer, said: “You know Johnny, everyone in your class plays soccer. I don’t understand why you don’t want to play.”

Johnny gave his dad a stern look and answered: “You know they’re all show-offs! I don’t want to play with them!”

Johnny was as nimble as a cat. Nevertheless, at recess he often stood on the sidelines and watched with his head down. He actually wanted to play soccer, but Luke, Tom and even some of the other boys in his class were simply unfair. They would push him aside or even tripp him on purpose during the matches. Johnny complained about it of course, shouting loudly: “Foul!” But it didn’t help. His classmates just ignored him and kept playing. Johnny had told his father about it, but all he’d ever say was: “Then you have to fight back and dish it out to them sometimes, too!” But that wasn’t easy for Johnny. He avoided conflict whenever he could. When his mom and dad used to argue all the time he would hide in the corner of his room and stay there until things calmed down.

He hated it when people fought.

And now Johnny was...