She gave them both a dubious glance. “That being?”
Sven guffawed. “When the fight starts, be someplace else. And always remember, nobody watches your butt for you when it’s You versus the Universe-and Margo, the universe just don’t give a damn. Death’s a high price to pay for stupidity or carelessness, but they’ll get you eventually if you don’t do your job. And that job,” he took another sip of his Sam Adams and warmed to the subject, “ain’t pushing gates to get rich and famous. Now. The underlying principle of Aikido is real simple. There’s you,” he dropped a couple of droplets of water into the bowl of his spoon, “and there’s the universe.” He dropped another couple of drops nearby, carefully balancing the spoon so they remained separated.
”The trick with Aikido is to become one with the universe,” he allowed the droplets to run together, “so that nothing catches you by surprise. Master that and you can offer an enemy reconciliation instead of battle: The rest is just vigilance and practice.”
Margo was staring dubiously at the water droplets. “You’re kidding.”
”Nope.”
She sighed. “Okay. What do I have to do to snuggle up to the universe? Chant `om’ a couple thousand times an hour?”
Sven and Kit exchanged glances. Sven’s questioning look clearly said, “Are you sure about this?”
Kit’s grimace said “Yeah, dammit, wish I could say otherwise.”
”Well,” Sven said almost tiredly, “no, you don’t chant ,om.’ There isn’t a secret key, some trick that will do it. Either it happens or it doesn’t. The way you begin in Aikido is to start by doing wrist exercises.” He demonstrated as Julie made her way toward their table with a heaping tray on which their dinner plates had been cast in the starring role. Sven shook out his napkin. “Why don’t you practice that while Miss Julie puts that plate of eels and steamed octopus in front of you?”