Chinatown

 I dialed the second to last digit of the phone number and paused – before I pressed
ONE — the phone rang several times over static interference from a Spanish-language
evangelical radio station broadcasting on the same frequency. I listened to the rolling
crescendo of a voice testifying in Español, “Jesus es el señor!”
A closer voice on the line said, “Hello?”
“Hello!” I said too brightly — I knew the call was part of the test — the website explained,
the master would decide if I would be invited to return. “I want to take a lesson in kung
fu.”

A tidal wave of “Jesus es el señor!” crashed down on the line.
“Do you have experience in martial arts?” he asked.
I told him the truth, “I practice yoga.”
The kung fu master invited me to come in for a free introductory class. “The class will
determine if you can return as a student.” I agreed to these terms. He told me to come
to North Hill Street on a day at a time in the not-too-distant future.
I hung up the phone and researched the master online.
Xiaojun Wang (also known as XJ) is a Shaolin martial arts master. He was born in the
city of Dengfeng in the Henan province of China in 1985 — he began training in kung fu
when he was eight-years-old at a school called Shao Lin Si Wushu Xulian Jidi, which is
located next door to the Shaolin Temple. XJ trained for ten hours a day, six days a week
for ten years before he won a place in the traveling performance group. Only four
contestants were chosen from more than a thousand participants.
The biography continued:
“XJ has proficiency and mastery of weapons including staff, long sword, Kwan Dao, twin
broadswords, three section staffs, whip chains (single and double), bull whip, spear and
double hook swords. He has mastered the fighting styles of tiger, snake, monkey,
scorpion and mantis, as well as Southern long-fist, Tai Ji Quan, Qi Gong (soft and
hard), Tong Bei, Xiao Hong, da Hong, Chang Quan and Luo Han Quan. The hard Qi
Gong that XJ has mastered allows him to do his specialty — the iron body.”
What is the iron body? I wondered.
My question was answered. “XJ is capable of having wooden poles broken on his arms,
legs, back, stomach, groin and iron crotch, bending a spear to the throat, he is able to

push a car with the sharp part of a spear placed right on his throat, and being
suspended mid-air on the top of four sharp spears, all without injury.”
I read the last sentence, “XJ is also able to coordinate fights with any of the above
styles in any combination.”
I wrote a note on my calendar:
JIN WU KUNG FU
I took Cesar Chavez to Chinatown and found Jin Wu Kung Fu on the first-floor of a
shopping center plaza with an outdoor courtyard. Inside, the walls of the dojo were
painted saffron orange – the color of a Buddhist’s robe — the floor was emerald green.
The dojo was empty except for exercise equipment, shelves for shoes and more than
one wall covered in mirrors.
“Welcome,” a man in a tracksuit appeared, “call me XJ.”
At first glance he did not look like the photograph next to the bio of a timeless monk with
a shaved head holding an invisible-visible sphere of energy between the palms of his
hands.
A student arrived – tough guy gangster from New York.
“Do you know kung fu?” he looked doubtful.
I said, “it’s my first class.”
“XJ trained at the Shaolin Temple.”
“I read the bio,” I paused, “iron body.”
The gangster gave me a knowing look. He had a sidekick – squat man, square head,
leather jacket.
“I don’t do kung fu,” the sidekick said, “that would mean quitting smoking,” he patted a
pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, “and that is something I definitely don’t want to
do.”
XJ cut through the chatter and showed us palm-to-fist.
We bowed to our higher selves.
XJ instructed us to run around the inside perimeter of the dojo one hundred times. The
tough guy and I began running in circles. I kept count in my head. The space was
square so we were constantly coming around the bend — the challenge was not to get

dizzy. After twenty-five revolutions, I was not breathing as heavily as the gangster who,
it appeared, also smoked.
After we ran around a century. XJ told us to take fifty laps — walking not running —
bending into a deep lunge with each step and touching the opposite knee to the floor. I
took the biggest steps of my life around the small studio. After twenty-five revolutions,
XJ disappeared-reappeared and said, “time for kicks.”
The tough guy groaned — his sidekick laughed.
XJ said, “look and listen.”
He became still inside – hands in fists, held to hips, thumbs over fingers, palms to the
sky, knees bent ready to spring. He demonstrated a two-part kick – shifting his weight
onto one foot, shooting the other leg into the air, unfurling his foot like a whip – an
infinite instant – he placed his foot back down on the floor. It sounded like a sheet
snapping in the wind.
I attempted an imitation but gravity held me to the earth. XJ communicated “try again”
without using words. He held a paddle-shaped target over my head that created a
shocking clatter of wood on wood when I landed my first kick. We practiced two-part
kicks back and forth across the dojo in sets of ten. XJ offered instruction on right
technique. My only goal was not to give up.
After centuries of kicks, XJ said “not bad” and the tough guy gangster agreed.
“I practice yoga,” I said to explain my not-badness.
XJ demonstrated a timelapse high kick. The sound of his foot hitting the target
reverberated off of the mirrored walls and into the outdoor courtyard. He switched from
a single kick to a double kick. The tough guy said, “You win XJ – I give up.”
His sidekick said, “you always quit!”
“XJ you kicked my ass again,” the gangster gathered his wallet and cigarettes from the
shelf.
“You keep coming back for more,” his sidekick pointed out.
“This man only speaks the truth!” the tough guy put his friend in a headlock. I stole a
glance of XJ to see if he looked like someone who could be suspended mid-air on top of
four sharp spears without injury.
XJ bowed to the gangster.
He bowed to me.

“You are welcome to return as a student.”
I had forgotten all about the master’s test in my quest to not-quit, but I was grateful for
the invitation. I pressed my palms together in prayer at my heart and bowed the crown
of my head.
“I will carry this lesson with me,” I thought about how sore my legs would be the next
day.
When I left the dojo, I passed through the outdoor courtyard landscaped with minimalist
rocks. I noticed the large bell that hung between posts. I could not read the signs written
in Chinese characters. I did not recognize the symbol for TAO:
道
(the way of the universe)
Next time, I thought, I’ll try Tai Chi.

by Lea Lion