Seemingly out of nowhere, the cab driver, in a thick and coarse Russian accent, shouted, “That is why sailors must always carry knife!” and then he banged his meaty palm onto the wheel.
As I was on my way to a session of paintball domination, I was in what I call the RED ZONE. In this precinct (which can be dangerous for civilians), I block out the external world and focus Ninja-like on the tactical preparations I need to maximize my kill count for the coming combat. As such, the driver did not exist to me, but the word KNIFE served as a trigger and brought me back to the soft underbelly of everyday life.
With my heightened senses, I was able to quickly discern that the driver was left-handed, thus vulnerable to an attack from the right, and had been listening to a CBC radio story about a sailor that had been pulled into the water by a rope that coiled around his leg.
“That sailor was weak. It was his time.” I said.
“You are a sailor?” the driver asked.
“I am many things, but today I am the long, black veil.”
“You say you want me take you to Sgt Splatters Paintball place, yeah? Where kids run around with pretend guns and play make-believe, yeah?”
“You have your instructions.”
“I fought in Afghanistan back in 1980’s. Killed many people. Most with bayonet. Mujahideen climb in tank to attack, and we no can shoot inside, bullet bounce about in ricochet, so must use knife from weapon to defend.”
“ Not very finessed. I’m a sniper.”
“Really? You sniper? Funny, you look too nervous to be sniper, always shaking like cold and moving like bugs on body. You good shot?”
“The never see it coming when the long, black veil is pulled down.”
“ And funny, you cough and sniffle many times, and clear throat—Aheck, Aheck—all time. Think you give away position if sniper.”
“I can throw my voice so that my enemies believe I am somewhere I am not.”
“Ah yes, I see now you have the bear claw in your soul. Very fierce. Good luck with kids’ game. You owe $58.00.”
And then he turned up the radio.