We stood silent, enchanted by Sensei’s words. At that time somebody knocked on the door. It caught me off guard, and everything inside of me contracted. It wasn’t a time when people were out just for an evening walk. Sensei calmly opened the door under the watchful eyes of our company.

“Oh, it’s good that I’ve caught you here,” an unknown man greeted him shaking his hand. “I was just about to look for you at home. You see, there is such a case…”

“All right, wait a second,” replied Sensei. Turning to us, he said, ”Guys, you have fifteen mo re minutes and then we have to go home.”

Half an hour later, we were standing outside, waiting for the others. Igor Mikhailovich closed the sports hall and quickly said goodbye to us, then drove off in a car.

“Well,” I was getting angry with myself, “I wanted to ask Sensei after the training about his mysterious ‘because,’ but it didn’t work out. I should have asked him in the sports hall. But there are too many curious ears over there. That’s the trouble!”

On the way home, everyone thought about his own experiences. And this was not strange, after such trainings there was always something to think about. Some of us thought silently and some aloud. For almost half of the way, Andrew was trying to convince us or most likely himself that he had lost just by accident.

“It’s a pity that I didn’t have nunchaku with me. Never mind, I will bring them to the next training. And then I’ll show them!”

That spectacle promised to be really thrilling, as we knew how good Andrew was with nunchaku. It was his favourite skill.

Our company looked forward to this training like no other before. We came early. The sports hall was open. Some guys, having changed, began to warm up. Sensei stood aside and talked with enthusiasm to a gangly old man who was so skinny that his kimono was hanging on him like on a coat-hanger. Not far from them, together with a group of men, stood Dumpling. By the expression on his face, one could see that he didn’t hear the funny jokes of his fellow company. It seemed like his ears had turned into a radar that was picking up the slightest sound coming from Sensei and the old man. “Gosh!” I thought with indignation, “He is here again!”

Following us, a couple of guys from our dojo loudly walked in, in an elated mood. They were accompanied by a proudly walking, untidy looking man, about forty years old, with a week’s worth of old bristle on his face. The guys greeted Sensei and announced with evident pleasure:

“We have just met a very interesting man, a sensitive… His name is Vitaliy Yakovlevich.”

At these words, the disheveled man made a ceremonious bow with his head and again put on his self-satisfied air.

“He possesses extraordinary abilities, and he politely agreed to demonstrate them to our group…”

Sensei made a polite bow in reply and said, “It would be very interesting to see.”

“And very edifying,” added Vitaliy Yakovlevich meaningfully, raising up his forefinger.

Our huge curious crowd began to gather around him. Meanwhile “the sensitive one,” with an air of great expertise, took out of his jacket’s torn pocket a dozen of common kitchen spoons wrapped in a piece of dirty rag.

“What do you think,” Kostya quietly whispered to Andrew. “Where has this Neanderthal man got these goods of human civilization?”

“I think he has stolen them from somewhere, probably,” replied Andrew.

“I wonder, does he even know how to use them?” Kostya asked, smiling.

Meanwhile, Vitaliy Yakovlevich, in an emphatic manner, undressed down to his waist and, having uncovered his wrinkled fat stomach, began to diligently stick the back sides of spoons to his chest. Our guys burst out laughing, and Kostya added: