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The shop bell sounded: "Bing-bong!" The shopkeeper looked up.
The man who entered was tall, well-muscled, with long, slightly graying dreadlocks--not unusual for this part of Oakland. Two small boys followed him in.
"May I help you?"
"Just looking," said the man, glancing about at the martial arts gear. The boy with the short braids went straight to the sword counter. The smaller boy with the curls turned back to stare at the doorframe.
"Hey, Drew," said the older boy, "Look! Swords small enough even for you! Come on, you already looked at about a million doorbells."
"This one's different," said Drew.
"They're all different," said the older boy, confidentially, to the shopkeeper. "Is it OK to touch the swords?"
"Touch, yes," said the shopkeeper. "Spar? No. Any damage, you pay for."
"OK," said the boy, with a bright smile, and he picked up a small, silvery sword.
"Jace," said the man.
"What?"
"Say thank you, doofus!" said Drew, abandoning the door.
Jace grimaced at Drew but said, "Thank you," politely, to the shopkeeper. He swung the sword, carefully. "How come it's not sharp?"
"That's a Tai Chi sword," said the shopkeeper. "For practice and exhibition. Not for combat." Jace put the sword carefully back in place.
"This, too?" he said, picking up a bamboo shinai.
"That is for Kendo practice and competitive sparring."
"It doesn't seem like it would hurt very much," said Jace, slapping it against his small palm.
"One blow, probably not. Even a throat strike would be minor with the protective gear."
"Gear?" said Jace. "What does it look like? Where does it come from?"
"Japan," said the shopkeeper. "There are some Kendo videos with the others." He gestured to where the man was browsing.
"Thanks," said Jace, with another grin, backing toward the videos. "Come on, Drew!"
"Just a minute," said the other boy, coming up to the checkout counter. He raised his eyes, and the shopkeeper was startled to see that they were bright blue. "May I ask you a question about your doorbell, please?"
"You can ask," said the shopkeeper.
"Have you ever taken it apart to see how it works?"
"No, it was here when I bought the shop. It works; I leave it alone."
"Yeah, Drew, you should try that," mocked Jace.
Drew said something the shopkeeper didn't understand, but it sounded rude.
"Do you sell anything that is sharp?" asked Drew.
"By special order," said the shopkeeper. "To reputable teachers only. The police don't like to find throwing stars at a crime scene. Bad for business."
"Our Dad Ronon's our teacher," said Drew, "Ronon Dex. But he does most of his teaching a long way from here. So you probably never heard of him, right?"
"Right," said the shopkeeper.
"If we move here, you'll hear about him, all right." The child had the most piercing stare.
"Drew," said the man. "In a new place, look and listen. Don't talk. Basic strategy."
Drew sighed but went silent. He walked to the farthest aisle and began what seemed to be a systematic survey of the shop and all its goods.
The man approached the counter carrying several DVDs. "I'll take these," he said, and laid down a Visa card and a military contractor's picture ID: Ronon Dex.
The shopkeeper totaled them up: Beginning and Advanced Tai Chi, Introduction to Capoeira, last year's Kendo championship competition, and 76-year-old Xie Peiqi demonstrating Qinna take-downs. "You teach Ba Gua?" Not many people knew about Xie Peiqi.
"Unarmed combat," said Mr. Dex. "Thinking of learning some new arts. Not getting any younger."
"Where do you teach? Adults or just kids?"
"Classified military base. Marines, Air Force, a few civilians, and family."
"They both your sons?" asked the shopkeeper, nodding toward the boys.
"Two of them. Rest of the family's at U.C. Berkeley, today."
"Unusual eye-color, with that complexion," said the shopkeeper, tilting his head in Drew's direction. "Different mother?"
"It's their mother's complexion," said Mr. Dex. "He's got my oath-brother's eyes."
"Temper, too," said Jace, popping into view at Mr. Dex's elbow. "But we're working on that."
"Talk, talk, talk," said Drew, from two aisles away. "Who did you inherit that from? Not from Ronon or Teyla! Are we done here? Can we go back to the gun shop? Can we go to the Comp USA?"
"Hardware store's next," said Mr. Dex.
"Without Rodney? " asked Jace, astonished.
"With Rodney," said Mr. Dex, unfolding a cell phone and hitting a speed-dial button. After a moment, he said into the phone, "Hey, you about done?" And then, "You can pick us up at 57th & Telegraph." He closed the phone, and said to the boys. "Go start the arm-blocks drill, out on the sidewalk." He turned to the shopkeeper. "Thanks. Might be back--depends on where we end up."
"Thank you. Have a nice day."
The shopkeeper watched through his dusty windows as Mr. Dex directed the boys through an unfamiliar sparring kata. A few minutes later, a black Mercedes SUV pulled up, and "the rest of the family" spilled out--a beautiful caramel-skinned woman, a dark-haired toddler, a dark-haired adolescent, and two middle-aged white men, the dark-haired one lounging and grinning, the chunky one talking and gesturing vehemently. Yes, those piercing eyes looked familiar. The adolescent peered in the shop-window, briefly, as Jace and Drew clambered into the back of the SUV. Then, with much discussion, they all fit themselves in, somehow, and the dark-haired man drove them away.
What a peculiar family, thought the shopkeeper, in his now very silent silent shop. And he wondered if he'd ever learn their story.