by Eva Luxe
Solomon felt jitters like he’d never felt in his life, even when he sent that first e-mail to Gavin so many years ago.
He was as close as any Fijian had ever been a to an Olympic medal, and the chance could well come against the judoka he’d been dying to face for more than two years.
Solomon asked Gavin for some privacy, and he found a corner of an empty locker room and prayed like he’d never prayed before. He prayed for strength from his father and courage from his father. He gave thanks for Logan and asked God to bless a future with her, if that was in the cards. The butterflies in his stomach disappeared, one by one, and he felt the fury of the storm coursing through his veins. Somewhere in the bowels of the stadium he knew his opponent was calling on his military training, recalling his own path to the brink of a medal. Solomon also knew that it mattered not. Once the two men set foot on the mat, Solomon knew, he knew, that if he fought his fight, it made no difference what the Israeli did. He traced the tattoo on his forearm over and over again, breathing deeply, controlling his racing heart.
Gavin summoned Solomon to the mat, and the coach liked what he saw from his fighter. A storm brewed behind Solomon’s eyes, but he was in complete control of it. He bounced on the balls of his feet, barely able to contain the energy crackling within. By contrast, the Israeli looked indifferent, almost bored. He might as well be a man preparing to take a nap.
As Solomon completed his final pre-match stretches, he caught a glimpse of blonde in the crowd, curls that could belong only to the most beautiful girl in Rio, Logan Lowery. She’d been busy with her match earlier, but somehow she’d gotten word that Solomon would be in action again and she’d found a spot among the spirited Fijian rooting section.
Solomon hoped to see her brilliant smile, but instead he saw only fire. Her face wore a mask as intense as his, and she lifted a hand, balled into a fist toward Solomon, urging him to make the most of his opportunity, to make her proud, to take what was his.
Solomon required no further inspiration.
When facing a new opponent for the first time, as Solomon was doing in his repechage semifinal against the Israeli soldier, custom was to be cautious and play defense, craft a plan of attack based on the give and take of early clinches. Rather than take things slowly, however, Solomon was on the other man with the force of a tsunami.
At first, the other man retained his placid demeanor, going through the catalogue of counters to whatever Solomon tried. When the action crashed to the mat, however, Solomon noticed a look of confusion, bordering on fear, on the other man’s face as they grappled for position. Solomon spun his hips over and around, taking hold of an arm, and falling back into a textbook arm bar. Rather than the instant submission that usually accompanied such a hold, the Israeli battled, trying to flip over, pull his arm free, anything to escape the hold. Only when Solomon lifted his hips from the mat to increase the torque did he feel the referee’s hand tap his shoulder to indicate he should release the hold. He’d won!
Containing his jubilance, Solomon congratulated his fallen foe, thanked the referee with a bow, and waited to have his hand raised. Leaving the mat, he was surrounded by his coach and family, tears glistening in many of their eyes. He waded through the crowd when he spotted blonde hair among the almost universally dark tresses, embracing Logan, who whispered in his ear. “You were a very bad boy last night. I didn’t realize that was the kind of kiss you wanted.”
Solomon’s olive skin flushed crimson recalling the events in Logan’s room, under her comforter.
“I hope I didn’t embarrass you in front of your friends,” Solomon whispered back.
“Pfft. They’re just jealous.” Logan and Solomon kissed before Logan slipped away, leaving him with one final whispered message. “You have to sleep tonight. As much as I want to see you, get some rest. We’ll talk after you win your medal tomorrow.”
Solomon could live with that. For now, he and what seemed like half the population of Fiji had some celebrating to do. A native son would be fighting for an unprecedented Olympic medal in just under twenty-four hours.
After a shower, Solomon and Gavin settled in to watch the final 90 kilo judo match of the evening, the semifinal between Adonis DeCarlo of the United States and his Cuban opponent, a veteran of three previous Olympics, with two medals in his trophy case back in Havana. The Russian who’d bested Solomon had beaten the Japanese champion in his semifinal, and he’d await Adonis or the powerful Cuban in the gold medal match. The loser would settle for a shot at bronze.
Adonis battled admirably, even catching the Cuban with a waza-ari, but experience was too much too overcome, and with Logan’s teammates, the twin sisters of Adonis, watching, he was thrown frightfully across the mat, landing with a crash, with the referee signaling for an ippon. Victory for Cuba. Also victory for Solomon. He’d now get his hands on Adonis DeCarlo, with the whole world watching.
And with an Olympic fucking medal hanging in the balance.
Chapter 30 - Logan
Logan and Savannah streamed the fight in their room, the pair breaking into spontaneous dance as the Cuban’s hand was raised in victory.
“Your boyfriend is going to win a medal, Lo’,” Savannah exclaimed. “How hot will he look naked in just the medal? Am I right?”
Logan pictured it in her mind’s eye. “I hadn’t thought of that. But yeah, an Olympic medal is a pretty sexy accessory. Coach P better not have anything planned for tomorrow night. We don’t play Canada for two more days. I guarantee you the twins will be there. Do you think they’ll pull any of the other girls to their side?”
“Hell no. Nobody can stand them. And their brother is a douchebag. We’re Team Solomon all the way. Ride or die!” Savannah assured Logan.
“Good. Is it weird that I want him to win a medal more than I want to win one myself?” Logan couldn’t believe she’d said that out loud. But crazy enough… It was true.
“Maybe a little. But it doesn’t matter. We’re winning one with or without you, so you might as well jump on board the Medal Train now. Choo-choo!” Savannah danced around the room making train noises while Logan collapsed on the bed, laughing. She wished she hadn’t forbade Solomon to visit. She missed him terribly. With his event wrapping up the next morning, she hoped they’d have more time together, preferably alone.
* * *
The USWNT had a light practice session in the morning, with Logan going full bore, no restrictions. When the trainer commended her on following all the protocols he had laid out for her recovery from injury, Logan giggled, recalling the unique “physical therapy” she’d received, courtesy of Solomon.
The fact was, she felt great and ready to return to action. Her ankle had healed as much as could be expected and she felt like she had her normal burst of speed and change of direction back. All she wanted was to get done, get cleaned up, grab lunch, and go root for her man.
Chapter 31 - Solomon
Solomon had taken a morning jog on Copacabana Beach, letting the sand and surf take him back to his carefree childhood. He hadn’t told anybody where he was going, and when he strolled back up the beach he found his phone full of texts. Gavin had sent several urgent messages wondering where Solomon was and imploring him to return to the Village. Evidently, Solomon had an important visitor who wanted to meet him for lunch.
All of Solomon’s relatives who could afford to travel were already in Rio, so he couldn’t begin to imagine who it was that it was so important he rearrange his schedule to meet. He’d planned a light lunch and a nap before heading to the venue.
After a shower, Solomon met Gavin downstairs, where he walked him over to the parking area, where a limousine sat. As Solomon approached, the door opened and out stepped a regal middle-aged man in a smart blue suit.
None other than Frank Bainimarama, Prime Minister of Fiji.
“Ratu?” Solomon asked, in disbelief, a title reserved for great chieftains.
The PM smiled warmly and extended his hand, which Solomon shook.
�
��Bula, Solomon. I had to be here to witness such a tremendous moment in the sporting history or our nation. Would you and your uncle join me for lunch?”
Solomon stared at Gavin, who shrugged and smiled back. The limousine took the group to a restaurant overlooking the city, an exclusive steakhouse, or churrascaria, frequented by Rio’s movers and shakers.
“I was recommended this place by a friend from our embassy in Brasilia. I’m sorry you can’t enjoy everything they offer with such an important match this evening, but I hope there’s a little something here to give you the energy you need,” Ratu Bainimarama offered. “If you like it, come back anytime you like during the rest of the Games, when you can eat your fill. Just give them my name and it will be taken care of.”
Solomon really did wish he could gorge himself, and out of respect Gavin and the PM ate light meals despite the outstanding quality of the food on offer. Solomon had never tasted several of the dishes, but one was better than the next.
Gavin and Solomon were both impressed by the PM’s knowledge of sports in general and judo in particular, and it was clear he’d been following Solomon’s progress closely. If it wasn’t clear enough to him before, Solomon now knew without question that the eyes of an entire nation were upon him.
Hours later, with the venue jammed to capacity, Solomon performed his final warmups with Adonis DeCarlo standing across the mat. Logan was in the crowd, Savannah at her side, a section over from the DeCarlo family. One of Logan’s new Fijian friends, a cousin of Solomon’s, had pointed out to her the Prime Minister of Fiji seated in a box overlooking the crowd with other dignitaries. Little did she know; Solomon had dined with him earlier that afternoon.
Gavin took Solomon’s hands in his own as they met for last minute instruction before the referee summoned both judoka to the center of the mat.
“I love you, Solomon. I’m incredibly proud of you. I can’t even imagine how proud your dad would be of the fighter and of the man you’ve become. This is what you’ve been waiting for. Don’t do it for me, don’t do it for Fiji, do this for you. This is years of your hard work distilled into five minutes. You may never have a more important five minutes. Most people don’t. Take this moment by the throat.” Just when the emotion and magnitude of the moment, the intensity of his uncle’s words threatened to overwhelm him, Gavin leaned in close.
“Now go kick his pompous ass.”
Solomon broke into a wide grin and approached the referee, bowing to him and to his opponent.
The two fighters circled one another, on the balls of their feet, ready to pounce. Both wanted to do more than win, they wanted to hurt, embarrass, and destroy.
Logan squeezed Savannah’s hand so hard that Savannah had to ask her to loosen her grip before she drew blood.
The DeCarlo contingent were poised on the edge of their collective seats, prepared to explode when Adonis ended the match and claimed his medal.
The minutes ticked by, and each time the pair came together, they were like children touching a hot oven, and they’d spring back, neither wanting to make the mistake that would end the match. As the clock struck four minutes, the two men clinched hard, and the pushing, pulling, and strategic stepping, foot over ankle over foot began. They crashed to the floor together, neither credited with a throw or takedown, and began to grapple in earnest.
Adonis took Solomon’s back, sinking a forearm across his throat and pulling back, hard. With legs wrapped around Solomon’s waist, escape looked impossible. The match would end when Solomon tapped out or passed out. Adonis gained position and applied the hold perfectly.
Solomon refused to tap, although white spots began to appear in his field of vision and his lungs screamed at him to find a way out. He pulled feebly at Adonis’s arm, but to no avail.
Things seemed bleak, but just then, he heard something, something far away. A female voice, the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard, or actually never heard, was speaking. Not to him, exactly, but out loud, to herself, and he was there somehow.
“Hang on, little baby. Just hang on a little bit longer. We can do this together. Please don’t quit on me. I’ll never quit on you. Together. You’ll always be my baby. I love you so much.”
The voice, though desperate, was beautiful and melodic. It compelled him to fight. To battle. To struggle. To persist. To survive.
It was the voice of Karalaini. Solomon’s mother. As she clung to a piece of wood, floating in the exhausted aftermath of a storm. From the deepest recess of Solomon’s subconscious, when he needed her most.
The round ended, to the disappointment of Adonis. He couldn’t believe the choke hadn’t ended the fight. It was as deep as could be, and there was no earthly reason Solomon was still awake.
Solomon bounced up off the mat, invigorated. The crowd buzzed. The knowledgeable judo people among them knew how deadly effective such a choke was, and they couldn’t fathom the grit it took to withstand it.
The two men were called back to the mat after conferring with their coaches, and action resumed. Any sort of takedown or throw at this point would lock in a medal. There was no circling, no hesitation. They came together immediately, and almost as quickly went for the same trip, crashing to the floor together. This time, however, Solomon gained top position first, sinking in a choke of his own. Adonis kicked and tried to spin into Solomon, but failed. When Solomon felt him begin to go limp, he realized he’d won.
And he let go.
He didn’t want Adonis to lapse into unconsciousness. He wanted to force him to submit. To tap out or to say “maitta” indicating he’d given up. Solomon bounced to his feet and waited for Adonis to regain his senses. Again, the arena buzzed, and Gavin looked flabbergasted.
Adonis took his time returning to his feet, shaking the cobwebs loose in his skull and sucking in air through his nose. When next the two men clashed, Solomon twisted Adonis into a standing submission hold, twisting an arm up and behind his back while wrapping a leg around Adonis to prevent escape. The move was risky, the counter a throw that would finish things, but Solomon’s grip was like iron.
Adonis flexed, pulled, tried to kick, all to no avail. He hung his head and said, just loud enough for the referee to hear, “Maitta.”
The match was over. Adonis collapsed and Solomon could not hide his glee. Tradition called for bows, and they were given, but once decorum was satisfied, the party began. Prime Minister Bainimarama applauded wildly in his box, and Logan screamed and wept for joy.
Gavin hugged his nephew, but was never one to miss a teaching moment, speaking directly into Solomon’s ear over the din of the crowd. “Let’s never do that again, okay? Squeeze the choke until the fight is over. There are no points for degree of difficulty. Nice job, by the way.”
Solomon smiled. “Sure thing, Uncle.”
He’d won. Solomon Kano had risen.
Chapter 32 - Logan
The USWNT handled Canada by the same score as the last time the two teams met, 2-0, advancing to a quarterfinal date with the host nation. Logan had much to look forward to.
* * *
Most of Solomon’s family and teammates left for home once judo and the other various events in which they competed were over, but Solomon elected to stay and support Logan in her quest for gold. He and his bronze medal were prominent deputized members of Uncle Sam’s Army for a tense semifinal victory over Brazil that took overtime before Leah Beierle’s goal from a corner kick broke a 2-2 deadlock and sent the United States to the gold medal game, a rematch with France.
Solomon and Logan became inseparable over the weeks in Rio, and unless Logan was attending a team function, she could be found with the 90 kilo judo bronze medalist.
“I feel like going swimming,” Solomon said one night as he lay on his bed with Logan, the two of them tangled up in each other’s arms and legs.
“The pool here is gross,” Logan replied. “It’s always packed and by now I don’t even want to imagine what might be in that water with all the hooking up tha
t’s been going on since events have started ending and people have been down for more fun.”
“I know; I wouldn’t go near that pool. I was actually thinking of another pool. The Olympic pool. Where we watched the diving,” Solomon answered.
“Just how are we supposed to get in there?” Logan asked.
“Think about it; Brazil is playing in the soccer semifinal in a little while. Do you really think security at the swimming and diving center is going to be anybody’s top priority? Besides, I have a skeleton key to get into any venue in Rio, remember?” Solomon lifted the ever-present bronze medal from his chest and dangled it in front of Logan.
“You’re crazy,” Logan said, looking into Solomon’s eyes. “But I like it. We ought to at least try. Let me go back and get my suit.”
Solomon rose to his feet. “Who said anything about swimsuits? The only thing I’m wearing into that pool is my medal.”
Logan laughed. “You and that medal. Are you ever planning to take it off?”
“Nope! Wait until you get yours. You’ll see,” Solomon teased. “Now let’s go. I can’t wait any longer.”
After some major league eyelash-batting from Logan and medal-flashing from Solomon, the pair flirted and snuck their way into the darkened Olympic swimming and diving venue with the promise that if they were discovered they’d claim they broke in completely on their own. As Solomon figured, the eyes of all Brazilians were on the Maracana Stadium, site of Brazil’s soccer semifinal match. Nobody was paying attention to an empty pool.
Alone in the venue, Logan and Solomon admired the expanse of water, so still it could have been a pane of glass. They walked over to the diving boards, three meters above the pool, and platform, which looked even higher than its actual ten-meter height.
“Want to?” Logan asked Solomon, holding onto the railing for the ladder leading to the platform.
“I don’t love heights, and there’s no way I’m jumping, but I’ll go up and have a look around, sure,” Solomon replied.
