The woman abuser approaches my father with his chain in hand. There’s no easy way to defend oneself against a chain empty-handed, yet my father courageously stands in place, anticipating his attacker’s first move. I breathe lightly and keep my eyes on my father. I have faith that he can defuse this situation without getting hurt because he’s a martial arts master who specializes in swordsmanship.

The man raises his chain. At the same time, the unexpected screech of a whistle catches everyone’s attention. We look down the sidewalk towards the right and see an armed magistrate storming to our position. When the abuser sees him, he immediately takes off running. Without missing a beat, the magistrate charges right past us. He yells, “Don’t worry Hiko Sensei. I’ll get him!”

I recognize the law officer. He’s one of the students from my father’s kenjutsu dojo. His name is Jigoro. He’s a far cry from being our best swordsman, but he’s a faithful and loyal student. Moreover, he has the legal authority to deal with the woman abuser in a better way than what my father could do. So leaving the criminal to Jigoro, my father attends to the victim instead.

Her arms are blackened from blocking repeated punches and she’s visibly shaken. I stare at the woman blankly. I never know how to feel when I witness domestic violence. Part of me feels sorry for her injuries. Another part of me cringes knowing that this was done to her by a man to whom she looked for love and support. Yet an even greater part of me, the warrior part of me, feels like she should have taken the man to battle. Sure, the average woman can’t beat a man in a fight, I understand that, but she didn’t even try. She just curled into a ball and let him hit her. That I don’t respect.

“Young lady are you alright?” my father asks.

Right away, she bursts into sobbing and falls into my father’s arms. He holds her, rubbing her back softly and gazing at my mother and me with sad doughy eyes.

To spare him the guilt of leaving his family, my mother advises him to do what we both know he’s going to do anyway. “Honey, why don’t you be a gentleman and walk her home?”

“Unnh,” he answers, meaning yes.

My father removes his black haori and wraps it around the woman’s shoulders. “Come miss. I’ll walk you home.” They leave together with my father watching her closely.

As if on cue, my mother and I turn at the same time to walk home. I say into the air, “I hate this stupid town.”