on it. The next one has the title, the authors’ names—Betsy R. Cego and Malcolm R. Clinton. I wonder if the R . stands for the same middle name in both and if that is why they wrote the book together. Then blank space, and at the bottom a company name and date. I guess that is the book company. R. Scott Lands-down & Co. Publishers. Another R . On the back of that page is some information in small print. Then another page with the title and authors. The next page says
“Preface.” I start reading.
“You can skip that and the introduction,” Lucia says. “I want to see if you’re okay with the level of instruction in the chapters.”
Why would the authors put in something that people weren’t going to read? What is the preface for?The introduction? I do not want to argue with Lucia, but it seems to me that I should read that part first because it is first. If I am supposed to skip over it for now, why is it first? For now, though, I page through until I find chapter 1.
It is not hard to read, and I understand it. When I look up, after ten pages or so, Tom and Lucia are both watching me. I feel my face getting hot. I forgot about them while I was reading. It is not polite to forget about people.
“Is it okay, Lou?” Lucia asks.
“I like it,” I say.
“Good. Take it home and keep it as long as you like. I’ll e-mail you some other references that I know are on-line. How’s that?”
“Fine,” I say. I want to go on reading, but I hear a car door slam outside and know it is time to do fencing instead.
Chapter Twelve
THE OTHERS ARRIVE IN A BUNCH, WITHIN JUST A COUPLE of minutes. We move to the backyard, then stretch and put on our gear and start fencing. Marjory sits with me between bouts. I am happy when she sits next to me. I would like to touch her hair, but I do not.
We do not talk much. I do not know what to say. She asks if I got the windshield fixed, and I say yes. I watch her fence with Lucia; she is taller than Lucia, but Lucia is the better fencer. Marjory’s brown hair bounces when she moves; Lucia wears her light hair in a ponytail. They both wear white fencing jackets tonight; soon Marjory’s has little brown smudges where Lucia has scored hits.
I am still thinking about Marjory when I fence with Tom. I am seeing Marjory’s pattern, and not Tom’s, and he kills me quickly twice.
“You’re not paying attention,” he says to me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. My eyes slide to Marjory.
Tom sighs. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, Lou, but one reason to do this is to get a break from it.”
“Yes… I’m sorry.” I drag my eyes back and focus on Tom and his blade. When I concentrate, I can see his pattern—a long and complicated one—and now I can parry his attacks. Low, high, high, low, reverse, low, high, low, low, reverse… he’s throwing a reverse shot every fifth and varying the setup to it. Now I can prepare for the reverse, pivoting and then making a quick diagonal step: attack obliquely, one of the old masters says, never directly. It is like chess in that way, with the knight and bishop attacking at an angle. At last I set up the series I like best and get a solid hit.
“Wow!” Tom says. “I thought I’d managed real randomness—”
“Every fifth is a reverse,” I say.
“Damn,” Tom said. “Let’s try that again—”
This time he doesn’t reverse for nine shots, the next time seven—I notice he’s always using a reverse attack on the odd numbers. I test that through longer series, just waiting. Sure enough… nine, seven, five, then back to seven. That’s when I step past on the diagonal and get him again.
“That wasn’t five,” he says. He sounds breathless.
“No… but it was an odd number,” I say.
“I can’t think fast enough,” Tom says. “I can’t fence and think. How do you do it?”
“You move, but the pattern doesn’t,” I say. “The pattern—when I see it—is still. So it is easier to hold in mind because it doesn’t wiggle around.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Tom says. “So—how do you plan your own attacks? So they aren’t patterned?”
“They are,” I say. “But I can shift from one pattern to another…”