The fuel in the kitchen stove had been prepared the night before. He lit it and put the clay water hob on as well as the porridge crock on the stove top. Then he hauled the water to the roof tank, fed and watered the chickens, and let them out of the coop into the garden. They were still too small to lay but they were fully fledged and did a good job on garden pests.
Ruth was up when he stuck his head in to check the porridge. She handed him two cups of tea. “For Athena,” she said, indicating the second cup. “Breakfast thereafter.”
He knocked on the frame of his bedroom. There was no response. “Athena!” he called.
He stuck his head in. She’d put the pillow over her head. He set the tea on the floor and said loudly, “Breakfast in ten minutes.” He saw one of her hands twitch.
“I’m not sure if she’s awake or not, Sensei,” he said to Ruth when he came back to the cottage. Karen was sitting at the kitchen table while Ruth sliced bread.
“Did you use explosives?” Karen said. “Then she’s not awake. Leave it to me.”
She returned with Athena ten minutes later. Athena was blinking slowly and had a sour expression on her face. Ruth gave her porridge and bread. “More tea?” Athena’s hands were empty. “Oh. We don’t have that many cups, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll get it,” Kimble said. The bedding was strewn across the room and, though empty, the cup was lying on its side. “Hmph,” he said aloud.
He ran the cup back and gave it to Sensei without comment.
They held class in the dojo, on the hard adobe floor that would support the tatami when they were finished. He had changed in one of the roofless rooms and when he entered the practice area Sensei sent him back to put on his hakama. They tended to wear the dark blue, split-skirt for weapons classes and in the winter, when it was colder, but for most hot days even Ruth avoided them. But not today.
“Bokken,” said Ruth, after warm-ups, taking her own oak sword from the rack by the kamiza.
They started with suburi, repeated cuts, dropping the center, bending the knees as the blade came down. Two hundred strokes along Kimble saw Athena wince, pause, and shift her grip. Shortly thereafter, Ruth stopped and had them do walking cuts, back and forth across the floor.
The floor had been smoothed to approximate flatness but it was rough. Athena stubbed her toes a couple of times, stumbling, flushing red when it happened.
Kimble had done his share of stubbing his toes over the past year when practice might be held on the grass, on the riverbank, or while walking down the road. It taught him to slide his feet cautiously, feeling for irregularities.
They went to partner practice then, cuts to the head with the attacker moving off the line and counterattacking. Ruth demonstrated the technique slowly, clearly, with Kimble as uke. She then bowed to Karen and they moved off to one side, to work together, leaving Kimble with Athena.
Athena lowered her sword, presenting her head by leaning forward. Kimble attacked at the same speed Ruth had been using and Athena blocked and struck, but her control wasn’t tremendous. She cut down far enough to brain Kimble, but she was far enough off target that it brushed past his ear instead.
She glared at him, as if he’d moved or something, but he didn’t even twitch. After three more repetitions, right and left, they switched sides. She attacked at full speed but he just did the technique, blocking as he slid off the line and striking back. His bokken stopped two inches from her forehead, dead on target.
Her attack was fast but it was nothing like Ruth’s full-speed attacks. They practiced at full speed all the time.
“Should I speed up?” he asked, when it was his turn to attack again.
She said, “Certainly.”
He had to pull his strike. Her block wasn’t there in time and she hadn’t gotten off the line. Next time he did it slower and she managed the combination, but her eyes narrowed.
“Relax,” Ruth said, from across the room. “Your shoulders are raised—that means you’re tightening up. No way you can respond fast enough like that.”
“Yes, Sensei,” said Athena. She blushed.
She never really managed to relax, not working with Kimble. He felt bad for her but he didn’t know what to do about it. Ruth took them back to solo exercises a bit later and by the end of class, Athena had stopped blushing.
Though they were expecting a shipment of latillas, it hadn’t shown up by midmorning. Ruth said, “Kimble, maybe you could check with Jason and then get some reeds on the way back?”
“Go with him and help,” Karen said to Athena.
Athena stood up slowly. “Yes, Sensei.”
They went by the road. Kimble carried the folded poles of Ruth’s travois over his shoulder and a bag with obsidian chips and cord.
Jason Jones ran mules into the forests around Mt. Taylor, harvesting saplings and beams for the vigas and latillas of traditional roofs. They found him at his lumberyard near the edge of the village. “Sorry. We just got back last night. I’ve got the rest of your order but we still need to trim ’em up. Half tomorrow morning, I’d say, and the second half the next.” His teenage sons, all older than Kimble and man high, came out of the yard as their father explained. Kimble smiled when he realized why they’d come forward and politely introduced Athena to them. “She’s visiting,” he said.
She smiled and shook their hands. On the way down to the bosque she seemed a bit more cheerful, so Kimble said, “Tall, those Jones boys.”
“Hadn’t noticed,” she said.
“Well, they’ll probably deliver the latillas, tomorrow, so you can notice then.”
She snapped at him. “Why should I care?”
Kimble shrugged. Can’t win for losing.
He gave her a choice of cutting the reeds or tying them into foot-thick bundles. She tried cutting but it became apparent that he’d cut more in two minutes demonstrating the technique than she had in fifteen. They switched.
When they headed back they had a respectable load on the travois. She insisted on pulling it, so he followed, lifting it over snags on the path out of the bosque until they were on the road. At the top she set it down and bent over, hands on her knees.
Kimble was surprised. It hadn’t been that far.
“Let me take a turn,” he said.
She straightened and looked at him angrily, but before she spoke he pointed to where she’d been resting her hand against her pants legs. “Your hand is bleeding.”
Athena turned her palm over. A blister had broken open, then bled. “Crap,” she said. “Weapons class. How are your hands?”
He lied. “A little sore.” Not a bit, actually. They did weapons almost every day, and even on Sunday, when there were no classes, he did two hundred cuts before breakfast. His hands were like leather.
She took a bandanna out of her pocket and wrapped it across her palm and when he took up the travois, she didn’t say anything.
After lunch they sat in the dojo and worked on tatami. Ruth showed Karen and Athena how to use plastic needles to sew the bundles of straw for the inner core. Ruth herself packed them into the working frame and sewed them tightly together, while Kimble wove the thin reed gozo top coverings.
Ruth, concentrating on getting the thickness uniform across the frame, hummed absentmindedly. Karen’s head came up and she began singing the words to the tune. Ruth didn’t look up but after a moment she came in on the chorus, singing an alto harmony of surpassing sweetness.
They sang several other songs before Ruth called a halt for siesta.
They did evening class on the grass. “Just one more week,” said Ruth. “If we could get some help on Saturday we’ll have the roof finished. Possibly even the tatami.”
They were up to ten outside students—villagers, farmers, or ranchers who came to evening class. Ruth had Karen teach. Karen started out using Athena as uke, but after Athena began flagging, she alternated between Kimble and Athena. The one time Kimble partnered with Athena she cranked hard on the pin and fast, a tri
ck used to inflict more pain before an opponent tapped out.
When it was her turn, she slapped out even before he began the pin. He shook his head but didn’t say anything. He watched carefully when she worked with the dojo’s beginners, but apparently this treatment was for him alone. His wrists ached that night but he soaked them in the spring before turning in. Again, when he awoke in the night, he heard Athena toss and turn.
They had just finished morning practice when Jason’s sons delivered the promised latillas. They showed a pronounced tendency to linger, asking Athena questions about aikido and outside, until Ruth said, “I’m sure Kimble could use some help putting those latillas up.”
Toes were dug into the dirt of the yard. “Uh, Papa needs us back at the yard.”
“Well, you could always come back for evening class. You could watch or even participate.”
When they were gone and Athena was changing clothes, Karen said, “Yeah, well, she can get them in the door at our dojo, too. But they have to stay for their own reasons.”
Kimble spent the day on the roof, lashing the latillas in place. Ruth and Karen continued work on the tatami. Athena was designated as general assistant. She fetched water, as needed, handed up bundles of the latillas to Kimble, straw to Karen, reeds to Ruth. Kimble was exquisitely polite, thanking her each time she passed the latillas up. Athena was silent, ignoring his thanks or, at best, giving a short jerk of her head.
At one point he saw Karen watching the interaction, her eyes intent on Athena. When she saw Kimble looking back, she rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and smiled. Kimble’s spirits lifted and he was surprised. He hadn’t been aware his spirits were down, but the rest of the afternoon went smoother and he hummed as he worked.
That evening three of the four Jones boys observed class. They’d obviously come to talk to Athena, but they left with more sober expressions after watching her throw Kimble around. He slapped extra hard, making the falls seem harder than they were.
He was awakened in the middle of the night by a strange sound. Moving cautiously to the hallway by the deshi rooms, he realized it was muffled crying.
During morning class Athena had dark shadows under her eyes. Karen worked with her at half speed, concentrating on precision.
Ruth worked with Kimble at full speed, until it felt like it was raining oak.
The Jones boys delivered the final batch of latillas.
“We overordered,” noted Kimble, comparing the bundles to the remaining unlatticed roof area.
“It’ll make good coyote fencing. The chickens are getting bigger.”
Two of the Jones brothers were still chatting up Athena but the youngest, the one who’d just left the village school, approached Ruth and asked if he could speak with her. Kimble left them. Later she smiled at Kimble and said, “New student. He did come to look at Athena. But it was you who impressed him.”
“Me? I was just taking ukemi.”
“He said if you could go through all that and still be standing today, it was something he’d like to learn.”
He finished the latillas by the middle of the day and began gluing down waterproof felt with plastic roofing cement. He was hot and sticky by the time he finished.
“Going swimming before siesta, Sensei, if that’s all right.”
The three women had been working on tatami, perfecting their individual tasks so that production was speeding up. Athena, covered head to toe in bits of wheat straw and sweat, looked up. “Swimming?”
“Certainly, Kimble,” Ruth said. “Do you mind if Athena goes along?” She turned to Athena. “It’s just a beaver pond, but it’s cold.”
Kimble felt a sinking in his stomach but he said immediately, “Of course not, Sensei. She would be welcome.”
“Does anybody have a swimsuit I could borrow?”
Kimble scratched his head. “Swimsuit?”
Ruth covered her mouth. Then she said, “You could wear shorts and a shirt if you want. Many just skinny-dip.”
Kimble offered, “When I’ve been working as hard as today, I jump in with my clothes on, at first, but I rinse them and hang them out to dry while I finish swimming.”
This did not seem to reassure Athena.
“And of course I won’t look when you get in and out.”
Muttering, “I’m going to regret this,” she stood and flipped her wrist at him. “Go, go. Before I change my mind.”
The beaver dam in question was downstream where a rocky gap in both sides had caught some logs during a flash flood. A family of beavers had filled in the gaps and the resulting pond was twenty yards across.
“Right here,” Kimble said, pointing down at the water ten feet below, “it’s about eight feet deep with a sandy bottom.” He kicked off his sandals. “Just don’t lock your legs.” He jumped out into the air.
The water was icy and he bent his knees as he entered and didn’t touch the bottom. As soon as he surfaced he kicked over to the beaver dam where his feet could touch the bottom and took several deep breaths. His skin was tingling all over.
Athena’s splash hit him as he was pulling off his clothes. He looked over at the roiling water that marked her impact. She stayed under long enough to worry him, but then her head broke water and she slung her hair back so water flew up into the sunlight in a glittering arc.
She swam toward him but then stopped suddenly, treading water, as she realized that his bare shoulders were sticking out of the water. He ignored her and put his clothing up on the sticks of the beaver dam, draped in the sun. As soon as his shirt, shorts, and underwear were up he kicked back out into the deep center. “I’ll go over to the shallows,” he said, pointing at the upstream end of the pond where the water was only a few feet deep over sand and rock. “You want to rinse your stuff, feel free. I’ll avert my eyes.”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
He cheated a little, glancing sideways enough to see her drape her clothes next to his. He saw her bare back and the swell of her buttocks and breathed out sharply between his teeth. The shallow water where he lay was a protected eddy in the sun, but he moved over to where the river flowed over a foot-high ledge before plunging into the pond. The water was much colder under the fall, uncomfortably so, but it had the effect he sought.
She joined him there, swimming a careful sidestroke. He sat cross-legged, on a mossy rock, the water lapping his chin. She swam up to the far side of a rock just sticking out of the water and draped her arms over it.
He tried to think pure, well unsexual, thoughts, but his mind wasn’t cooperating. “The breast stroke” was taking on whole new meanings. In desperation he asked, “Why are you so angry all of the time?”
Her eyes went wide and she turned to look away. She bit her lip. He’d almost expected her to get angry again but she didn’t. She looked vulnerable but he couldn’t tell if the water in her eyes was from the river or another source.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “It’s not like I expected. Not at all. Out here I’m … nobody.”
He blinked. “Nobody? You’re a senior student of Karen Sensei, right? How long have you been studying?”
“Five years. I just tested for nidan. I asked her if I could be her otomo for this trip but it’s been all wrong.”
Ruth had told him stories of being otomo, baggage carrier, for a traveling instructor. It was more than just porter. The otomo took ukemi during instruction, took care of the instructor’s laundry, meals, and general comfort.
“It must be different from when you’re taking care of her at your dojo.”
“I don’t take care of her at the dojo.”
Kimble stared. “Oh. There are other uchideshis?”
“Sensei doesn’t have inside students. She doesn’t live at the dojo. I do stuff for her but it’s little stuff, like folding her hakama and making sure the dojo gets cleaned. Maybe organizing a seminar occasionally, though usually it’s the more senior students.”
“Where do you live, then? What do you do?
”
“I have an apartment by the university. I’m a Ph.D. candidate in computer forensics. I teach some of the undergraduate computer labs.”
He stared at her. He’d seen his cousin’s computer once and had played a game on it (badly). That Athena was a master of this technology impressed him. “You must be very good at what you do.”
She peered back at him, trying to decide if he was making fun of her. “I’ve already had job offers from three different federal agencies,” she admitted. “One of them handles the IT for the territorial government.”
“Is that why you came? To see what the territory is like?”
Athena looked away again. “That’s what I told Sensei.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything. He could tell she wanted to talk about it, but he was afraid if he said anything, she’d withdraw again.
“She doesn’t take me seriously,” Athena finally said. “She … she thinks my aikido study is a phase.”
“Why? Because you’re in grad school, because you’ll go to one of those jobs?”
“No. Because I’ve been inconsistent in my practice. I’ve been an on-again, off-again sort of student. Until this last year. Aikido is what got me through my dissertation without going insane.”
“Has she said this to you? That you don’t practice enough? That you’re a lazy aikidoist?”
She looked down. “No.”
“Didn’t she just promote you?”
“Well, the Shihan did. I tested at summer camp.”
“Did you ask to test?”
“During my dissertation? Are you nuts? Karen Sensei told me I was testing the week before.”
Kimble wanted to reach out and hit her right between the eyes. “Excuse me, Sempai, but you’re nuts in the head.”
An annoyed expression flickered across her face, followed by a smile. “Sempai? Are you sure?”
“By every standard. You’ve been studying longer than I have, you outrank me, and you’re ten years older than me. I am smarter, though, or at least I’m not being a total dork about some things, like someone is.”