by P. D. Kalnay
Ivy’s look was incredulous and her little mouth narrowed into a frown.
“I find that hard to believe,” she said. “Make it do something.”
I was hardly a computer expert, and I’d worried about teaching Ivy, but it appeared I would have too much material.
“OK,” I said, flipping open the screen and pressing the power button. “This is how you turn it on.”
“Like the lights in this house?” Ivy asked, leaning closer.
“Yeah, don’t they have electricity where you come from either?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy. Just teach me about this computer, and show me how it does everything.”
“I said computers in general do pretty much everything. This one only does certain things. We should start with the internet.” I figured even old people can surf the net.
The laptop finished booting up, and my home screen popped up, complete with its resident bikini models.
“Why are those women in your computer?” Ivy asked. “Who are they?”
I’d forgotten my home screen.
“It’s just a picture,” I said. “You can customise the screen how you want.”
I felt my face flushing and turned back to the screen.
“Pervert,” Ivy said under her breath, but more than loud enough to hear.
I decided it was best to push forward with the lesson.
“One thing that computers do is let you learn things by connecting you to databases all around the world. They’re like electronic libraries.”
“How many books are in these libraries?” Ivy asked, peering at the screen.
“Tens of millions I’d guess.”
Her expression said she thought I was pulling her leg.
“It’s true,” I said. “You can put in a question, or a topic, and the computer will help find the answer for you.”
I opened the web browser. Ivy was still giving me a suspicious frown.
“Tell me something you want to know about, and I’ll show you how to do a search.”
“Does the computer have maps, as well as books, in its libraries?”
“Yes, you can see pictures of the world too.”
“The entire world?”
“Yeah.”
“Show me,” Ivy said.
I opened Google Earth and showed her how to navigate with the mouse. Then I found Gran’s house and let her try. After watching her explore for an hour, I asked if she wanted me to show her something else. Ivy shook her head without looking away from the screen; I stretched out on my bed for a well-deserved nap and left her to it. When I woke just before dinner, Ivy was gone.
***
I’d rarely dreamed or at least rarely remembered my dreams before moving to Glastonbury Manor. I’d been having dreams every night since. They were vivid and real-seeming, but fuzzy at the same time. Now that I’ve told you, I realise that doesn’t make any sense. My dreams were like that though—real while they were happening—and distantly unclear when I woke.
That night I dreamt of the forest; a dark shadow-filled nightmare involving me endlessly running, pursued by unseen monsters. Each time they came close to catching me, I woke. Each time I woke up, Gran’s cat would purr, and I’d pet it until I fell back asleep. It was strangely comforting having the cat sleeping beside me. I had always considered myself a dog person, but I’d never had any pets, so that had largely been conjecture. Gran told me that the cat didn’t have a name when I’d asked, and I thought maybe I should give it one. I fell back asleep before I could come up with a suitable name.
Chapter 6 – Ivy’s Lesson
I woke earlier than usual, discovering the cat had abandoned me. The wind and rain blowing through the window screens had dragged me from sleep. Groggily, I stumbled across the room to shut the windows. As I moved to the second one, I stopped, hands poised, ready to pull down the heavy wooden frame. Someone was out back in the rain. It was dim outside, from the hour and the weather, but I recognised Ms. Mopat right away. What I couldn’t figure out was what she was doing. It looked like she was cleaning litter from the yard. Gran’s housekeeper moved briskly around the edge of the property. Every so often, she’d stoop to pick something up and put it in a large bag. Then she’d move on. Who did yard work at six in the morning—in the rain? I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t. I watched her for almost an hour. She’d patrolled the entire perimeter of my grandmother’s yard before heading back towards the house. A bag full of (I assumed leaves and sticks) bulged at her side. In the city, it might have been full of litter. At Gran’s, given the lack of any neighbours… where could litter come from? Ms. Mopat came to an abrupt halt, when she’d almost reached the house, and looked up at me. The air was muggy, but I felt a shiver run down my spine. She looked straight at me. My light wasn’t on, there must have been fifty windows on the back of Gran’s house, and I’d made no noise or movement. Then, after a brief pause, she continued on her way. Weird.
***
The rain continued unabated for the next few days. Each morning I learned more fencing from Mr. Ryan, and each afternoon Gran scheduled more Ivy-time for me. For a girl impressed by the electric lights, she learned quickly about modern technology. Even typing with one finger, she moved around the web with relative ease now. After the second day, Ivy informed me that she wanted to learn all the internet had to offer before I taught her more. That sounded good to me, and I made Ivy her own user account (with no administrative privileges) letting her surf to her heart’s content. I mostly napped through that first week of afternoons as neither of us was inclined to talk.
Five days into our routine, Ivy began our first real conversation.
“Is Mr. Ryan teaching you to dance?” she asked.
I was stretched out on my bed, eyes closed, and almost blissfully asleep.
“What?” I asked groggily.
“I watched the two of you for a few minutes this morning,” Ivy said. “You were dancing in strange clothing, with metal wands in your hands.”
Was she making fun of me, or once again showing her vast ignorance? With Ivy—I often couldn’t tell.
“I was holding a sword,” I said, “and we were fencing.”
“Fencing?”
“Sword fighting.”
Ivy laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, sitting up.
“I’ve seen sword fighting,” she said. “That wasn’t sword fighting. You’d be dead in a few heartbeats, prancing and poking with that willow switch of a blade.”
I found it hard to believe that the thing Ivy did know about was fighting (with a sword or otherwise).
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. I was proud of myself for not saying several other things. “Why don’t you practice your web searching and learn about fencing for yourself?”
“I’m impressed,” Ivy said as she turned back to the computer.
“Why?”
“Because, you made a suggestion that wasn’t stupid.”
I closed my eyes again and held in my reply.
***
“Boy, wake up,” Ivy said.
It felt like I’d only had five minutes of napping.
“What?”
“I was right. I woke you to give you an opportunity to apologise.” Ivy sounded happy.
“Right about what?” I wasn’t entirely awake yet.
“This fencing isn’t real sword fighting. It’s just a game loosely based upon it. Worthless, as far as I can tell. You may apologise now.”
“It’s not a game it’s a sport!” I said. “People can’t go around jabbing each other with real swords.”
“Explain the difference between a game and a sport,” Ivy said. Well… more demanded.
I tried to come up with an answer and failed. The sport/game line was blurry. Ivy’s triumphant smile told me she took my silence as a victory.
“You shouldn’t waste your time with foolish games,” she said. “Mr. Ryan is a grea
t sword master. You’d be wiser to beg him to teach you more useful skills.”
“What do you know?” I asked. Mr. Ryan was an amazing fencer, but how did this idiot know that?
“I’ve watched him.”
“A while ago you didn’t even know what fencing was. Now you can spot an expert?”
“I wasn’t referring to your dance lessons,” Ivy said. “I watched Mr. Ryan in the gymnasium last night after dinner. Rest assured boy, I know a master when I see one.”
“What was he doing?” I asked, more curious than annoyed.
Ivy looked at me as though I were the stupidest creature to have walked the earth.
“Practising sword forms.” She said it slowly to emphasise how stupid I was. “Real sword forms. Not prancing about. Are you listening boy?”
I wasn’t. I was imagining what other cool stuff I might talk Mr. Ryan into teaching me.
***
I went down to the gymnasium after dinner, to see if Mr. Ryan was actually there. Ivy already waited in the hallway by the door. Her smirk said she’d known I would come and was waiting be proven correct. Ivy didn’t speak; instead, she held a finger to her lips and silently opened the door a few inches. I was a good head taller than Ivy, and we both looked through the gap together. Mr. Ryan moved around the gym with one of the wooden swords from the rack. I’d dabbled in a few martial arts in my fourteen years, and I recognised a kata when I saw one. Mr. Ryan moved from parries, to lunges, to slashing strikes as countless invisible opponents fell to his blade. For an older (and chubby) guy he was remarkably fast and graceful. Finally, he leapt an improbable distance and struck down his last enemy with a powerful overhand blow. Then he drew himself up and stood still, sword at the ready. It had been as awesome as any ninja-filled movie I’d ever seen.
“Are you going to skulk out in the hallway all night?” Mr. Ryan asked. He was out of breath, and he didn’t turn to look in our direction as he spoke.
I pushed the door open. We were already busted.
“We didn’t mean to disturb you,” Ivy said politely. Mr. Ryan and Gran warranted good manners.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I added.
Mr. Ryan relaxed out of his stance.
“I’m not so out of practice that a little watching is enough to throw off my concentration,” he said. “Did you guys want something?”
Did I ever!
“What martial art were you doing?” I asked. Notwithstanding the Japanese-style practice sword, it hadn’t looked like kendo or aikido.
“It’s a blend of a lot of different things,” Mr. Ryan said. “And some I made up myself.”
“How many martial arts have you studied?”
“Most of them I think. I started with karate and judo when I was younger than you. By the time I was a teenager, I’d added others, and I continued for my years in the army. There were a fair number of guys in my unit with similar interests. The sword forms have no practical use, but I find they act as a sort of meditation.”
My next question practically burst out.
“Will you teach me that stuff?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Mr. Ryan said. “The fencing is just a sport like baseball or soccer. Most of the other stuff is potentially more dangerous…”
Amazingly, it was Ivy who convinced him.
“Mr. Ryan, you said these techniques are of your own creation?” she asked.
“Partly,” he said. “And partly a blending of traditional techniques.”
“And have you taught them to anyone?”
I wasn’t sure where she was going.
“Mostly no,” Mr. Ryan said. “I taught some of the knife fighting to men in my unit, but that’s it.”
“If you fail to pass on your knowledge and skills, they’ll be lost when you die,” Ivy said. “Isn’t that the main reason a master takes an apprentice?”
Mr. Ryan considered that for a moment. Then he turned to me.
“It won’t be like the fencing,” he said. “If your grandmother and your parents agree, I’ll expect a high level of dedication on your part. The first time you show signs of slacking off, we’re done—understood?”
“Understood,” I said. I’d have to convince Gran now. My parents wouldn’t care one way or the other.
“We’ll train morning and evening,” Mr. Ryan said. “I believe your afternoons are already spoken for.”
There was a dismissal in his voice, and I didn’t want to push my luck. I towed Ivy toward the door, pulling it shut behind us. Out in the hallway, she shook off my hand.
“Thanks,” I said, and meant it.
“I didn’t intercede on your behalf,” Ivy said, striding away towards the stairs. “My actions were for Mr. Ryan’s benefit.”
I watched her go, not knowing what she meant, and (if I’m being honest) not caring. My summer was getting even better.
***
Gran agreed to my new lessons with the conditions that I continue teaching Ivy and behave myself. I suspected she was partly just happy knowing that I’d have no unscheduled time for the foreseeable future. Gran made no secret of her opinions on television and video games. I figured I could still do those things at night after my evening training with Mr. Ryan. It never worked out that way.
Martial arts training with Mr. Ryan wasn’t like the fencing had been. Each morning we began with calisthenics and a run down the gravel road Gran’s house is on. Stretching followed, and then Mr. Ryan would teach me how to fight. For the first week of mornings he showed me empty handed techniques: strikes, blocks, and throws. He ordered a section of wrestling mat, and after it arrived, grappling and ground fighting were added to the mix. Gran made another call to my father, and a wide range of martial arts uniforms and equipment arrived on the front steps. I assumed Mr. Ryan had given her the shopping list. The biggest surprise for me was that Ivy sometimes sat cross-legged in an empty corner of the gymnasium and watched us train. She didn’t make a sound except for an occasional giggle when I embarrassed myself, but I didn’t let it get me down; I was sure Ivy had been the deciding factor in Mr. Ryan agreeing to teach me.
I hurt every day and wore a remarkable number of bruises at any given time. Mr. Ryan held back because I was a kid, but he pushed me as hard as he thought I could handle. It made me want to work harder, to show him how tough I was. I didn’t get to touch a sword or any other practice weapon for the first week. The evening practices consisted of me trying to imitate Mr. Ryan as he moved through his sword katas. He told me there was no point in holding a sword if I couldn’t put my feet in the right places. I can honestly say that I gave all of it my best effort. I was exhausted for my lessons with Ivy, but she was surprisingly cool, and let me nap while she surfed the net. Things got harder the following week, when I lost my afternoon naps.
Chapter 7 – Gardening
Gran informed me that the computer lessons would be put on hold the following Monday morning. The season for planting had arrived. I had a feeling that napping in the vegetable garden would prove problematic. After an intense morning with Mr. Ryan, where I finally got to hold a practice sword, and a lunch eaten alone, I went out back to find Ivy. She’d already started without me. Ivy had laid out rows across the entire garden with a pointy stick. Little packets of seeds were placed at the end of each row. The first packet had a picture of carrots on it. Based on her lack of experience with modern conveniences, I already suspected Ivy came from a new-age compound full of hippy-dippy types. She seemed like a girl with crystals and yoga in her past.
“You took your time,” she said.
Ivy wore a flower-print sundress and a wide-brimmed hat. Her feet were bare and already covered in dirt.
“I just finished lunch,” I said. “Nobody told me an exact time. What are you doing?”
“I’m choosing the best placement for the different types of plants. I’m not familiar with many of them.”
“How do you know the best placement then?”
“Last week, while other p
eople were sleeping, I researched them on your worldwide spider’s web.”
Ivy had been calling the internet that since she’d misheard me. It would have been nicer to correct her, but it was still too funny. I turned away and coughed to hide my laugh.
“I’ve been laying out the rows for the different plants. Make sure you don’t alter the order.”
I looked at the line of seed packets on the ground.
“What difference does it make?”
“Some of the plants will grow taller, blocking the sun’s light from others, hindering their growth. Other plants find shade desirable,” Ivy said.
“They’re arranged by height?”
“Not only height. Certain plants repel pests that eat or damage others. Placing them next to each other discourages these creatures. I’ve been charged with teaching you. I will show you how to plant each type of seed.”
“Don’t you just make hole and drop in a seed?” I asked.
I figured Ivy was messing with me because I’d done some teasing during the computer lessons. She gave me her best you’re-a-moron look.
“Each type requires a different depth and spacing as well as less or more compaction of the soil above. The individual seeds will have their own needs.”
Their own needs?
“And how do you determine that?”
“You ask them.” Ivy said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Now she wanted to talk to seeds… awesome.
Ivy squatted down at the end of a row and tore open a package of radish seeds. She poured a few into her palm and held them out for me to see.
“Life is most fragile at its beginning,” she said, pushing the tiny seeds around. “All creatures need care and nurture to reach their full potential.”
She was really into the gardening! Then she plucked one seed from the rest and tossed it over her shoulder onto the lawn.
“Why’d you do that?” I asked.
“It was already dead inside.” Ivy looked at me from under the wide brim of her hat. “Couldn’t you tell?”
“Nope, it looked the same as the others.”
