No Geek Rapture for Me_I'm Old School

by Jonelle Renald

  Dr. Harper asked, “You’re saying you were comforting the tree before it was mutilated?”

  “That’s what it sounds like, doesn’t it,” she replied. “If trees can actually be comforted, which I’m not sure I believe, even now. But the idea, ‘This tree will be severely pruned tomorrow’ — I didn’t get that message, not at all, not when I was standing next to it. Next day when I got home from school, I was surprised and shocked to see what had happened to the tree.”

  “Come on, Mia, tell us — did you hug the tree?” Roger said. He looked around the table for someone to laugh with. “Haha, you’re a tree hugger! Who would have imagined it?”

  “Yes, I know how stupid it sounds,” Mia said.

  Roger persisted. “You don’t have red hair. I suppose you have an O negative blood type.”

  Frowning, she said, “Yes, it so happens that I do have O negative blood. What difference does that make?” She stared at him, but he didn’t reply. So she shrugged, shook her head, and continued. “But none of those things seem very significant. What happens to me seems like more than a nothing, but less than being a psychic.”

  Jan shook her head and said, “Don’t you believe it. Mia is psychic. I know where an administrative assistant at the college — I won’t say what department, except it wasn’t the English Department — had been trying to have a baby and then miscarried. She didn’t tell nobody nothing about it, and came to work the next day. Mia sent her flowers on that day. I saw the flowers, I saw her crying at her desk, and she told me all about it.”

  “I can’t take credit for that,” Mia said. “I really didn’t know anything. I just got the impression that I should send her flowers, so I did. I found out later about the miscarriage when she called to thank me for cheering her up on that sad day.”

  Shaking her head, Mia said, “If I don’t consciously know the information or the details, am I psychic? If I had to define it, I’d say I am empathetic or maybe intuitive. I don’t read people’s thoughts with ESP. I can’t see the future. I don’t dream dreams or see visions.”

  Later when everyone started going home, Roger shook Mia’s hand and then held it for longer than necessary. Peering over the top of the black plastic frames of his glasses, he said, “So, Mia. What am I thinking?”

  She pulled her hand away, laughed and said, “Stop it! I can’t tell.” But after he walked away, she shook her hand off and then rubbed the palm on her jeans for a time as if she was trying to wipe off something sticky.

  3 | Fence

  The next morning, Mia was running late. She was supposed to be at the gym already, warming up for the regional fencing tournament being held at Edgestow College today. But her holiday routine had betrayed her, and the cell phone alarm that had been turned off for the ten previous days hadn’t been turned on last night either. Running through her house, she gathered up the bag containing her fencing equipment (mask, multiple sabers, uniform, shoes) along with a hand towel and three bottles of water, two power bars, an apple, and a banana for snacking during the all-day event.

  Opening the front door and stepping outside, she said, “Oh, it’s so cold! And it snowed last night.” Which meant she had to take the time to clear the new-fallen half inch of snow off the car before she could leave, plus scraping the ice underneath the snow off the front windshield. “I wish, I wish, I wish I had a garage.” At least the heater would have time to warm up this way.

  What a bad day to be running late. The biggest and best tournament ever hosted at Edgestow College was happening today! Ever since Grant Hartwig had become their coach, the stature of their opponents had been getting better and better. The field for the bout today included fencing clubs from NCAA Division I and II universities, plus colleges and high schools from Iowa, Wisconsin, Illinois, and Michigan. Darla Werner, a woman who had just missed making the Olympic squad last time was attending and was expected to win today. And she wasn’t the only sabrist with the skills to win — several from other collegiate fencing clubs also had a good chance of coming in first. “I can’t miss this tourney!” she said to herself.

  The new fallen snow was beautiful, but as a result she had to be extra careful on the brief drive to Edgestow College’s Stark Gymnasium. Mia had breakfast in the car (kombucha tea and string cheese), while trying to concentrate on the upcoming match. Fencing was an important part of her life, and the club had been a big reason why she had accepted the teaching position here. Edgestow College had been founded by a Victorian-era British immigrant who wanted to promote the ideals of education and chivalry. As a result, the fencing club had been a part of Edgestow since its very beginning, even predating the building of the gymnasium, a rarity in Iowa colleges in the nineteenth century when most institutions were solely focused on certifying teachers.

  It was the combination of mental and athletic challenges in fencing that Mia enjoyed. Someone had called it a “physical chess game,” and she agreed with that statement. The tradition associated with fencing, the grace of the constrained footwork, the etiquette of saluting your dueling partner before you try to stab them with your sword combined to make fencing an altogether creative and elegant sport. Strategy is an essential component to fencing, trying to read your opponent’s intentions, and anticipate their next move, and she loved a line she had read in a beginner’s book on fencing: “Whackers don’t win in fencing.” Random blows and even the most forceful of strikes didn’t bring success. However, even the best strategy was useless without quick decisive action to implement your plan. Using her brain and body together in a totally absorbing and interesting way was a welcome change from the routine of studying to keep up with her field of study while teaching college lit classes. And it was a great opportunity to get to know students and other faculty, as well as members from the surrounding area who participated in the fencing club.

  When it came to sabre fencing, Mia liked to think that she was following in the footsteps of her great-great-great-grandfather. Or was it her great-great-great-great-grandfather? Colonel Georg Marwitz had been a Prussian cavalry officer, although a generation earlier the village where he had been born was part of Poland, before national boundaries were moved to make it part of Prussia. At her house, she had a treasure to inspire her fencing — an antique saber similar to the Colonel’s. (Her dad had inherited the his actual calvary saber.) She also wished she had a horse like his as well, to be able to charge into battle and use her fencing skills against a fierce opponent. But only as long as the contest would be non-lethal. Something like a medieval jousting tourney, with all the brightly colored flags, costumes, armor, and fanfare — only with sabers and not lances. No whacking off heads or limbs, just cuts, parries, and ripostes against an armored opponent, and then there might be the hoped-for joy of making a sword go flying because they have lost their grip due to your own superior technique and strategy. She could see her giant black Friesian charger, and for a couple of seconds, she felt like she was actually in the saddle, galloping over a flat treeless plain, the breeze from the speed of the run blowing her long blonde hair back.

  Turning her black cherry sports car left across Edgestow Avenue, she cut through iCon’s parking lot to get to the Stark Gymnasium parking lot quicker, a practice that the faculty, staff, and student body had been warned against in many emails from the neighboring company. But one did what one must when needs must. (And why didn’t iCon block the drive at their property line if they didn’t want people driving through?) Even with the shortcut, the parking spot would be one hundred yards away from the gymnasium. So she swooped into an empty space in the Edgestow parking lot, picked up the equipment bag, locked her purse in the trunk of her car, dropped her keys into her coat pocket, knowing she really needed to run now. She might not finish registering in time and get left out of the tourney!

  To save several precious minutes, she decided to take a shortcut that involved jumping a chain link fence. Coming from this direc
tion, it was really more a matter of jumping down over the chain link fence — the sidewalk at the top of the stone wall was higher than the fence, with the ground about five feet below. Being a professor and not a scoff-law student, she didn’t like taking this shortcut. She was someone who should know better and should abide by all rules and regulations, but she was very late, and there were not many students on campus during the break. She convinced herself that it would be OK this one time.

  After carefully placing her equipment bag on the stone wall where she could reach it once she was down on the ground, she pushed off the stone wall. “Frack! No, no, no, no, no! This cannot be happening!” The center back belt loop of her jeans was caught on the top of the chain link fence! Suspended in the middle, she was stuck in that position, unable to alter her situation in the least. The heels of her boots wouldn’t fit into the links of the fencing so they kept slipping whenever she tried to push up to release the dead weight hanging on the belt loop. And her arms would have to bend backward for her to try to use the stone wall behind her. No matter what she did, she couldn’t raise herself off the chain link fence or improve on her predicament in any way, except to stop herself from almost turning upside down. Behind her, the four sabers in her equipment bag were of no use.

  She hadn’t quite gotten to that state of panic where you realize there are no options except to be stuck when she heard someone say behind her, “I’m here, I heard you cry out. Allow me to help you up — give me your hand.” In just a moment, she was back on top of the stone wall. Her rescuer was an older man with bronzed skin, mostly white hair, salt and pepper beard, tangled eyebrows, an aquiline nose with a prominent bridge, with deep smile lines around his mouth and brown eyes. She immediately felt the warmth of his spirit and smiled at him and impulsively gave him a hug. He was a few inches shorter than she was, but with an athletic build. Mia was a little surprised he had been able to lift her up off the fence, but she was very happy he had.

  “Thank you so much! I was beginning to think I would be hanging there all morning, afternoon, and then all night!” Mia grasped his hand to shake it in appreciation, and a picture flashed into her mind of him smiling at a tall girl with dark hair and bright brown eyes, along with a deep sense of nostalgia and wistfulness. Letting go, Mia added, “My name’s Dr. Mia Marwitz, but please call me Mia. I can’t thank you enough. You don’t know how helpful you’ve been.”

  He smiled and said, “Enoch. Most pleased to make your acquaintance, Mia. And very glad I was able to come to your rescue. It would be a shame if you missed the opportunity to fence in the tournament.”

  For some reason, Mia felt a reluctance to leave. She felt happy just to be standing next to her rescuer, and had no inclination to be on her way. He had such an air of joy about him, and it was contagious. But after a brief moment his reminder soaked in, and she remembered why she was in hurry — the fencing tourney. “You’re right. I’ve got to run! Let me try this descent once more — I’d go the long way around, but I’m so late.”

  “I’ll stand guard and make sure you don’t get hung up on the fence this time.”

  “Oh, thank you!” She laughed. “That would make me feel better, absolutely would!”

  Safely down this time, Enoch handed her the equipment bag. From below, she waved. “Thanks again! You’re a life saver,” then she turned and sprinted toward the gym. It wasn’t until later that Mia realized that he had known where she was going. But how? She didn’t think she had ever met him before, not even once. She thought, “Oh, it’s nothing. He’s here for the event himself, and my equipment bag gave it away.”

  Running up to the fencing arena on the second floor of the annex to Stark Gymnasium, Mia saw Jenny Potter, a forty-something member of the Edgestow Fencing Club from Prairie du Chien, who had just completed her registration. “Mia, you’re late! Hey, can you do me a favor? If we’re in adjoining pistes during the pool bouts, and you have a chance, can you take a minute to see if you can pick up on any techniques that I’m doing wrong, check my footwork on my attacks and lunges? I seem to be losing power, not sure what the problem is.”

  “Maybe you are not actually left-handed.”

  Jenny groaned. “That’s your favorite movie, isn’t it, Dread Pirate Mia. Yes, I’ll be sure to fence right-handed. But you’ll help me?”

  “Sure, I’ll be glad to take a look, see if I can figure out something. I like your tee, by the way. Very funny. Ha ha.”

  Jenny was an epee fencer, and the message on her T-shirt said, “Sabre is Theatre, Foil is Art, Epee is Truth.” Mia opened her coat and showed off her tee. “Sabre is Skill, Foil is Finesse, Epee is...Tag.”

  “Yeah, right. Good one, haha!” Jenny laughed.

  There was a line waiting to check in with the bout committee, and another line for sabre fencers to get their decorated masks inspected. A tall man with gray hair was telling a male high school fencer that his mask would not be acceptable. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to use your practice mask today.” Mia was last in line, but she made the cutoff for the tourney under the wire.

  Mia asked the woman taking her registration, “How many are registered today?”

  “Seventy-five people total for saber, thirty-four women in three pools. You’ll be in Pool 3, six sabre fencers. Just so you know, two women will be cut after the pool bouts and won’t advance to the DEs after lunch.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. It’s more fun when you can get to fence in the Direct Eliminations. Here’s my paperwork and entry fee. It’s true what they say, isn’t it. Fencing is the only sport where the competitors pay to play, and the spectators get in free.”

  “True that. And it looks like there’s a lot of spectators today. There’s been a few technical glitches, but Edgestow College has really rolled out the red carpet for us.”

  Mia knew what one of the technical glitches was. Today everyone would be fencing dry (without electronic scoring), so there would be no independent confirmation of touches, no computer tracking of whose touch should score. The lightning flashes of hits (Touche! Maybe not?) were difficult to judge, especially in sabre fencing no matter how many referees were watching. This is what led to the widespread use of blades and lamé jackets attached to a wire. Most tournaments require epee and sabre fencers to wear equipment that electronically registers when contact is made, but that wouldn’t be possible today. Which might turn out to be a problem. Sabre fencing is fast, strokes occurring in hundredths of a second. If a sportscaster tried to narrate the action in a sabre duel, there would barely be time to name the person making the attack before a touch would land, let alone recount the exchange of strokes made. To further complicate matters for any human being trying to follow the action, the first to make contact didn’t always score, depending on Right of Way rules. Electronic scoring helps to clarify what’s happening in the match. Without electronic scoring, judges would be making best judgment calls on what strokes would score, which could be problematic for everyone but the most old school fencers.

  There was another consequence to fencing without electronics, and thinking of it made Mia wince. Dry fencing for sabre fencers can be painful because during bouts, many try to compensate for the lack of digital notifications by striking as hard as possible to ensure their touches are counted and don’t escape the notice of the referee. Padded jacket or not, those strokes would hurt!

  The only good thing was that the college had notified the tournament committee that the fencing strips hadn’t been upgraded in time for the bout committee to arrange to bring in extra judges, four per piste, to make up panels for evaluating each bout. Two judges focused on each fencer — one concentrating on who attacked first, the other focused on determining the success of that attack.

  It was so disappointing. Mia didn’t know why the college hadn’t followed through on their promises. At the start of the fall semester, the fencing club had been given a date for al
l the fencing strips in the salle to go electric. But then there had been delay after delay after delay postponing the upgrade. As coach, Grant tried to nail down a date, but he could never get a straight answer from the administration. Unfortunately, tournament day had arrived, electrification of the pistes still undone. Mia hoped that the judges were prepared for this extra inconvenience. And that the lack of automated scoring wouldn’t cause a lot of trouble or bring out protests and disagreements from participants during the bouts.

  Before going to the locker room, Mia stuck her head into the arena to check out attendance. The stands were filled with many more spectators than Mia would have expected for a competition scheduled during the holiday break in the first week of January. Before today’s pool bouting had even begun, the stands were already three-quarters full. Usually, the majority of spectators don’t even arrive until the DEs in the afternoon. Also, there were a lot of people here today who weren’t part of the normal Edgestow College fencing crowd. Several of the men in the stands had security card keys clipped to their belts, and she could see by the logo on the card that they were iCon employees. Odd they would be here during the middle of a work day. It looked like a lot of the STEM professors from Edgestow College were sitting with the iCon people, which was natural given the collaboration that was developing between the two groups, but they didn’t usually attend fencing events together.