No Geek Rapture for Me_I'm Old School

by Jonelle Renald

  To her left, two men in particular drew her attention. One was an immense giant, his head towering more than a foot above the other man’s. Mia guessed that the tall man was just over seven feet tall and about a foot wider than most men his height — literally tall, dark, and handsome in a broad-faced, ominous way, with wavy dark auburn hair and black eyes and tanned features. Looking like an East Coast wise guy, the gigantic man had on an expensive black silk suit with white shirt and red silk tie, his hands adorned with several large rings and a heavy chain link bracelet. He was flanked by a group of three very well muscled men with thick necks, all over six feet tall, who appeared to be his bodyguards. If he was somebody famous, Mia didn’t recognize him. He had a face which had no lines or wrinkles, forehead and cheek muscles that never moved, his face frozen except for the mouth that opened and shut as the immense man was engaged in intense conversation. She thought, “Ugh, botox — and he’s not very old either.” Mia was surprised to see that the other man (wearing a black leather coat with a royal blue scarf) was Enoch, the man who had rescued her from getting hung up on the fence. Both of the men were now looking back at her. Enoch raised his right palm to her in greeting, and she smiled and waved back. The very tall man with the auburn hair scowled at her, his black eyes burning into her, as if to say, “Who are you to interrupt our discussion? Begone, peasant!”

  The two men went back to their conversation. The auburn-haired man was standing very close to Enoch, encroaching into his personal space. In spite of that, Enoch was calm and relaxed, the smile lines around his eyes and mouth not altered in any way, unaffected by the forceful gestures the gigantic man was making with his hands, sometimes even wagging his finger in the older man’s face. Enoch was shaking his head no, while the other man boomed so loudly Mia could hear what he said.

  “We need your help presenting our proposal. The current situation is untenable, our efforts fettered. So we’re now amenable to making concessions regarding this territory and would be willing to halt all our future efforts of opposition. We are willing to withdraw from this sphere of influence in exchange for assurances that our realm will be guaranteed independence, that the digital universe we plan to create will be shielded from interference of any kind.”

  Enoch’s reply was given in more measured tones, so Mia couldn’t hear his reply, but he was still shaking his head no.

  The auburn-haired giant continued loudly, “That can’t be your final response. Our proposal is to everyone’s advantage. Think of it — our exit via the Geek Rapture would mean the beginning of a Utopia on earth. No more temptations or complications to trouble humanity. Everything the way it was originally intended to be, everyone getting what they want.”

  Just then the p.a. announcer gave a fifteen minute warning for the first bouts. Mia thought, “I have to hurry! I’m in the third pool, but I still have to change and do warm ups.” In other circumstances, she would stay and listen to more of Enoch’s conversation, find out more about this Geek Rapture. She wondered what it was — she had never heard the term before. If only she had more time, but she couldn’t stay. She picked up her equipment bag and ran to the locker room to change.

  All in white, fencing apparel is an elaborate affair — jacket (padded to blunt the force of getting whacked with a three foot flexible metal rod), knickers (tight so a sword point won’t get caught in the fabric), knee-high stockings (which must reach the bottom of the knickers), shoes (sneaker-like), and a glove for the sword hand. The shoes were unlike any other pair of shoes Mia had ever seen outside fencing — the left shoe didn’t match the right shoe. Rules prohibit sabre fencers from running toward each other, and mandate that the back foot can never move beyond the front foot. With a right hander, the right foot is always in the lead, pointed straight ahead, the left pointed at a right angle to provide power for pushing off while lunging, so the left shoe is designed for support and the shoe for the right foot designed for movement, maximum speed, and flexibility.

  Given that fencing is a sport where people are lunging at you, forcefully probing in your direction with a sharp metal object, and in the case of sabre fencing, slashing at you with a yard long sword, there were several required protective equipment items. For everyone, two plastic plastrons to protect the underarm area, for women some form of breast protection, for men cup protection, for sabre fencers a mesh mask with throat padding. Since she had long hair, Mia used a covered elastic band to gather her long blonde hair up in a pony tail that would stay under her mask.

  Now completely attired in the uniform of a fencer, Mia looked around the fencing salle at how everyone was attired in the same way — all in elegant white, each carrying a sword. And she remembered the first time she had seen a fencing club dressed and ready for a tournament. They had looked like some kind of militant ballet troupe to her. Movements that were graceful and powerful, but unnatural, feet quick-stepping up and down the fourteen meter long piste and unnaturally positioned at right angles, arms slashing with their yard-long blade, metal ringing with each contact. As a beginner, there was so much to learn. And it was all so confusing, such a challenge to master even the basics, physically and mentally. She thought back to the most challenging aspect of learning to fence — proper footwork. Sabre fencing rules forbid putting one foot ahead of the other, which means advancing and retreating are almost like a dance, but with much more quickness and force. Mia’s first instructor wouldn’t even allow any student in her class to touch a saber for weeks, not until footwork became second nature to them. Mia could still remember having to think through proper footwork in her head, just to be able to move. “Plant my back foot, move the front forward, then plant that, advance the back foot but don’t step ahead of the front. Repeat. Quick, quick, quick.” Once footwork was mastered, then and only then did practice with the saber begin. Now, she was glad that the basics had been emphasized in her training so that they had become second-nature to her, and she was free to concentrate on strategy. In the quick exchange of strokes in a duel, moves must be made instinctively. There is no time to calculate, “Attack coming toward the upper right side of my body, I need to select a parry. What to do, what to do, hmm. Oh! I’ll respond with the third parry position now.” Too late! Instead, there is only a fraction of a second to react, parry, and then riposte (attack in response) if possible.

  Another challenging aspect for Mia as a beginner was learning the fencing vocabulary. Much of the terminology is in French — salle for a fencing hall, touché for a touch, piste for the fencing strip, allez to start the bout, riposte for an answering stroke following an attack. Just as in ballet, there were numbered positions for practicing, and if you liked, they could be numbered in French. Primary sabre defensive positions (circular motions): Third/Tierce – high outside, Fourth/Quarte – high inside, Fifth/Quinte – head. Secondary parry positions (reacting to attacks): First/Prime, Second/Seconde, Sixth/Sixte (the same as the en garde position).

  In addition to physical skills, mental aptitude was essential to success in fencing. Poker, chess, and fencing all share similar strategies — bluffing, trapping, and baiting your opponent to draw them into the place where you plan to attack. Developing strategy for offense, prepared to make a good defense, while always maintaining a state of readiness to switch rapidly between offense and defense, as the need arises. As a result, technique and sharpened intuition for what would be coming next had to become second nature. Which played into Mia’s strengths. Touches weren’t simply lucky strikes that overpowered an opponent. They were calculated, dynamic attacks, planned several steps ahead so your opponent would be outmaneuvered and not be able to turn aside the touch.

  It all meant there was a very steep learning curve for beginners, mastering many new body movements and new thought patterns. On defense, if you commit to a parry properly but do it too early, hoping to block an attack you think is coming, you risk becoming open to a different attack coming in from another direction. Position y
our wrist or forearm for the wrong attack, and you won’t be able to respond in time to avoid receiving a touch. At the same time, you hope to develop an attack on offense where you can exploit the occasions when your opponent is out of position while avoiding getting into trouble yourself. And no matter how much experience you gain later, the basics continue to remain a challenge to execute well.

  Starting her warm up, she did stretches without her saber, then jumped up and down in place to get her legs ready for the back and forth of dueling. Next, she used a jump rope for three minutes, then practiced lunging and flunging. (The flunge is a flying lunge that makes up somewhat for not being able to run at your opponent.) Flunges that result in a touch are one of the most awesome things to do in a bout. She picked up her sword and made some warm-up cuts with her saber. She tested the blades on the four sabers she had brought by bending and flexing them back and forth to verify there was no damage that would lead to a break during a bout. Every fencer brings extra swords to tournaments. If something does happen later during a bout, a replacement would be immediately ready.

  Next she started drilling with her weapon on the basic sabre movements, rehearsing the six parry positions. As coach, Grant taught the members of the fencing club to always review the basics, no matter how advanced they became, to develop good muscle memory. She practiced her footwork again. Glide, glide, glide. Advance, retreat, lunge.

  At the weekly fencing club practice sessions, she often practiced with a male fencer who had a longer reach and a higher level of skill, like Grant Hartwig or Vince Sullivan, so that she did not become complacent with her fencing skills in any way. It also helped her learn to not flinch anticipating the pain of getting whacked with a saber by someone with power behind the stroke. The heavy cloth of her jacket protected from actual injury, but the impact of the blow was still painful. And by experiencing a more powerful cut in practice, she would not hold back during a bout — no turning away or hesitating, no matter what she faced.

  In duels, sabrists who fence aggressively succeed, and rules are written to make being passive a disadvantage. Priority, otherwise known as Right of Way (RoW), is given to the fencer who extends their arm first in an attack. The other duelist cannot score as long as their opponent keeps this RoW by continuing to press the attack until a successful parry switches the RoW to the defender. In addition, the size and shape of the fencing strip (two meters wide by fourteen meters long) means there was no place to hide or hang back too far from the action. You are forced to confront your opponent and the saber coming at you.

  The lightest of the three fencing weapons, the saber is the only weapon where both the edge and tip of the sword are used (not limited to the endpoint as in epee and foil). Of the three weapons, epee requires the most strategy with touches developing slowly. Saber on the other hand is the fastest, scoring occurring in fractions of a second. The fast-paced movement doesn’t come from gripping the handle tightly and then flailing the arm. The fencer’s fingers control the movement of the weapon, while the arm provides the force behind the movement. The goal is placing the tip of your sword a yard away in line with your arm so you not only hit what you are aiming at but also harness the entire power of the muscles behind it. Mia thought it was all a lot like golf. Sounds easy, but once you get started, you only rarely feel like you get it completely right. Powerful movement made with a relaxed flow. Nearly impossible to do well every time. And so easy to get in your own way.

  Mia thought, “Today especially, I must focus on confronting the threat before me, discovering a way around their defense, work to execute a stroke that will land. Or retreat in a smart way, blocking the attack, until I can find an opening to commence my own attack once more. Who knows what might happen at the end of the day!”

  4 | About

  Mia stood for a moment watching her upcoming opponents in the third pool warming up. To develop a good defensive strategy, she wanted to get an idea of how they moved, spot any obvious weakness. Mia was surprised to see that Darla Werner, the first of her scheduled pool opponents and favorite to win the saber division of the tournament, had a very tight and tense grip on her saber. This wasn’t the kind of mistake you’d expect from someone attending a Division II university who had just missed making the last Olympic team. A too-tight grip was a major problem for a fencer. It meant diminished flexibility and power, and since she would have to move her entire arm to guide her saber, she would be telegraphing all her moves. Maybe it meant that her weapon could go flying out of her hand if the right parry was used at the right time to make the handle to twist out of her hand. “A disarm in a tournament — wouldn’t that be epic!” Mia thought. In her mind, she could see Darla’s blade as it tumbled away to the right, clattering across the floor. If everything went the right way, it might happen!

  In the meantime, to help combat her nerves at the beginning of the tournament, and to get mentally ramped up before the third pool got started, she invited Sheila Morton, a sabrist from one of the visiting clubs to loosen up with a warm-up bout. After an initial salute, with a brief and restrained series of attacks and parries, clashing steel on steel, they completed their warm up. Afterward, they saluted each other once again. “Well done! Thanks for bouting with me,” Mia said.

  Sheila replied, “Glad to! And thank you for helping me get mentally prepped. Best of luck to you today.”

  The p.a. announcer called the start of the first epee bout in the first pool of their division, the bout Jenny was in. Mia stood to one side where she had a good view of the fencing strip. As the bout between Jenny and her opponent progressed, Mia saw the source of her problem — Jenny’s back foot was lifting during her lunges. Maybe Grant would have a good suggestion for Jenny on a way to correct that. But then Mia reminded herself that she needed to start concentrating on her own pool bouts.

  In fencing, you win mentally or you don’t win. Gain a mental edge, devise good strategy, out-think your opponent, lull them to sleep, anticipate their moves. With so many experienced fencers in the tournament today, there wouldn’t be any bouts that she could take for granted. “Focus, Mia, focus! It’s a physical chess match. Remember — don’t let up on your attack.” She joined the other sabre fencers waiting for their bouts to start. The first and second sabre pools had several great contests between well-matched contestants. Then it was time for the third pool to compete.

  For her first bout, Mia was scheduled to face the woman who would no doubt be her most challenging opponent of the day. Darla Werner, the very strong and capable fencer that many expected to win today, was shorter and stockier in build than Mia. At six feet tall, Mia expected to almost always be taller — only rarely did she meet someone who even equalled her in height. Built more like someone who might choose an epee (tall and slender build) rather than the saber (strong and compact build), it was Mia’s temperament that determined the saber was her best weapon. She loved the speed of sabre fencing, having to rely on intuition during the quick exchanges. She also didn’t have the patience for developing a long-term strategy that equalled success with epee fencing.

  Standing next to each other at the center of the fencing strip, Mia and Darla were dressed alike, all in white, mesh mask under the arm, padded jacket (not closed yet), saber in gloved hand, weapon down at the side. The referee (aka the director) checked that both were wearing the proper protective gear, then checked their sabers to make sure they were the proper weight. He gave the result for them both (“Test valid”) to the panel of judges. Then they both closed their jackets in preparation for the start of their duel. Since they were fencing dry and didn’t have to test the electronic connections for the saber, mask, or a lamé jacket, Darla and Mia moved to the center of the piste to wait for instructions from the director before proceeding. After a couple of moments, he said, “Salute, mask, and on guard.”

  Sabre fencing has its roots in military cavalry fighting, but as a sport, the rules and referees are formulated to
create a safe way to practice techniques for defense or attack — all the skills needed in battle but without injury or danger. The chivalric code inherited from an earlier, more gracious era deemed it dishonorable in a saber duel to strike below the belt, which is why hands and everything below the waist don’t count as a touch. But the head is part of the target area so masks are worn. Other reminders of proper etiquette, such as saluting your opponent and the referee, also continue to be a part of fencing. To make a salute — extend your sword arm straight out then move the guard toward your mouth, briefly hold, then extend your arm again, and end with a graceful drop. Like blowing a kiss with your saber’s hilt to honor your opponent, the audience, and the director.

  Mia saluted her opponent Darla, who returned the salute with a bold flourish, still gripping her saber’s handle too tightly. Then both put on their masks securely, Mia’s long blonde hair pulled back and tucked inside the helmet. She looked down the fourteen meter piste that would define the boundaries of her efforts for the next few minutes through the mesh of her mask as she walked to her starting position at the en garde line. When she had first started wearing a mask, it had felt awkward, like standing an inch or two from a window screen, but it hadn’t taken long until she didn’t even notice it anymore. Toes behind the line, standing four meters apart, both assumed the en garde position — blade forward, knee bent, toe behind the line, back foot at a ninety degree angle with the front foot pointed straight ahead, left hand on hip. The director asked, “Fencers ready?” Darla loudly replied, “No!” — her shoe had come untied. When she had straightened back up into the en guard position again, the director asked one more time, “Fencers ready?” When no one called for more time, he shouted, “Allez! Fence!”