Skin Puppet

by Jeffery Craig

  The next morning, she arrived in her big, black car, and drove him to the small studio a few blocks from his home. The seemingly ancient owner of the studio, Lu Jan, was waiting. His aunt, of course, had called ahead.

  After introductions were made, she placed one of her small hands on his head and pushed him forward. “This one wishes to learn from you,” she informed Lu Jan. “His honored grandmother and I have agreed there may be some small chance he will excel in this endeavor and have agreed to cover half of the cost. However, there is still the matter of the remaining fee. Is there perhaps any suggestion you might have which would allow us to overcome the remaining hurdle?”

  Lu Jan studied him carefully. He felt his thin boy’s arms and legs. Then, he asked Jon to complete the circuit around the room eight times without stopping and then to present himself back to them. He cautioned him to control his breathing and marshal his reserves, and made it clear that if he returned out of breath and winded, there would be no further consideration. After taking off his shoes, as was proper in this place, Jon bowed to the old man, took a deep breath, and started his circuit at a furious pace. He knew he could run. He was always being told to slow down. This was going to be a piece of cake.

  By the time he finished the third lap, he knew he was going to fail. He was already out of air, and if he continued at his current pace, would never be able to fulfill the conditions. He glanced over his shoulder and saw they were both watching him intently, faces expressionless in the early morning light steaming through the windows.

  Fighting the awful despair welling up in his chest, he reviewed his instructions once more, hoping for some clue how he could complete his task. Complete the circuit five more times. Control his breathing. Marshal his reserves. Present himself in front of his aunt and Lu Jan when he finished, in good form, without breathlessness. It was impossible. He considered giving up and slowed his pace. Frantic at the thought of losing the opportunity, he ran through the list of requirements again and again. He slowed to a walk, ashamed and worried. He took a gulp of air, and realized his breathing had slowed. “Wait a minute!” he thought. “He didn’t tell me I had to run, only that I had to complete the circuit!” Mentally kicking himself for his stupidity, he maintained a slow, even stride while he struggled to get his breathing under control. His last lap around the room was much slower than he would have preferred, but he was no longer heaving and gasping. When he finished, he made his way to where they were waiting. He gave a small bow as he’d been taught and folded his hands in front of his waist to wait patiently for their decision.

  Lu Jan placed a hand on his thin chest and held it there for a moment. He then took one of Jon’s arms and placed two fingers on the pulse point near the wrist. Closing his eyes, Lu Jan counted for a few moments before removing his fingers and opening his eyes to frown down into Jon’s face. After some consideration, Lu Jan shrugged and turned to Auntie Zhou.

  “Perhaps there is some small hope for this one.”

  “And the remainder of the fee?” she asked, showing not a flicker of expression.

  “Ah, yes, the fee.” Lu Jan directed his gaze back to Jon and then motioned with one gnarled hand. “Come with me, boy.” Without waiting for Jon, he walked to the back of the studio.

  After a nod from Zhou Li, Jon hurried to catch up and followed through the back door of the studio. The old man flicked on the lights and opened the door to a small, smelly storage closet where he retrieved a very ratty mop and a large, dented bucket. “Every day, after school, you will fill this bucket with water from the sink and you will mop the floor of the studio until it is spotless. Huh?”

  Jon quickly nodded. “Come, come!” Lu Jan instructed. “Follow!” He led the boy back to the front, where he opened several of the cabinets lining one wall. Inside were many rolled bundles. Lu Jan pulled one out and placed it on the floor. After it was unrolled, and inspected, Lu Jan continued. “Each day, you will also clean and brush these. Huh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You will also empty all of the waste baskets.”

  “Yes.”

  “Each Saturday morning, you will arrive here at eight o’clock and help me prepare for the day. Saturdays are a heavy class day, and there will be much to accomplish quickly and efficiently. Huh?”

  Jon’s heart sank. Saturdays were the best day. If he agreed to this, he would miss watching cartoons and all of the neighborhood fun. Still…

  “Huh?”

  “Every Saturday?”

  “Every Saturday, without fail.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and met Auntie’s eyes. He turned back and bowed. “Yes, sir.”

  “In return for your work and the generous portion of the fees paid by your Grandmother and Aunt, you will receive one lesson a week. That will be on Saturday with the other beginners, directly after you have completed your work. You will address me as Master Lu, or as Honored Instructor. Are we agreed?”

  “Yes, Master Lu.”

  “Good. I will let you return to your Aunt now. I will see you after school on Monday and we will begin.”

  Jon closed his eyes at the memory and lifted the bucket from the cart. He carried it to the back room and dumped it into the sink and started to fill it with fresh, clear water from the tap. The bargain he made all those years ago had stuck and had been just the beginning. He chuckled at the thought of his Aunt’s and Grandmother’s sacrifice and generosity. He hadn’t known his family numbered near the top of the wealthiest demographic in Sarasota until he was much older. He’d never been sure, but he’d bet a substantial sum that even then, Zhou Li had owned the entire row of small businesses and shops where the studio had been located. Years later, he learned the old mop and bucket so familiar to him had been stowed in the closest for years. Lu Jan had forgotten about them until that morning. He, of course, had owned a lighter weight plastic model with wheels, and a newer mop in much better condition. Still, those items had provided many important lessons to a young and restless boy. Jon wondered where he would be today without them.

  He turned off the spigot, hoisted the bucket from the sink and carried it through to the front to finish what he’d started. Master Lu taught him for several more years until the boy surpassed the instructor, and Jon graduated to larger, more well-known dojos. Through high school and on into college, Jon competed in and won many championships. He’d proposed to his wife with his hand in a splint after an injury. Shaking his head at the memory, he wrung the water out of the mop head, his heart hammering in his chest.

  Gracie was a college junior when they met—part of an advanced biology study group—and he initially thought her mousy and shy. Not his type at all—not that he had a type. Like many young men of his age and class, Jon’s preference in sexual partners was varied and even somewhat fluid. Aggressively playing the field was fun for a few years, and he’d worked his way through a swath of attractive female co-eds and, once or twice, had experimented with other men. Lacking any real hang-ups about same-sex couplings allowed him to fully enjoy the experiences, but for the most part, he focused most of his efforts on the female population and dismissed his walk on the wild side as an adventure of sorts. He continued to see Gracie at the occasional social activity, and they shared a couple of classes. Over time, she began to intrigue him.

  His father would approve of any smart, presentable young Chinese woman Jon brought home and his mother, being Caucasian herself, wouldn’t have any real opinion. Jon eventually realized what he at first took for rather plain physical features were merely extensions of her modest and self-effacing demeanor. Shehad beautiful skin and expressive eyes, and—as he later learned—the thick, dark hair normally confined to a braid was in fact soft and luminous, and unexpectedly sensual, especially when unbound and flowing down her bare shoulders and back. They never really dated; they just found themselves together more and more. He’d proposed over the summer between his junior and senior years, and they married six months later, over the Christmas holidays. Both
families would have preferred they wait, but there wasn’t any need. Because of his family’s wealth, Jon was perfectly able to support a wife even while both of them were in school.

  The week before the wedding, Zhou Li approached him after one in a string of seemingly endless parties thrown to celebrate the nuptials.

  “I like her very much, Jon.”

  “Thank you, Auntie. She’s very special.”

  “I agree. However, I must ask, are you sure you won’t consider waiting until you have finished school?”

  He sighed, knowing the reason behind the question. “Did Grandmother ask you to try to change my mind?” She didn’t answer, which was an answer in itself. Dismissing his frustration, he took a breath and continued calmly. “We’ve both considered it, and decided there really wasn’t any reason to wait.”

  She nodded, either in agreement or resignation. “Well, then, I wish you the very best, Jon. You have always been special to me. As long as this is the path you are sure you want, I support it. You are, after all, old enough to have your say.”

  He smiled and offered his arm, and walked her to her car.

  They moved into a nice, two-bedroom apartment near campus, and set about making a home together.

  Jon was undecided about he wanted to do after college, and when approached by a Navy recruiter, it seemed like a good fit. He’d enter as an officer, and given his grades and his martial arts training, it was implied he might even eventually qualify for the SEALS program. After talking it over with his new wife, it was agreed Jon would accept. After all, Gracie was trained as an educator and anywhere they moved would most likely need qualified teachers. She might even go back to school part-time and work toward her Master’s Degree, and perhaps even pursue a Doctorate. As anticipated and hoped, Jon was accepted as SEALS candidate and was deployed to begin training.

  The next two years unfolded pretty much as planned, and the only major issue was the periods of separation they faced due to Jon’s work. Over a short vacation to the Caribbean during leave, Gracie told him she was pregnant.

  He remembered it so clearly. They’d just finished a late lunch and were walking hand and hand along down the beach in front of the hotel, looking out into the teal blue water.

  “Want to see if we can go diving?” he asked.

  She hesitated for a second and shook her head. “Better not.”

  Jon stopped in his tracks. Usually, she would hop on any chance to check out the coral reefs. “Is something wrong?”

  She smiled serenely. “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just…it might not be good for the baby.”

  It took him a second. “The baby? What baby?”

  “Our baby, Jon. I’m pregnant.”

  Once it sunk in, he whopped and hollered and totally over-reacted, insisting she rest. Losing patience with his antics, she finally punched him in the arm and told him to simmer down. “Over protective much? I’m not made of glass, stupid. I just don’t think diving is a good idea. I wouldn’t mind a bit of snorkeling, though. Let’s see if we can rent some fins.”

  “Are you crazy? You can’t go snorkeling!” She punched him again, marched to the hotel dive shop, and thirty minutes later, showed him just how wrong he was. Once he’d worked past his initial anxiety, they had one of the best afternoons ever. They called home that evening and shared the good news with family. Everyone was delighted. Everything was wonderful.

  Six months later, he received the call. Gracie and their unborn daughter died in a car crash, victims of a drunk driver.

  Jon leaned into the mop, shutting his eyes against the memory.

  He’d taken bereavement leave, and then threw himself into his work. He joined another, more challenging unit. Once his tour was over, he decided not to re-up. He wandered aimlessly, spending several months in Asia, drinking too much and trying to forget. During one of his infrequent visits home, his Grandmother informed him she’d had enough of his self-indulgent behavior and informed him it was time for him to get himself under control.

  “Why?” he asked, belligerently.

  “Your Auntie Zhou needs you.” That ended the discussion.

  And now, here he was, trying to put his life together in a strange city while lending assistance to the person who’d supported him all his life—teaching a range of students and varying levels of experience, mopping the floor of a studio, this time, his. He didn’t mind the mopping and surprisingly enjoyed the teaching —even when his pupils included a middle-aged ex-detective with an attitude and a man just a few years younger than himself with the most amazing blue eyes he’d ever seen. With a sigh, he admitted to himself there was an attraction. He’d tried to keep his distance. He’d tried to keep an appropriate barrier between them to keep things from intruding into areas that were terrifying. But Toby Bailey kept pushing back with his smart-ass remarks, his scrappy dedication to learning what Jon had to teach, and the hurt sometimes lurking just behind his eyes. The spark which had leapt between them that first day was still alive. Jon’s unwilling, but almost primal, reaction yesterday proved that. He’d left the room to catch his breath.

  He knelt down to wring out the mop, and noticed his Aunt standing in the connecting doorway between the studio and Green Dragon.

  “Hello, Auntie, Did you need something?”

  “No, I am just passing by. I am wondering though…”

  “Yes?”

  “Why have you mopped yourself into a corner?”

  Surprised, Jon surveyed the room and discovered his back was indeed against the wall, and he was surrounded by wet floor. Embarrassed, he shook his head. “I don’t realize I was doing that. I was deep in my own thoughts.”

  “I am not surprised. I have been somewhat distracted this morning, as well.” She tilted her head as she looked down at the considerable expanse of wood floor. “I am curious. What will you do? Will you walk on the floor and risk leaving footprints, or will you wait until the wood is dry?”

  He considered the question, knowing there was a lesson hidden somewhere in the exchange. His Auntie hadn’t changed much over all these years. “It is a good question, and one I don’t have a ready answer to. I guess I’ll have to walk on the floor. I can’t wait here for it to dry. Given the cool weather, it could be some time until it becomes passible.”

  She nodded and started to turn to leave. She stopped herself, and swaying slightly, regained her balance by placing a hand on the doorframe.

  “Are you all right, Auntie Zhou?”

  She didn’t answer his question, and instead, offered another of her own. “What were you thinking of, Jon Chiang, while you allowed yourself to be boxed into that corner?”

  He had ways of deflecting her from the topic, but decided that, between them, the truth was always best. “I was thinking of the past, and my current situation.”

  “By the past, you mean thoughts of your wife and unborn child.”

  It wasn’t a question, but he nodded.

  “By the current situation, you mean being here with me and running this studio while trying to decide what is next for you.”

  Again, it was not a question. Once more, he nodded.

  “I see. Do your reflections on the current situation perhaps occasionally turn to one of your students?”

  Jon slowly stood from his crouch and held on to the mop with all of his considerable strength. He forced himself to loosen his grip and met her eyes. However, he couldn’t find it within himself to answer her.

  She changed tactics. “If you were to walk on the wet floor, would the footprints be permanent, or would they be easy to remove?

  “Neither, Auntie. I would be able to remove them, but I would perhaps have to polish the wood. It is old and is likely to hold onto the impressions, otherwise.”

  “But it would not harm the wood?”

  “No.”

  “Is that the path you will take, Jon?”

  “Probably.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His patience was not limitless,
but he remembered his manners. “Yes, unless you have an alternate suggestion.”

  She tilted her head again. “Will you trust me, nephew?”

  The crafty old woman! “Of course.”

  “Then, here is what we shall do.” She removed her hand from the door and discarded her slippers. Slowly and carefully, she made her way across the wet floor until she stood by his side. She reached out her hand and waited until he took it into one of his. “Now Jon, the solution is very simple, but it will take some skill. We will walk slowly backward and you will erase our footprints until we have backed fully out of the room.”

  She gave him a little tug, and he followed her lead, slowly and carefully mopping away the footprints as they backed out of the room. He held her hand steady in his, helping her to maintain her balance without having to ask. Step by step, they made progress until they were both standing in the doorway, with bucket and mop beside them.

  Zhou Li clapped in approval. “It worked!”

  “You weren’t sure it would?”

  She gripped his hand a little more firmly. “I was sure.”

  The floor gleamed in the sunlight steaming through the front window, for the most part slick, wet, and clean.

  “Auntie, I think there may still be one or two footprints.”

  She nodded her agreement. “Yes, Jon, there always are.”

  “What am I to do now? I have no way into the back until the wood dries.”

  She patted his arm and smiled up at him. “Now, you will join me in the back of the shop, and I will prepare us a cup of tea. While we wait for it to cool, and the floors to dry, you and I will talk about some things.”

  “What things?”

  “We will talk about our family, and we will discuss my shop and your studio. After the first cup, I will pour another, and we will talk about the party next weekend. Right before we have emptied the second cup, we will determine what you are going to do about Toby Bailey.”

  Shocked, he floundered. “But—”

  “During that second cup, and while you try to find a way to distract me from the topic to avoid answering my questions—which are, of course, for your own good—I will tell you about how in the summer months, I very occasionally watch him from my apartment window as he sunbathes.”