Page 7 of Tiger's Quest
“Perhaps you are right. Maybe I will have some tea and do some light reading on the Himalayas for your paper.”
“You do that. The resting part, I mean. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Miss Kelsey. Good-bye.”
“Bye.”
For the first time since being home, I felt a surge of adrenaline rush through my body. But, as soon as I hung up the phone, depression kicked in again. I looked forward to our weekly phone calls and always felt sad when they were over. It was the same kind of feeling I would get after Christmas. Holiday anticipation would build up for the whole month. Then, when the presents were opened, the food was eaten, and the people left to go their separate ways, I always experienced a gloomy feeling of loss.
Deep down, I knew that the real reason I was sad was because there was only one present that I wished for. I wishedhewould call. He never did, though. And each week that passed without hearing his voice destroyed my hope. I knew I was the one who left India so he could start a life with someone else. I should have been happy for him. I was, in a way, but I was also devastated for myself.
I had the-vacation-is-over-now-it’s-time-to-go-back-to-school blues. He was my ultimate present, my own personal miracle, and I’d blown it. I’d given him away. It was like winning backstage passes to meet the rock star of your dreams and donating the tickets to charity. It sucked. Big time.
Saturday, my mysterious martial arts package arrived via courier. It was large and heavy. I pushed it into the living room and grabbed my office scissors to cut through the tape. Inside, I found black and red workout pants and T-shirts, each bearing the Shing Martial Arts Studio logo which showed one man throwing a punch to the face, and another kicking a foot toward his opponent’s abdomen.
I also pulled out two pairs of shoes and a silky red jacket and pants set. The jacket had black frog clasps in the front and a black sash. I had no idea when or how I would ever have need to wear this, but it was pretty.
What made the box heavy was the assortment of weapons I found inside. There were a couple of swords, some hooks, chains, a three-section staff, and several other things that I’d never seen before.
If Mr. Kadam is trying to turn me into a ninja, he’ll be very disappointed, I thought, remembering how I froze during the panther attack.I wonder if Mr. Kadam is right and I’ll need these skills. I guess they’d come in handy if I return to India and have to fight whatever stands in the way of obtaining Durga’s second gift.The idea made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up.
Monday, I walked into my Latin class early, and my happy routine hit a snag when Artie, the lab assistant, approached my desk. He stood very close to me. Too close. I looked up at him hoping the conversation would be quick so he could move out of my personal space.
Artie was the only guy I’d seen in a long time brave enough to wear a sweater-vest with a bow tie. The sad thing was the sweater-vest was too small. He had to keep pulling it down over his rather large stomach. He looked like the kind of guy who belonged in a musty old college.
“Hi, Artie. How are you?” I asked impatiently.
Artie pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger and popped open his day planner. He got right to the point. “Hey, are you free at 5:00 p.m. on Wednesday?”
He stood with his pencil raised and his double chin tucked up against his neck. His brown watery eyes bore into mine as he waited expectantly for my reply.
“Umm . . . sure, I guess. Does the professor need to see me for something?”
Artie scratched busily in his planner, shifting some things and erasing others. He ignored my question. Then, he closed his planner with a POP, tucked it under his arm, and yanked his brown sweater-vest down to his belt buckle. I tried not to notice when the material inched back up.
He smiled weakly at me. “Not at all. That’s when I’ll be picking you up for our date.” Without another word, Artie stepped around me and headed toward the door.
Did I hear him right? What just happened?
“Artie, wait. What do you mean?”
Class was getting started, and the sweater vest turned the corner and was gone. I plopped down in my seat and puzzled through our cryptic conversation.Maybe he doesn’t mean a date-date, I reasoned.Maybe his definition of a date and mine are different. That must be it. Better check to make sure, though.
I tried unsuccessfully to catch Artie in the lab all day. Clarification on the date would have to wait.
That night was my first wushu class. I dressed in the black pants, a T-shirt, and the white slippers. I left the top down on the convertible as I drove through the forest into Salem. My whole body relaxed as the cool evening breeze moved around me. The just-setting sun was turning the clouds purple, pink, and orange.
The martial arts studio was large and took up half the building. I wandered into the back. An open area was surrounded by mirrors and large blue mats that covered the floor. There were five other people already there. Three young men and one fit young woman were warming up off to one side. Stretching on the floor in another corner was a middle-aged woman who reminded me of my mom. She smiled up at me, and I could tell she was a little scared, but she also had a determined gleam in her eye. I sat down by her and bent over my legs. “Hi, I’m Kelsey.”
“Jennifer.” She blew her bangs out of her face. “Nice to meet you.”
Our teacher wandered into the studio, accompanied by a young man. The white-haired instructor seemed old but very spry and tough. In a thick accent, he introduced himself as Chu . . . something, but said we should call him Chuck. The young man next to him was his grandson, Li. Li was a younger version of his grandfather. His black hair was cropped short, and he had a tall, wiry, muscular frame and a nice smile.
Chuck started the lesson with a short speech: “Wushu is Chinese martial arts. You know about the Shaolin monks? They do wushu. My studio’s name isShing, which means ‘victory.’ You will all have a chance to feel victory as you master wushu. Do you know the name kung fu?”
We all nodded.
“Kung fumeans ‘skill.’ Kung fu is not a style of martial arts. It just means you have skill. Maybe the skill is riding horses or swimming. Wushu is a style. Wushu is kicks, stretching, gymnastics, and weapons. Now, who are famous people that use wushu?”
