THE NEXT DAY
I stand before him.
We face. Swords drawn between us.
I react automatically; my mind goes blank, only my body moves, thrust, block, parry. There is no thought, simply body melding into action. I do not need to think, but do! Weight forward on the balls of my feet; like a cat, ready to go in any direction, shift and turn, whirling strike to either side, swift and unheralded.
And yet he moves. With grace, such grace!
I could strike him, though not easily. But I do not. He will know if I pull my thrusts, so I am careful, despite the flow. I still govern myself. I will not hit him with full power; I will not, I must not thrust the sword into my own heart!
We both set back, by mutual consent, a breathing space.
I do not need it as much as he does, but I know he is calculating every second. He is never as he appears. He analyzes my breath, my stance, the room, the flooring, and his own position. Thinking, even as he seeks to appear fatigued.
I do not believe he is as he wants me to believe; of course he isn't. I know; I understand. I would do the same. I have done the same. Brave, brave!
It is a Zen moment. The two of us standing completely still: breathing, focused on each other.
I wait—I have waited so long, but I can wait still longer. I am a hunter—patient.
He is like a statue come to life; slim hips, muscled legs, but still a bit ungainly. His feet too large, in that adolescent way, in preparation to support the body that is to come. His hair curls a bit, from exercise, tangled and dark. His upper lip glistens with sweat. His chest rises and falls quickly, now slowing and deepening as he rests. As our moment goes on and on, stretching. To infinity, perhaps?
He wonders my intention. I can see it in his eyes. He gives nothing away, but I know that he is wondering and planning. Seeking how to win. And he knows I know. But he does not know what I know. Not yet.
But there is something; some glimmer in his eyes? Do I imagine it? Willful projection? Something even deeper. Hidden beneath that glorious breathing marble come to life, beneath that perfect imperfection.
I step back farther; though I do not let my guard down for a moment. I will not be deceived; that is too dangerous for both of us. He does not know the real danger; I do. The danger is myself. I might react without thinking!
At the thought, I know it is time to stop.
I nod and trust myself with one word: "Good."
But he does not know how good, how very, very good the ache I feel. Perhaps he may have the faintest glimmer. Soon! Soon!
I wish I could hear the debate within him; the denials; the reasoning. But that is denied me. I can only wish I could!