"Hi," cried a squeaky little voice from my left-hand side. Once again, I looked around and saw nothing there. Then I looked down and saw Theo smiling back up at me. "Hey, kiddo," I greeted him, slapping his ungloved hand, which he held up for a high-five. For the second week in a row, the diminutive Theo has been my warm-up partner. Before each session, we would practice our lunges and disengages, battering the Tin Men in front of us.
"You ready to warm up with me," I asked. Theo gave his usual enthusiastic nod, his head of tussled brown hair bobbing back and forth. As we began to lunge and strike at the practice dummies, I felt my muscles stretching out. The blood pumping through them warmed my body, and I began to feel more and more limber. The wrist of my sword hand began to loosen as I disengaged and parried. And once again, Theo, the Academy's ten-year old swashbuckler, was putting me to shame with his energetic speed and technique.
After ten minutes of warming up, my instructor glided over, patted Theo on his head and led me once again to Fencing Lane Number 4. "So," she announced as a I slipped on my mask, "today you won't be sparring with me."
Oh no, I thought. I wasn't ready for another face-off with Monty just yet. My mind was suddenly flooded with visions of Monty laughing heartily as his foil scored point after point, while the other fencing students pitifully shook their heads at me.
"Instead," my instructor said, "you'll be sparring with Arnold."
Arnold?!
I hadn't seen Monty's sparring partner for a couple of months now, and I had actually begun to wonder whether he had quit, moved away or something else. Apparently, however, it was none of the above. I heard someone clearing his throat behind me, and I turned to face Arnold. His cherubish, forty-something face actually looked slightly chubbier, and his frame was slightly more rotund than the last time we saw each other. I smiled as we shook hands. "Been a long time, rookie," Arnold smiled back. "Yes it has," I laughed.
With that, Arnold slipped on his mask, backed up and reminded me why I should not underestimate his slightly paunchy appearance as he fluidly glided into a perfect en garde position. "It's time to see if you can mix it up with a different opponent," he called out as I assumed my fighting stance as well. I nervously looked over at my instructor, standing on the sidelines, not knowing what to expect.
Before she could give me any type of reaction, Arnold suddenly lunged forward and shot out his foil, forcing me back with a last-second parry four to my left. I struggled to maintain my stance and keep my footwork in line with his. Despite his apparent weight gain, Arnold's speed and agility had not suffered at all. He faked to the right, forcing my blade in the same direction. Then, at the last minute, he disengaged his blade around mine and caught me in the center of my chest before I could parry, knocking the wind out of me.
"Come on," my instructor yelled from the sidelines. "Why are you so slow, Otto?"
"Why is he so fast," I retorted, hearing Arnold let out a chortle at this. "C'mon, kid," he chided, "you can beat an old man like me."
That's exactly something that Monty would say.
I lunged forward, aiming for his heart, trying to catch him off-guard. As Arnold parried, I disengaged around his blade, but he saw it coming, and our blades began circling each other in a small metallic tornado. Back and forth we went, thrusting and parrying, our feet squeaking incessantly on the polished wooden foor, our foils clashing like mighty thunderclaps. Even my instructor watched in awe as I seemingly managed to hold my own.
"Wow," Arnold exclaimed with delight in between parries. "Looks like they have taught you a thing or two." As I aimed again for his upper chest, he feigned back...and then pulled off what is probably the most athletic feat anyone at the Academy has ever seen. After Arnold feigned back, he crouched down under my foil, and, looking like a chubby crouching tiger, glided in close and scored a hit just beneath my ribs with his foil.
It was over in less than two seconds. At that point, everything stopped. I heard a collective gasp of amazement from the other students who were observing the match. I turned to see little Theo standing beside my instructor, both of them gawking at Arnold with a mixture of admiration and pure shock at his athleticism, which has apparently remained quite undisclosed until now.
Arnold stood back up, and we heartily shook hands. "Good match," he huffed, his cheeks now cherry red from the exertion. "Thanks," I sighed, peeling off my sweaty mask and wiping perspiration from my forehead. Arnold patted me firmly on the shoulder with a meaty hand. "Not too shabby, kid. Still a little stiff and predictable, but you're getting there." I let out a wide smile as he turned around and headed for the locker room, grumbling about how his legs would be killing him the following morning.
I turned towards my instructor and asked, "Can you show me how to do that?" She admitted that nobody has ever seen Arnold pull off such a move before. I turned back to watch Arnold rubbing his belly and grunt as he awkwardly pushed upon the door to the locker room.
Hey, never underestimate your opponent, especially a chubby crouching tiger.
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