tell there were bruises under my school clothes.
—God, who would do that to you?
—Monica and her friends.
—But Tommy got Monica’s parents a discount on season tickets to the amphitheater, what, three or four years running? I’m going to call them right now.
—This was in fourth grade.
She starts to rise and I motion for her to keep her seat.
—Truman took me over to the Ludus Magnus Americus and he had this woman train me so I could stand up for myself.
Allison tilts her head to one side and I look to see if her brains will spill out, because there doesn’t appear to be much holding them in place now.
—Go on.
—Truman gave me this safety-orange tunic, and a fiberglass shield about half my height. Then he matched me up with a wooden sword and shield from the equipment racks. There was a young trainer named Leona who worked there.
—You’re scaring me.
I didn’t say that Leona had a tattoo of Nero on one arm.
—Leona set up a dummy for me.
In its first incarnation, early in the sport, the Glad dummy was a scarecrow to the slaughter. Just a couple of crossed wooden poles held together by leather straps, a shirt, and sometimes a hat stuck on top, to indicate the approximate location of the head. Later it looked more like a seamstress’s form with chest armor and helmet. But I had the current generation, like a padded crash test model with all the gear. It had mechanical arms that flailed about to mimic some kind of crazed in-battle motion. Once Leona had set it up, she and Truman gave me a few basic instructions.
Then a bell sounded.
This particular dummy needed work. It sounded like a cat in heat each time it raised its left arm. And maybe eliminating this sound was on my mind more than anything when I went after it. And maybe, I mean it’s even possible, I saw myself doing battle with the girls at school who had signed me up for this whole business. But mainly I wanted to try and do a quick, neat job and avoid embarrassing myself in front of the attendants who had all pretty much stopped their work to watch the gladiator’s daughter. Stab, don’t slice, and get out, I thought. I knew about joints, I knew about weak spots. I brought my sword down hard enough to knock the right arm out of its socket. I watched it fly a good fifteen feet as the crew cheered. I delivered a second blow and the left arm flew.
Leona slapped her six-pack abs, and told me to go for the gut—the one area that’s never protected. Then she reattached the dummy’s arms and repadded the chest. She turned the speed up a little, adjusting several controls. I wasn’t a pacifist then as I am now, and I meant that innocent dummy no harm, but when the bell rang again, I suddenly had the whole crazy life up on the register, all the things kids had said to me about being the daughter of savages. I don’t tell any of this to my mother, of course.
—The weird thing is, I turned out to be really good at it, I say.
—Good at fighting a dummy?
—Yes, I was.
With the short sword, I peeled back the dummy’s shield and went up under the ribs and into the heart, which popped out of its chest like a biscuit flying off a Teflon pan. The trainees who watched joked around, some gave me kudos. I felt a heat gather in my bones. A bead of sweat ran down the outside corner of one eye. Taking over, Truman said I should try the net and trident this time. Something Mouse hadn’t taught me, and I thought: Good, I’ll make a complete clown out of myself. Then Truman will be happy to head for the car, and we’ll be done.
But once I took a stance, I felt the weight of the chain in my hands, the balance of the trident. I whipped the net out, like snapping a dishtowel, and in one shot I detached the chest armor. Then I plunged the trident into the guts.
Of course I don’t burden Allison with these details either.
—There is such a thing as beginner’s luck, she says.
That’s what Truman claimed all the way home in the car. He
—God, who would do that to you?
—Monica and her friends.
—But Tommy got Monica’s parents a discount on season tickets to the amphitheater, what, three or four years running? I’m going to call them right now.
—This was in fourth grade.
She starts to rise and I motion for her to keep her seat.
—Truman took me over to the Ludus Magnus Americus and he had this woman train me so I could stand up for myself.
Allison tilts her head to one side and I look to see if her brains will spill out, because there doesn’t appear to be much holding them in place now.
—Go on.
—Truman gave me this safety-orange tunic, and a fiberglass shield about half my height. Then he matched me up with a wooden sword and shield from the equipment racks. There was a young trainer named Leona who worked there.
—You’re scaring me.
I didn’t say that Leona had a tattoo of Nero on one arm.
—Leona set up a dummy for me.
In its first incarnation, early in the sport, the Glad dummy was a scarecrow to the slaughter. Just a couple of crossed wooden poles held together by leather straps, a shirt, and sometimes a hat stuck on top, to indicate the approximate location of the head. Later it looked more like a seamstress’s form with chest armor and helmet. But I had the current generation, like a padded crash test model with all the gear. It had mechanical arms that flailed about to mimic some kind of crazed in-battle motion. Once Leona had set it up, she and Truman gave me a few basic instructions.
Then a bell sounded.
This particular dummy needed work. It sounded like a cat in heat each time it raised its left arm. And maybe eliminating this sound was on my mind more than anything when I went after it. And maybe, I mean it’s even possible, I saw myself doing battle with the girls at school who had signed me up for this whole business. But mainly I wanted to try and do a quick, neat job and avoid embarrassing myself in front of the attendants who had all pretty much stopped their work to watch the gladiator’s daughter. Stab, don’t slice, and get out, I thought. I knew about joints, I knew about weak spots. I brought my sword down hard enough to knock the right arm out of its socket. I watched it fly a good fifteen feet as the crew cheered. I delivered a second blow and the left arm flew.
Leona slapped her six-pack abs, and told me to go for the gut—the one area that’s never protected. Then she reattached the dummy’s arms and repadded the chest. She turned the speed up a little, adjusting several controls. I wasn’t a pacifist then as I am now, and I meant that innocent dummy no harm, but when the bell rang again, I suddenly had the whole crazy life up on the register, all the things kids had said to me about being the daughter of savages. I don’t tell any of this to my mother, of course.
—The weird thing is, I turned out to be really good at it, I say.
—Good at fighting a dummy?
—Yes, I was.
With the short sword, I peeled back the dummy’s shield and went up under the ribs and into the heart, which popped out of its chest like a biscuit flying off a Teflon pan. The trainees who watched joked around, some gave me kudos. I felt a heat gather in my bones. A bead of sweat ran down the outside corner of one eye. Taking over, Truman said I should try the net and trident this time. Something Mouse hadn’t taught me, and I thought: Good, I’ll make a complete clown out of myself. Then Truman will be happy to head for the car, and we’ll be done.
But once I took a stance, I felt the weight of the chain in my hands, the balance of the trident. I whipped the net out, like snapping a dishtowel, and in one shot I detached the chest armor. Then I plunged the trident into the guts.
Of course I don’t burden Allison with these details either.
—There is such a thing as beginner’s luck, she says.
That’s what Truman claimed all the way home in the car. He
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