21.

The Shorter Exhibition

Grand Arena, Requiem City, AGH 53

Lumix walked the length of the practice floor, stopped where the afternoon light reached the sand, and turned so that his coat opened. His medals moved against his chest. He gave the imaginary upper seats a moment to appreciate them.

The younger of his two exhibition partners had put both wooden swords on the bench.

“Have I missed my entrance?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“I was hoping not to stand here holding them through the whole thing.”

“You may put them down.”

“I have.”

He looked at the swords, then at her. She was smiling. He made the turn again, smaller this time, and she picked them up.

Their third performer stood at the edge of the floor with the proposed sequence in his hand. He would call the changes and take the first staff exchange before the younger woman came in for the finish. At present he was watching the practice clock.

“If you stop there,” he said, “you still have to get back to us.”

“They will be applauding.”

“I haven't counted applause.”

“Then we are doing wonderfully.”

Lumix took off the coat and laid it across the bench. Beneath it his practice shirt had caught against the scales at his neck. He worked the cloth loose, accepted a sword and looked at the younger woman over its wooden point.

“Ready?”

She came at him before he had finished making his face inviting.

He caught the attack, let it pass and turned after her. She checked sooner than he expected. Their next contact jarred his wrist pleasantly; she had changed the angle. He stepped out, brought his blade down to cover the opening and found her waiting for that too. They reached the agreed stop with her point close to his sleeve.

“That was better,” he said.

“I know.”

“An excellent attitude in a pupil.”

“I'm not in your class today.”

“No,” he said. “Do it again.”

She did, and this time he made her work for the opening. The caller watched from the side on which the nearer seats would be. He moved the bench a little farther back before they tried the change to staffs.

That change took longer than Lumix liked. The wooden swords had to be set down and three padded staffs checked and brought forward. The caller pressed a thumb against a binding that had loosened and asked for cord. Lumix waited with his hands on his hips. Beyond the practice enclosure, a pair of fighters were disputing a touch with such enjoyment that neither seemed in a hurry to settle it.

He liked this part of an afternoon: people trying something, an argument worth joining, the knowledge that later there would be strangers in the seats who had paid to watch them be good at it. He had planned rather a lot for those strangers. The entrance, the swords, the first staff exchange, then a finish that changed partners twice and ended with the youngest apparently having beaten him. It would be worth the applause he was allowing for.

Gunnhild came through while the caller was securing the loose padding. She waited for him to finish, then laid a sheet on the unoccupied end of the bench.

“The council has settled the afternoon.”

Lumix bent to read. His name occupied less of the page than it had on his own proposal.

“This is the exhibition?”

“Yes.”

He followed the entry with a finger. The slot after it had not moved.

“You have shortened it.”

“The council has. The whole program was running over.”

She showed him the preceding act, its clearance, his entrance and the preparation afterward. Her finger stopped at the next performers' names. They had booked and rehearsed their piece within the time agreed to them.

“A founder's exhibition is not an everyday occurrence,” he said.

“That was discussed.”

“At some length, I hope.”

“Yes.”

Since taking over routine admissions three years earlier, she had become very difficult to surprise with a circumstance he thought exceptional. At thirty-five she could look quite young while telling him that a question had already been answered. He would have found this more amusing if he had not been the person asking it.

“I shall have to lose something.”

“Or change it.”

He looked at the caller's sheet. Much of the time was passing between things. The walk could be brisker. The swords could go straight from their hands to the bench. There were places in the finish where he had allowed a pause because a pause looked good, not because he needed it.

“We'll make the time,” he said.

Gunnhild held out the pen. He signed the allocation and handed it back. She took the council's copy, left his beneath the sheet of movements and asked the caller whether the new binding was holding.

“It will now.”

“Good.”

She left them to rehearse.

Lumix folded his coat more closely so that it no longer occupied half the bench.

“From the gate,” he said. “A little less ceremony.”

The younger woman picked up the swords.

*   *   *

The brisker entrance looked wrong.

Lumix could feel it without asking. He reached the middle before anyone in the imagined seats would have had time to turn toward him, and his acknowledgment of the upper rows came out as an impatient wave. He tried walking more slowly while omitting the stop. That was tolerable. He kept it.

At the next day's rehearsal the sword passage went well. His partner pressed him, he answered, and she made the small change that had pleased him before. He called for the staffs as they separated.

The younger woman had already set her sword down and collected a staff. The caller took Lumix's sword in one hand and passed him another staff with the other. Lumix turned toward the starting place before the caller had turned back to the bench.

“Stop.”

She lowered the weapon.

The caller was still between them.

Lumix checked his turn. The padded end stopped well short of the man's arm, but there was no way to continue the movement without going through the space he occupied.

“You need to be clear before I turn,” Lumix said.

“Yes.” The caller put the wooden sword down. “I need to put this somewhere first.”

“Hand it farther back.”

“To whom?”

The bench was behind him. There was no one at it.

Lumix considered making the younger woman collect the swords. She would have to put down her staff to do it, then come forward again. He could carry his own sword back, but that would take longer than the handover he was trying to shorten.

“Let's just do the change.”

They did. The caller received both swords, set them clear of the staff rack and checked the padded ends before passing them out. He took his position. Lumix waited until he was there.

“That much time,” the caller said. “I can be quicker getting to the bench. I can't check both of them while you're already using one.”

Lumix nodded. He took the first crossing, let the caller press his staff low and resisted long enough to establish the hold. They broke apart. The caller moved to the side; the younger woman came in; Lumix tried to carry the release straight into the next turn of the finish.

He got through it. At the end he had to hold up a hand before he could explain what he wanted changed.

The younger woman rested the butt of her staff on the sand. The caller went to the bench and brought water.

Lumix did not want to sit. He sat anyway, because standing there trying to make the next breath look casual was tiring him more. He drank, lowered the cup and waited. The sequence remained perfectly clear in his head. He could have described every movement without stopping. Doing them required something else of his eighty-four-year-old body, and it had begun insisting upon the difference at inconvenient moments.

“The turn should begin before you release,” he said when he could.

“Then I don't see you give the space,” the younger woman answered.

“You know it's coming.”

“I know it in this room. Out there I want to see it.”

She pointed toward the Arena beyond the enclosure. He had taught people to wait for an opening they could actually use. He did not enjoy hearing the instruction brought back to him in quite this form.

“We need a cleaner cue.”

“And the time to take it.”

He looked at the clock. They had not begun the final part of the routine.

“We could rehearse it until the change becomes automatic.”

“I want to do the exchange,” she said. “I don't want to do it like that.”

The cup was warm in his hand. He turned it once, feeling for the cooler side.

“You're asking me to lose the finish.”

“I'd like to reach it without guessing when you'll move.”

“All right.”

She lifted the staff off the sand. “I'll try a different one.”

He had almost said tomorrow. Their practice time was already finished; she had another engagement before they could meet again. The caller began collecting the equipment. Lumix gave him the cup and stood, more slowly than he wanted anyone to notice.

“I'll find us some room,” he said.

He meant time. As he went out, he could hear her explaining the stopped turn to the caller, and the caller answering that he could see the whole thing very well from between their weapons.

*   *   *

Gunnhild was standing beside the scheduling table with a worker who wanted to change a delivery time. Lumix waited until they had finished. The worker took a folded slip and left by the side door, calling to someone outside to keep the passage clear.

“I have a small suggestion,” Lumix said.

Gunnhild sat down.

“Go on.”

“If I enter while the preceding group is leaving, we gain the walk. And if the next group brings its equipment in from the far end, we needn't hold the floor empty after my bow.”

She turned the plan toward him. “They leave through the entrance you want.”

“I can wait at the side.”

“Their rack comes through it too.”

Outside the open door, the worker began walking backward. A broad wheeled rack followed, steadied by another pair of hands. The upright weapons on it moved slightly as a wheel crossed the threshold. Lumix stepped away from the table to let the worker see the corner.

Gunnhild waited until the rack had passed.

“That is the interval before you,” she said.

He went back to the plan. “And after?”

“The floor is cleared and checked. Their equipment is put in place. They come in.”

“I was thinking of borrowing part of that.”

“Which part?”

He did not answer immediately. He could imagine doing everything a little faster, as he had imagined it on the practice floor. The people who would have to do it were out of the room.

“Ask them whether they would mind.”

“No. They have the time we agreed. We aren't going back to them because you want some of it.”

He looked at her. She had no pen in her hand now. There was nothing for him to sign that would make the answer different.

“It was a good finish,” he said.

“I haven't seen it.”

“You would have liked it.”

“I may like what you bring.”

For a moment he disliked that answer more than the refusal.

She drew the rehearsal book closer. “If you withdraw, I'll need to know before the card goes out. You keep the agreed fee.”

“I know.”

“Then take the time to decide.”

He could have done that. He could have taken a seat on the day, watched the afternoon and let someone else worry about the clock. He would not have to spend another rehearsal getting his breath back while his partners waited.

He could almost hear people saying that it was a pity he was not taking part. Some of them would mean it.

“When is the floor free again?”

She checked the book and gave him the next quiet interval. He asked for it, then asked how long his partners could have it with him.

This time the whole interval was theirs.

*   *   *

Two days later he removed the first staff exchange.

It had never been the part he liked best. The caller pressed him down, he showed the losing position, and then they had to break apart so the younger challenger could take the place. He kept the fine turn, the change of advantage and the touch at the shoulder. Without the opening, it fitted much more comfortably.

The caller watched them from the side. Lumix finished, breathing hard but able to speak.

“Well?”

The man looked at the younger woman.

“You touched her.”

“Yes.”

“I saw that.”

Lumix waited for the rest. There was no rest.

“She had the advantage,” he said.

“Did she?”

The younger woman lowered her staff. “You took out the bit where I get it.”

“You pressed the weapon down.”

“For half a moment. Then you were round me.”

He asked the caller to take her place and sat on the bench at the audience side. The man showed the pressure. The woman made the movement Lumix had just performed, more cautiously and without his easy finish. From here he saw a change of grip and a touch. It was neat. It was hardly worth asking people to watch.

He came back onto the floor.

“Hold me here,” he said.

They crossed staffs. Hers lay over the rear part of his, close to his hand, with the short butt projecting beyond the crossing. She bore down. He lifted against it, showing the resistance, and she added pressure until the butt pointed toward the sand.

“That,” she said. “I'd like that part.”

“You would enjoy it.”

“So would they.”

She glanced toward the side where the seats would be. He followed the glance, then looked down at the trapped end of his staff.

“Press harder.”

She did. He let the butt fall instead of trying to lift it. Her weight followed the sudden lack of resistance. He turned the low end out from beneath hers and stepped to the side as she came forward; the long padded end rose to her shoulder.

She stopped. The pressure was gone from both weapons.

“Again,” the caller said.

Lumix had been going to explain it. He put his staff back under hers instead.

They did it slowly. The caller moved to the far side, then came back. He asked the younger woman to hold the low position for longer before driving forward. She tried it, and Lumix felt the extra moment in his legs. He adjusted his stance rather than asking her to hurry.

“I can show them the pressure first,” the caller said. “You resist me. We break. Then she gets you in it.”

“And wins,” the younger woman said.

“Appears to win,” Lumix said.

“For a while.”

She put her staff across his again. He liked the firmness of her grip. She wanted the audience to believe that she had him, and she was prepared to make him wait in the uncomfortable position until they did. He began to see the seats in front of them filled: someone leaning toward a companion to say he ought to get his hands farther apart, someone seeing the pressure and being sure there was no room left to move.

“Don't cover my rear hand,” he told her. “They must be able to see what happens to it.”

She shifted the crossing a little.

“Here?”

“Yes. Now make me want to get out.”

*   *   *

By the final rehearsal, the wooden swords stayed on the rack.

Lumix missed that exchange less than he expected. It was good work, but he could do good work with a sword on another day. The staff passage had begun to occupy him while he was supposed to be considering the rest. He wanted to know whether the younger woman could make her apparent advantage visible to the far seats without throwing her weight so far forward that he had to catch her. He wanted the audience to see the moment when he stopped pushing back.

The caller wanted room to get out of his way.

“You're following me,” he said.

“I'm following the exchange.”

“I'm still in it.”

They had separated after the first pressure, but Lumix was already turning toward the next partner. The caller put his staff across the gap before she approached.

“Wait until I lower this.”

He backed clear of the space Lumix would use, checked the position of the younger woman's feet and brought the staff down to his side. She came forward. This time there was a clean place for the exchange to begin.

Lumix did not like the pause until he watched it from the audience side. The caller's lifted staff held the whole picture still. He watched its end, waiting for it to drop. When it did, his attention went straight to the woman advancing.

“Do that,” he said.

“I intend to.”

The younger woman asked for one more adjustment. She wanted to turn her head toward the nearer seats while she held him down.

“You will take your eye off me?”

“Only when I've won.”

“You haven't.”

“I know that. They'll enjoy finding out.”

They tried it. Her brief glance made the hold look settled, and Lumix's own indignation at being displayed in it helped considerably. He made the escape too soon on the first attempt. She told him so. On the second he waited until she looked back and pressed to finish. The counter felt better then.

He wanted to try it a third time. The caller pointed to the bench, and Lumix went to sit while they checked the padding. He was glad of the rest. The younger woman was having water too. She had worked to keep him in that hold.

His coat lay beside him. He picked it up and looked at the empty entrance.

“We could still have the walk.”

The caller looked at the clock.

“If she doesn't look at the seats,” Lumix said.

The woman lowered her cup. She said nothing.

He could give back the little wait before her attack as well. The caller could hurry across, and Lumix could go straight from the low bind into the counter. He had seen that version. It ended with a tidy touch which nobody watching had a reason to care about.

He spread the coat over his knees, then folded it.

“A very fine entrance,” he said.

“It was,” the caller answered.

Lumix looked up sharply. The man appeared to mean it. That made giving it up no easier.

They began the final run at the place where the exchange would happen. No walk around the floor, no preliminary flourish. Lumix and the caller crossed staffs, held the pressure and broke. The caller made the reset visible. The challenger advanced, forced the butt low, glanced at the audience that was not yet there and came forward to finish.

Lumix stepped out and touched her shoulder.

All three bowed. He started to straighten before the others and waited for them. Then they walked clear together.

The clock had not reached the end of their allocation.

The younger woman went back to look at it, as if the hand might have stopped while they were busy. The caller checked it against the start he had marked.

“With the bow,” he said.

“A rather hurried bow,” Lumix said.

“It can be a better one on the day.”

Lumix no longer wanted to put the swords in front of the staff passage. He would have liked to take the coat for a final turn, but both partners were waiting for his answer.

“Yes,” he said. “That one.”

*   *   *

On the afternoon of the performance, Lumix stood just inside the entrance and heard his name travel through the seats.

The first voices were close, the others answering from farther up. He had been listening to crowds for most of his life, and this was a good one. People who had come to see him, people who had only just realized that he was on the card, people enjoying their neighbors' pleasure. He could have crossed the floor slowly and given each section its own acknowledgment. They would have answered. The knowledge was almost as physical as the staff in his hand.

His caller was already at the starting place.

Lumix went to him.

There were three people in the front row still standing to clap. Lumix gave them a quick inclination of his head, took his grip and waited for the caller to be ready. Behind the man he could see the upper seats he had been imagining all week. Someone was lowering a child onto a lap. Someone else was trying to pass a cup without spilling it on the person watching the floor.

The staffs crossed.

The caller came down onto the rear part of Lumix's weapon. Lumix lifted against it, showing what the pressure did. The butt sank. He shifted his feet and tried to raise it again. The man held him for the agreed moment, then released. They came apart with the losing position still plain between them.

Lumix did not follow him across the floor.

The caller backed out, his staff held across the space. For a moment they were all still. The younger woman waited beyond its end, looking at Lumix. He could hear the crowd settling. The sound of an individual cough came from somewhere high on his right.

The staff lowered.

She advanced.

Her first attack was quick and clean. Lumix met it. She changed the angle and made him move back, taking the room he offered rather than rushing through it. Their padded ends passed close to shoulders and ribs. The contact through his hands had the familiar pleasure of a good partner: she was where she meant to be, and he could answer what she was doing without waiting for her to recover from something else.

She brought her staff over his.

He resisted. She bore down.

The rear end of his weapon sank toward the sand. A voice called from the seats, advising him to lift it. He tried, and the woman increased the pressure. His leg muscles tightened. From here he could see the grain in her staff where the wood had been rubbed smooth by a hand.

She looked toward the front row.

The answering cheer was so immediate that she smiled before she turned back to him. It was a good smile, much larger than the one she had allowed herself in rehearsal. Lumix felt a quite unreasonable desire to spoil it.

He waited.

She pressed forward to finish the trap. He stopped lifting against her. The butt dropped, taking the resistance out from under her hands, and her weight came after it. He let the low end slide free beneath the crossing as he stepped outside her forward line. The long end came round to the shoulder she had exposed.

He held the padded tip there.

She looked at it. Then she looked at him.

For a brief, delicious interval the seats were quiet.

The woman stepped back and touched the place on her shoulder. A shout came from the section that had been so sure of her. Someone farther up answered it. The sound spread, carrying laughter with it, and Lumix could no longer pick out the person who had told him to lift.

He wanted to do it again. Not the entrance, not the long abandoned finish. This very exchange, with the little moment of disbelief at the end. His hands still knew the pressure. His body had begun to ask for the bench, but he could have found another turn if there had been a reason.

The younger woman came to his side. The caller joined them on the other, and the audience found both partners in the picture. Lumix held his staff low so that it did not stand between the three of them and the people clapping.

They bowed.

On the way up, he heard the first request for more.

He raised his free hand. Several people quieted in expectation, which was exactly what he had intended them to do. Another call came from the far side. He could say something, let the laugh subside, put the staff across the woman's again. She was still there. They were all still there.

He opened the raised hand toward his partners and bowed once more.

Then they left the floor.

In the passage an attendant received the staffs. The caller passed his over and went to get water. The younger woman leaned against the wall beside Lumix, breathing through her open mouth.

“They liked my bit,” she said.

“They were deceived.”

“They liked that too.”

He laughed, then had to stop laughing long enough to breathe. She pushed herself off the wall and moved aside for the staff carrying the next equipment. The clock above the passage showed that they had left the promised space intact.

The caller brought the cups. Lumix drank while a worker drew a broad rake across the places their feet had disturbed. Out on the floor, the next performers were waiting with shields and wooden swords. One kept bending and straightening a knee. The other watched the raking, shifting a shield strap one hole tighter and then back again.

“I want to see these two,” Lumix said.

The younger woman took his empty cup. “Go, then.”

He fetched the coat from the bench and carried it to his seat. There was no room to spread it properly. He put it over his knees and asked the person beside him whether he was blocking the view.

“Only when you stand up.”

He sat.

The next bout began before he had arranged the medals so that none pressed into his leg. He left them as they were. The fighter nearest him used a low, patient guard. The other kept trying to draw it upward, changing the height of the threat and finding the shield still waiting when the real attack came.

Lumix leaned forward.

The attack came high again. This time the defender raised the shield too far. Lumix saw the opening beneath it and opened his mouth to object.

The defender stepped in instead of lowering the shield, trapping the wooden blade against its raised edge. The attacker tried to pull clear. By then the defender had turned beside them and put a point against their coat.

“Oh, well done!” Lumix shouted.

At the floor entrance, Gunnhild looked up from speaking to an attendant and caught his eye. The attendant asked something else; she turned back.

The person beside him laughed. He was on his feet. He sat at once, caught the sliding coat against his knees and went on clapping.