The Speed of Dark

“Oh,” Marjory says. “You’ve decided to enter the tournament, Lou? Good for you!”

“It is very much all right,” Tom says. “But now you have to hear my standard number-one lecture. Go get your stuff, Marjory; Lou has to pay attention.”

I wonder how many number lectures he has and why I need a number lecture to enter a fencing tournament. Marjory goes into the house, and then it is easier to listen to Tom.

“First off, between now and then, you’ll practice as much as you can. Every day, if possible, until the last day. If you can’t come over here, at least do stretches, legwork, and point control at home.”

I do not think I can come to Tom and Lucia’s every day. When would I do the laundry or the grocery shopping or clean my car? “How many should I do?”

“Whatever you have time for without getting too sore,” Tom says. “Then, a week before, check all your equipment. You keep your equipment in good repair, but it’s still good to check it. We’ll go over it together. Do you have a spare blade?”

“No… should I order one?”

“Yes, if you can afford it. Otherwise, you can have one of mine.”

“I can order one.” It is not in my budget, but I have enough right now.

“Well, then. You want to have all your equipment checked out, have it clean and ready to pack. The day before, you don’t practice — you need to relax. Pack your gear, then go take a walk or something.”

“Could I just stay home?”

“You could, but it’s a good idea to get some exercise, just not overdo it. Eat a good supper; go to bed at your usual time.”

I can understand what this plan will accomplish, but it will be hard to do what Tom wants and go to work and do the other things I must do. I do not have to watch TV or play games on the ’net with my friends, and I do not have to go to the Center on Saturday, even though I usually do.

“It will be… you will have… fencing practice here other nights than Wednesday?”

“For students entering the tournament, yes,” Tom says. “Come any day but Tuesday. That’s our special night.”

I feel my face getting hot. I wonder what it would be like to have a special night. “I do my grocery shopping on Tuesday,” I say.

Marjory, Lucia, and Max come out of the house. “Enough lecture,” Lucia says. “You’ll scare him off. Don’t forget the entry form.”

“Entry form!” Tom smacks himself on the forehead. He does this whenever he forgets something. I do not know why. It does not help me remember when I try it. He goes into the house. I am through with my stretches now, but the others are just starting. Susan, Don, and Cindy come through the side gate. Don is carrying Susan’s blue bag; Cindy has a green one. Don goes inside to get his gear; Tom comes back out with a paper for me to fill out and sign.

The first part is easy: my name, address, contact number, age, height, and weight. I do not know what to put in the space marked “persona.”

“Ignore that,” Tom says. “It’s for people who like to play a part.”

“In a play?” I ask.

“No. All day, they pretend to be someone they’ve made up, from history. Well, from pretend history.”

“It is another game?” I ask.

“Yes, exactly. And people treat them as if they were their pretend person.”

When I talked about pretend persons to my teachers, they got upset and made notes in my records. I would like to ask Tom if normal people do this often and if he does it, but I do not want to upset him.

“For instance,” Tom says, “when I was younger I had a persona named Pierre Ferret — that’s spelled like the animal ferret — who was a spy for the evil cardinal.”

“What is evil about a bird?” I ask.

“The other kind of cardinal,” Tom says. “Didn’t you ever read The Three Musketeers?”

“No,” I say. I never even heard of The Three Musketeers.

“Oh, well, you’d love it,” he says. “But it would take too long to tell the story now — it’s just that there was a wicked cardinal and a foolish queen and an even more foolish young king and three brave musketeers who were the best swordsmen in the world except for D’Artagnan, so naturally half the group wanted to be the musketeers. I was young and wild, so I decided to be the cardinal’s spy.”

I cannot imagine Tom as a spy. I cannot imagine Tom pretending to be someone named Pierre Ferret and people calling him that instead of Tom. It seems a lot of trouble if what he really wanted to do was fence.

“And Lucia,” he goes on. “Lucia made a most excellent lady-in-waiting.”

“Don’t even start,” Lucia says. She does not say what he is not supposed to start, but she is smiling. “I’m too old for that now,” she says.

“So are we both,” Tom says. He does not sound like he means it. He sighs. “But you don’t need a persona, Lou, unless you want to be someone else for a day.”

I do not want to be someone else. It is hard enough to be Lou.