Always (39 page)

“I’d like to say a word about appropriate clothing. This carpet will take the skin off your knees and elbows when you fall. Soon we’ll be trying out some moves where you will be making contact with the floor. From now on I’d advise long sleeves and long pants. Also, from next week, I’d like us all to be working in bare feet.”

Those who worried about their feet would now have a week to take care of them before exposing them to the world. “Before we set the papers aside, are there any questions?” Shuffling of papers. Silence. Two months ago I would have said the list was entirely self-explanatory, but I had learnt that silence was a bad sign. “Page one, then. The first principle: See them before they see you. Remember the gunfighter metaphor. The Kroger exercise. ”

“Don’t stand and blink in the light,” Jennifer said, fast and loud, in a star pupil voice.

“Yes,” I said. “Don’t draw attention until you know what’s going on. It’s one of the most important maxims on the list. It’s connected to many of the simple dos and don’ts on page two.” Flip, flip of pages. “Take the corner wide. Never get in your car without looking. Don’t walk by large shrubberies—”

“Don’t walk under an overpass!” Jennifer said.

“Yeah, jeez,” Pauletta said, momentarily forgetting her list. “There’s this overpass right by my mother’s that I park near and walk under every day. And these big-ass bushes along the sidewalk. But then I read this thing and got to thinking.”

I nodded. “In England in the early eighties, the Yorkshire Ripper used to stand against a corner wall—or on an overpass—and when women walked past, he’d bash them on the head with a paving stone.” It was something I’d never been able to drill into my rookies those years Denneny had asked me to supplement their academy training: when you blow into a building expecting trouble, gun out, don’t forget to look up. “Always look,” I said. "Not looking never saved anyone. Don’t look at the ground while you walk.”

“And in a public place sit with your back to a wall and facing the door.” Tonya.

“Or facing the majority of the room,” I said. "It depends. For example, if it’s a place where people come and go and tend not to stay long—a coffee shop, a laundromat—you would face the door. If it’s a restaurant or bar or club where people may be for several hours, you would face the majority of the room.”

“And,” Tonya said slowly, “I guess you could even maybe say that’s kind of connected to the information thing, on page four.”

“It is. But maybe you’d like to explain that to the rest of the class.”

“I don’t know, exactly. So, okay, someone can walk into a bar all smiley and nice and then after four hours of Jim or Johnnie they get mean as a junkyard dog. So what you see at one point, the information you’ve got, isn’t the information you get later. Information . . . changes.”

That was a subtle realization, one I hadn’t bothered to set down. Tonya was beginning to connect the dots.

“Huh,” said Suze. “Information changes. Okay. But I like this list of practical stuff, at the end.”

That was the miscellany that didn’t fit anywhere else.

“Don’t hit bone with bone. Be the hammer, not the nail.” She made a swinging-mallet gesture. “I seriously dig that.” She turned back one page. “And I like these, too, these general sorts of . . . These Zen-type things. Like, you don’t have to be nice, you don’t have to be polite.”

“Oh, like you ever are,” Pauletta said.

“Shut up.” Suze pointed about halfway down the page. “If someone abuses you, make them stop. If you’re inside their reach, that means they’re inside yours. If they want one hand, give them both. But I like the last page best. The simple stuff, where you just tell us what to do.” She turned to it. “Protect your neck. Don’t kick higher than the knee if they’re still standing. Yell fire, not help.” She looked up. “But I kind of don’t get some of those completely.”

“Or at all?” Pauletta said.

“Then I’ll explain,” I said. “Lists down. Everyone stand. Tonya, Kim, Katherine, help me with the mats.” We carried the four big mats from their place against the wall and to the middle of the floor. “First, I’ll demonstrate why you should never kick higher than your own knee.” I gestured for Suze to join me in the center. “Come here and try to kick me in the stomach.”

She stood about eight feet away. “You remember I play soccer, right?”

“Yes.” I patted my stomach.

“Just don’t sue me.”

She did that semi-skip followed by a short run-up that all soccer players do, and launched her right foot squarely and at speed for my diaphragm.

I stepped back, caught her ankle and jerked—though slowly enough that she understood she was going down and could take precautions. She thumped back on the mats hard. I gave her a hand up. She stretched cautiously. “They don’t do that on the field.”

“No.” I turned to the class. “Even for a trained soccer player, kicks are slow and the direction and target are obvious. Your attacker has plenty of time to get out of the way and take countermeasures. Kicking high will unbalance you. So if you decide to go for a kick, and your attacker is standing, aim for the knees, shins, instep, Achilles tendon. If your attacker is on the ground, go for the spine or head.”

“Not the nuts?” Tonya.

“Most men are supremely conscious of their testicles. It’s a strike they expect—unless you’re already down and they’re standing, or unless you’re already in their arms. Suze, you up for more demonstrations?”

“Sure.”

“Stand there, as though you’d just knocked me to the ground.” I knelt before her in an approximation of a woman clubbed to her knees. “From here, you’d go for the genitals with the forearm swing.” I made a fist and swung my whole arm through a vicious arc between Suze’s legs, pulling the blow at the last second. “That’s a strike that’s difficult to defend against. Most men, when they see a woman on her knees, don’t expect it.”

“Wonder why,” Nina said.

I unfolded and stood. “Next we’ll look at what I mean by, ‘If they want one hand, give them both.’ Suze, grab my wrist. Tug a little, as though you’re trying to drag me off somewhere.” I resisted for a split second, just long enough to get her to pull harder, then moved straight at her, aiming a slow-motion palm strike at her nose with my free hand.

“They want my left wrist so badly, I’ll be generous and throw this one in for free.”

“ ‘If they want one hand, give them both,’ ” Suze said to herself, and nodded. She grinned. “I like that.”

“It’s unexpected, which comes under an item on page two: use their expectations against them. Suze, wrap your arms around me from the front. Good. Now, watch. See how I’m sliding my right leg back about a foot. I’m taking my weight on the left foot and moving my center of gravity just a few inches away from my attacker, who then has to follow. I’m using the attacker’s expectations against him.”

“His balance,” Tonya said, “right?”

“Yes.”

Tonya, face lighting with understanding, said, “I get it.”

“I don’t,” Kim said.

Tonya would explode if she couldn’t talk, so I nodded for her to go ahead.

“Look, see how he, she—Suze. See how Suze thinks Aud’s pulling away, and how Suze starts tipping off balance. So Aud could strike Suze now, while she’s off balance. But she didn’t, and now Suze is reacting by pulling back harder. And the legs are opening, too.” She looked at me. “That’s what you were waiting for, right?”

“Yes.” She was beginning to see patterns, learning how to think. “First of all, Suze had to widen her stance, which means opening her legs. Now she is yanking me towards her, so any strike I make at this point is helped along by the momentum of my attacker. So here is where I would strike up and forward with my right knee. Suze, step aside a moment.”

She did.

“Imagine he’s got me, arms around my chest or shoulders. Now I wrap my arms around his waist, too, and drive my knee between his conveniently open legs.”

I demonstrated, pulling down hard and fast with my arms, and snapping my knee up.

“Voilà,” said Nina. “Balls for earrings.”

Katherine giggled.

“Practice it. Just the stance.”

They did that for a while, with lots of grins.

“Next from the list: Protect your neck. When I threw Suze on the floor, she knew instinctively to protect her neck and head. That’s what you do. If you are ever about to go down, protect your neck. If you get grabbed, protect your throat. I’ll talk more about the neck and head another time, when we do falling. For now we’ll focus on the throat.” And I would add to that something else on the list: Where there’s a joint, there’s a weakness. “Christie.”

She stepped onto the mat.

“No more throwing until next week,” I said, to reassure her. “Someone give me a suggestion as to how Christie should grab me around the neck.”

“One-handed,” Sandra said, “with her other hand grabbing you by the wrist.”

A very specific scenario, not one that came to mind out of thin air. The class understood this, and stirred uneasily at the implications they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, consciously grasp.

“Christie?”

She was left-handed, so I lifted my left wrist for her right hand to grab, and lifted my chin for her left. Her hands were cold with nerves, and her grip tentative. Perhaps these women would never feel confident.

“See how I tuck my chin down,” I said, my voice deep as vocal folds stretched over my larynx. “It’s the first thing you do. Protect your throat. Now, Christie, tighten your grip around my wrist without gripping too hard on my throat.” She tightened obediently. “What should I do?” I asked the class.

“Knee to the groin?” Jennifer said.

“Kick him on the shin,” Katherine said.

“Good,” I said. “Lots of nerves on the shin. Good distraction.” I still remembered the pain of a kick I’d received on my shin from a fellow beginner in karate. I’d ended up in Accident & Emergency, thinking my bone was broken. X-rays had shown extensive bone bruising. I’d limped for months. “Now we tackle the stranglehold. How?”

Blank looks.

“Where there’s a joint, there’s a weakness. Watch.” I reached up with my free hand and peeled away Christie’s left little finger, bending it back, until she let go. “Even the biggest attackers have little fingers.” I gestured for Christie to renew her stranglehold. “There’s also her wrist.”

“Wait,” said Pauletta. “I can’t remember all these details.”

“Then don’t. But we can forget the wrist for now. The best thing to do in this situation is focus on the elbow.”

“The elbow.” She looked rebellious. She wasn’t the only one.

“Yes,” I said with blithe cheer. “If your attacker’s arm is straight out, like this, then a move very similar to the one we learnt last week would be appropriate: a twist and forearm slam. In this instance, on the outside of the arm.” I demonstrated in slow motion. “Try it.”

Southern women can’t resist cheer. They gave it a go.

I went down the line. Jennifer hadn’t remembered to strike with the outside of her forearm. I reminded her. Therese was managing a little less neatly than usual. Tonya was frowning with concentration and muttering to herself. Sandra was red-faced.

“Remember to breathe.” I gestured her aside and took her place. Katherine draped her limp hand around my throat. “Like this. Tuck the chin, kick the shin, twist, noise with the slam.”

“Chin, shin, twist, and hiss,” Pauletta said to Nina, next to us.

“Or maybe chin, shin, slam with a blam.” Nina liked blam.

I wondered what it had been like to be my mother and patiently teach me to tie my shoes, hold a knife and fork. Kind but stern. I plowed on. “Now, if the arm is bent, like Nina’s, Pauletta might want to come up inside the bent joint, up the center line of your attacker’s body, and then out across the joint with the forearm.” I demonstrated. “Practice that.”

I walked the line again, this time showing them how to pivot in the opposite direction.

“Chin down. Down,” I said to Nina.

The only one who seemed to be getting this up-inside-the-guard, outwards strike was Sandra. It disturbed me, though I couldn’t put my finger on why.

“Good,” I said. “There’s a fourth possible response to this one, which involves—”

“Whoa,” Pauletta said. “Overkill. Seriously. Just tell us the best one.”

“There is no best one,” I said. “That’s the point. I’ll explain later.”

Stubborn silence.

I ignored it. “This last technique is a trapping move. Take your free arm and point your hand at the ceiling.” Five women hesitated, then pointed halfheartedly. “Point hard. Stretch for the ceiling. No,” I said to Jennifer. “Without going up onto your toes. You need to maintain your balance. Keep your legs very slightly bent—as the list says. Always keep your knees slightly bent. It aids balance, and reduces reaction time. Keep your weight over your feet—Kim, pull that knee back a bit until it’s over your foot. Good. Now stretch up, up, that’s right, Therese, good, without lifting your chin—keep protecting your throat—”

“Jesus,” Pauletta muttered.

“—point, point, then pivot inwards and swing the whole arm scything down, also inwards . . . No, move the arm as a unit, the whole thing.” I demonstrated again. “Pivot, breathe out, a loud out breath, as you swing your arm down, and you trap the strangling arm under your armpit. Then you can whip your elbow back into his face when you pivot the other way, by which time—”

“Nope,” she said. “Too much to remember.”

“Just try it.”

“Besides, how will I remember what to do when he’s strangling the life out of me?”

“Just try it,” I said again.

She lowered her head, like Luz preparing to get really stubborn. Good practice for my visit out to Arkansas next month.

“All right. Try the other things I’ve already shown you.”

“I can’t remember them.”

“You can remember one, I bet. The little finger.”