Burn (Indigo)

by Hubbard, Crystal

  “How long has he been training?” Pio Piasanti, Gian’s younger brother, asked from the opposite end of the table. Or tables. Josefina “Mama” Piasanti lived in the upper west apartment of a classic four-family flat. The rooms were lined up and connected by a long corridor stretching from the living room to the bigger of two bed rooms. The small dining room shrank further with two tables set end to end, accommodating Josefina, her sister, her two sons, her daughter, a daughter-in-law, two grandsons, a granddaughter, Cinder, and Sionne.

  Gian sat at the head of the table for the meal, his traditional seat since the death of his father when he was fifteen. Pio sat at the opposite end, his pretty, dark-haired wife Isabel to his right, Josefina to his left. Cinder, and Gian’s sister Lucia occupied the place settings at Gian’s elbows.

  From the middle of the table, Sionne reached left and right, helping himself to food from every platter, dish, and tureen on the loaded table. “Clarence Clark must have started training in his mama’s belly,” Sionne said. He picked up a sautéed green bean that slipped off its serving spoon, and he popped it into his mouth. “I first saw him in competition when he was seven. He’s good.”

  “He’s got solid skills but he needs discipline,” Gian put in. “His sensai is creating monsters.”

  “We’re signing the boys up after New Year’s,” Pio said. “They seem genuinely interested in it now, and who better to teach them than their Uncle Gian?”

  Cinder looked from Pio to Gian and back again, noting the similarities and differences between them. They both had distinctively beautiful blue-green eyes that sparkled when they smiled and darkened when they didn’t. Pio’s raven black hair was several shades darker than Gian’s chestnut scruff, and perfectly salon-styled. Not a hair was out of place, his line razor precise. Where Pio’s casual holiday dress consisted of a starched collared shirt under a wool blazer with leather elbow patches, Gian wore an old white T-shirt under a formless crewneck sweater with what looked like paint stains on one cuff.

  The Piasanti brothers were a genetic odd couple on the surface, but underneath, they were exactly alike in their humor, quickness to smile, and affection for their mother and sister.

  Cinder tried not to stare at Lucia, whose remarkable beauty made it difficult. Her shoulder-length black hair complemented her alabaster skin. All three Piasanti children had full, overly sensuous mouths, with Lucia’s naturally ruby lips forming a Cupid’s pout. She sat between her mother and one of her nephews, overshadowed by her mother’s talkativeness and her nephew’s rambunctiousness. If her posture was any indication, Lucia wanted to be anywhere but at the dining table.

  “Your lady friend is so dark,” Gian’s elderly Aunt Veronica said, drawing out her last word. She peered over her glasses. The lenses were thicker than the crystal butter dish. “She’s from the north, isn’t she?”

  Gian hid his mouth with a loosely curled hand and leaned toward Cinder. “She thinks you’re from northern Italy,” he explained.

  “The northerners are so dark-skinned,” Veronica went on. “She’s a beautiful girl, Gianni. You done good.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Vee,” Gian said. “But Cinder is from Massachusetts. She’s not Italian.”

  “Are you sure?” Veronica squinted at Cinder, her wrinkled face resembling a dried apple. “She looks just like a northerner.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure, Aunt Vee.”

  Aunt Veronica directed a fresh round of queries toward Sionne, who happily shared his Samoan origins.

  Gian clasped Cinder’s knee under the table. He stroked her inner knee and thigh, enjoying the feel of her silky black hose. “Do you know why I wanted you to see Sionne’s match today?”

  Cinder swallowed the bite of winter squash she had been chewing. “Of course. You wanted me to see that a fighter’s size doesn’t matter as long as he has proper skills. When Danielle brought down Chip on Halloween, I saw the effectiveness of proper training. She punched him in the groin, which brought his head down so she could gouge his eyes. She stomped on his foot and kicked him in the shin, which would have hindered him chasing her. G-E-F-S. It’s perfect for a kid or a short adult, especially if an attacker isn’t expecting it.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, then helped herself to a few stalks of marinated asparagus.

  “You’re smart.” Gian smiled.

  “Sometimes . . .”

  Josefina’s loud voice drew Cinder’s attention to Lucia, who had sunk another two inches in her chair. Lucia’s large, somber eyes glanced at Cinder before returning to her untouched plate heaped high with turkey and a few of the eleven side dishes. Lucia was present, but she wasn’t there. She seemed to withdraw further under her mother’s scrutiny.

  “I seen on one of those afternoon talk shows, how sometimes women who have been attacked grow to become lesbians,” Josefina said loudly. Isabel cringed and glanced at her sons. “I want Lucia to get herself out there and start dating and meet a nice man, get married, have a family, before it’s too late.” She set down her fork as a judge would a gavel, then stared at the table over the top of the glasses perched on the end of her nose.

  “You shouldn’t watch that garbage, Ma,” Pio said. “Hey, Gian, did you call someone to flush out your sprinkler system? It’s supposed to get cold later this week.”

  “The boys are really looking forward to the International Martial Arts tournament tomorrow,” Isabel offered brightly. “They’re looking forward to seeing Sheng Li compete.”

  Josefina ignored the efforts of Mr. and Mrs. Pio Piasanti to change the subject. As squat and chubby as a down-stuffed pillow come to life, Josefina hunkered in her chair and said, “Gianni, isn’t there someone you can fix Lu up with? And Pio, that fella you brought to Christmas dinner last year . . . is he still single?”

  “I try not to mix business with family,” Gian said, although his choice of dinner guests belied that statement.

  “Jason is engaged,” Pio answered. “The wedding is set for June, I think.”

  “May,” Isabel corrected.

  “Another good one gets away,” Josefina cried. She leaned around her grandson to talk at Lucia, her pale blue eyes flashing. “I love all my children equally, God knows I do, and I’ll love them no matter what, but I want more grandkids. You’re in this house all day, every day, Lu. You look like a vampire with that pale skin. You need to get out, start livin’ your life again. Look at your brother! He’s got a beautiful wife, beautiful kids, a house, and a life. And Gianni’s almost there, I guess.” Her sharp gaze zeroed in on Cinder. “Goodness knows, he’s never brought any of his other girlfriends home to meet me and Auntie Vee. This one might be the one.”

  “She is,” Gian said. “I’ve asked Cinder to marry me.”

  Cinder’s face reddened. Josefina finally shut up.

  All at once, congratulations came from Sionne, Pio, and Isabel. Pio stood, dropping the napkin from his lap onto his chair. He squeezed past his wife, between Sionne and an antique floor radio, and gave Cinder kisses on each cheek. Aunt Veronica took off her thick glasses to wipe away her tears.

  Josefina clapped her hands and aimed a silent prayer heavenward. But then she turned to Lucia. “You’re the only one left, Lucia,” she nagged. “Let me fix you up with one of the nice boys from church. Once you get back out there, you’ll—”

  “She’ll date when she’s ready,” Cinder said. All eyes swung toward her. “She’ll leave the house when she’s ready. She’ll take a walk around the block, or go running again, when she’s ready. You can’t rush someone’s recovery. You can’t make them live on your timeline. Unless you know what she’s been through, you shouldn’t be trying to force her into anything.”

  Isabel pinched back a smile. Cinder’s future nephews, wide-eyed, stared uncertainly from their grandmother to Cinder and back again.

  “What’d she say?” Aunt Veronica asked. “I didn’t catch all that, what’d she say?”

  Just when Cinder was about to apologize, Lucia spoke up. “Sh
e said Mama should leave me alone. And I agree with her.”

  Lucia left the table. Her footsteps sounded in the long corridor, ending with the soft slam of the back door.

  “She’s so sensitive about everything,” Josefina muttered, dismissing Lucia’s exit with a wave of a wrinkled hand. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I’ll go get her,” Gian volunteered.

  Cinder took his forearm. “Let me.”

  Gian nodded. Cinder excused herself.

  The family ate in silence for a minute . “I have an uncle-in-law from northern Italy,” Sionne finally said.

  Josefina and Veronica jumped on the subject, peppering him with questions that allowed everyone else to eat in peace.

  The meal didn’t last much longer. Gian and Pio helped Isabel clear the table while Josefina and Veronica retired to the living room with Sionne and the two boys. Josefina tried to sneak into her bedroom at the other end of the house, but Gian followed her.

  Josefina led him to the window. They saw Cinder and Lucia in the backyard. “What’re they doing?” Josefina asked, wrinkling her nose.

  Gian smiled, his heart filling his chest. “She’s teaching Lu how to fight.” Specifically, Cinder was teaching Lucia the GEFS technique, which was very effective and very easy. Cinder demonstrated blows and kicks, striking the groin, eyes, foot, and shin of an invisible attacker. Lucia copied the moves perfectly, although with far less power than Cinder.

  “What will the neighbors think?” Josefina fretted. “I’m bringing them inside, right now.”

  “Leave ’em alone, Ma. We’ve spent thousands on therapy for Lu, and none of it did for her what Cinder’s doing.”

  “Dr. Hardy is a professional,” Josefina argued. “He has experience with cases like Lucia’s.”

  “So does Cinder,” Gian said quietly, his gaze never leaving the two women in the yard.

  Chapter 14

  The heavy bass of a Papa Roach song reverberated throughout the near-empty arena. Cinder stood with the rest of the contingent from Sheng Li, staring at the banners hanging from the rafters. Though veterans of International Martial Arts tournaments, Gian, Chip, and Sionne seemed as awed as Cinder, who had never even seen the event on television before.

  “They’re beautiful,” Cinder muttered.

  Hanging banners represented each competing dojo. The size of bed sheets, they were as colorful and ornate as museum tapestries. Cinder’s mouth audibly popped open when she saw the banner for Sheng Li.

  “That’s my dragon,” she gasped. “Gian . . . ?”

  “I hope you don’t mind.” He draped an arm over her shoulders, drawing her in for a hug. “I’ve tried to find a symbol for Sheng Li since I opened the place, but nothing felt right.” He tipped his head toward the banner. “This is perfect.”

  “It’s great, Cinder,” Chip drawled. “I want to get it tattooed on my back.”

  “No, you don’t,” Zae snapped.

  “It’s my back, I can do what I want to it,” Chip argued.

  “What do you think a dragon tattoo will look like on your shriveled, droopy ol’ back when you’re eighty years old? It’ll look like the dragon melted.” Zae patted her hair, making sure none of it had escaped her ponytail.

  “What do you care? You won’t have to look at it,” Chip told her.

  Grumbling under her breath, Zae threw a nasty look at Chip. “Where are the locker rooms? I want to change into my gi and mingle before the crowd starts coming in.”

  An event volunteer directed Zae, and Cinder accompanied her. The venue was enormous, and Cinder found it daunting at first. But as she passed the fighting mats lining the floor where the St. Louis Blues ordinarily played, she realized that with so many matches going on at once, it was unlikely that many people would be paying specific attention to any one fight. Taking comfort in the anonymity offered by a crowd, she settled her nerves and looked forward to enjoying the meet.

  Since they were competing in the Exhibition half of the event, Zae and Cinder didn’t have to adhere to the rules for the Combat half. Instead of traditional white gis, they could wear any color they wanted. Zae exited the women’s locker room in a traditional blood-red gi that warmed the brick undertones in her dark complexion. Cinder wore black, her gi the rough-sewn, beltless peasant style Aja favored.

  “Baby, you look like you’re about to go work in a rice paddy,” Zae said. “I wish you’d gotten the silver traditional one.”

  “I like my new gi.” Cinder spotted the Sheng Li table. Gian was already there, speaking with a silver-haired Asian man in a very nice suit, and a tall, willowy woman in a skirt so short, she risked revealing all of her secrets if she were to bend over. “It’s comfortable, and—”

  Zae grabbed the tail of Cinder’s tunic to pull her along faster. “Who the hell is that tall drink of trouble at our table?”

  “I don’t know,” Cinder responded. She didn’t care, either. The beautiful, long-haired woman stood close to Gian, speaking in his ear, but Gian’s gaze was fixed on Cinder. He tracked her journey from the opposite side of the arena to his side.

  “Pritchard, Kuriko, I’d like to introduce you to Cinder White,” Gian said.

  Kuriko narrowed her eyes, propping a hand on her right hip.

  “She’s his fiancé,” Zae volunteered, clearly enjoying Kuriko’s displeasure.

  They shook hands all around, Kuriko refusing to meet Cinder’s gaze as she did so.

  “Are you competing for Sheng Li this afternoon?” Pritchard asked Cinder.

  “Yes, on the Exhibition side,” Cinder said. “I haven’t studied the art long.”

  “She’s one of my best students,” Gian stated proudly. “Taught her everything I know.”

  “Everything?” Kuriko echoed, one of her eyebrows arched higher.

  “Could I ask your ancestry?” Cinder asked Kuriko.

  “My father is Ethiopian and Russian,” she said dismissively. “My mother is Japanese.”

  “You’re remarkably beautiful,” Cinder replied. “She’s a’ight,” Zae grumbled under her breath. “Gian, I’d like you to meet some of my executives,”

  Pritchard said. “Could I steal you for a moment?”

  Gian nodded. “Zae, would you mind rounding up our guys? I want everyone assembled before the introduc tions.”

  Reluctantly, Zae disappeared into the growing crowd of fighters and spectators to do as Gian asked, leaving Cinder and Kuriko alone at Sheng Li’s station. Kuriko, in her immaculately fitted suit, studied Cinder from head to toe. “Are you a fighter, too?” Cinder asked to break the silence between them.

  “Only when I have a chance of winning,” Kuriko sighed.

  “I’ve never done anything like this before,” Cinder admitted. “It’s exciting.” She eyed the floor, where sixteen smaller mats had been arranged around a large one raised on a dais. High above, big spotlights beamed down, most of them directed toward the center mat. Television cameras from local stations, ESPN, HDNet Sports, and several Asian sports stations were positioned throughout the arena. Advertisements for the sponsors of the tournament, Pritchard Hok Industries, Nike, Gatorade, Trojan, and numerous martial arts suppliers foremost among them, lined the outer rim of the competition floor.

  “This is more than just a competition for Gian,” Kuriko said. “If Sheng Li does well, Pritchard Hok Enterprises will partner with him to open Sheng Li dojos across North America. This tournament will determine the course of Gian’s future.”

  “Gian’s fighters won’t let him down,” Cinder said. “They’ve been training for months. They’re really good.”

  “What about you, little one?” Kuriko smiled, but there wasn’t a note of friendliness in it. “How good are you?”

  “I’m not in the medal rounds. My performance doesn’t matter much.”

  Kuriko bared her teeth in a grin. “Yours matters most of all. You are Gian’s prized pupil. You came to him with no experience, yes?”

  Cinder nodded.

 
; “You are the embodiment of the Sheng Li technique. Everything he has worked for, everything he represents rests on your little shoulders. If you fail, so does Sheng Li. So does Gian.” Kuriko snickered as though she looked forward to it.

  Cinder again turned toward the mats. Kuriko made sense, in a way, but Cinder thought it ridiculous to hinge the quality of an entire discipline on one rookie’s performance. She looked back at Kuriko and came to two conclusions, both of which she shared with her. “I won’t let my sensai down,” she said evenly. “And you’re a bitch.”

  * * *

  The arena quickly filled with spectators in the stands, competitors on the floor, and media in the broadcast booth. The mingled conversations sounded like the hum of electricity, and excitement rippled throughout the building. Sitting on a three-tiered portable bleacher behind the Sheng Li table, Cinder’s heart lurched when the lights went down, plunging the venue into semidarkness. The lights came back on with the loud blare of a Cheap Trick song and thunderous applause, over which came the voice of the announcer, a local sportscaster named Duff Brownley.

  “Welcome to the fifteenth annual International Martial Arts tournament broadcast live from the heart of the Midwest, St. Louis, Missouri,” Duff announced.

  “ ‘Missourah?’ ” Cinder whispered to Zae, repeating Duff’s pronunciation.

  “He’s from Springfield,” Zae said. “A lot of the folks down there say Missouruh instead of Missouree.”

  Duff introduced the dojos, their representatives standing to applause. Cameramen from each local network affiliate, as well as those from ESPN and a few other cable networks, moved between the dojo stations, panning over the fighters. Cinder bowed her face when the cameras shot Sheng Li. She resisted the urge to jump off the bleachers and hide beneath them.

  Once the matches started, she forgot about the cameras.

  Sixteen fights took place at once, one on each mat. Cinder tried to follow more than one at a time until a Sheng Li fighter took to the mat, and then she gave her full attention to her dojo-mate.