Tiger's Quest

by Colleen Houck

  Soon I had settled into a comfortable routine. I saw Sarah and Mike often, went to class, and I spoke to Mr. Kadam every Friday. The first week he helped me with an oral report on the SUV versus the Nano and between his vast knowledge of cars and my hair-raising description of actually driving in India, I got the best grade in the class. My mind was so full of assignments that I had very little time to worry about anything else—or to think about anyone else.

  One Friday phone call brought an interesting surprise. After chatting about school and my latest paper about the weather patterns in the Himalayas, Mr. Kadam broached a new topic.

  “I’ve signed you up for another class,” Mr. Kadam began. “One that I think you will enjoy, but it will take up more of your time. If you are too busy, I’ll understand.”

  “Actually, another class would probably be a good idea,” I replied, curious to know what he had planned for me next.

  “Wonderful! I have signed you up for a wushu class in Salem,” Mr. Kadam explained. “The class is on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays from 6:30 to 8:00 p.m.”

  “Wushu? What’s that? Is it some kind of Indian language?” I asked, hoping that wasn’t the case.

  Mr. Kadam laughed. “Oh, I do miss having you around. No, wushu is a type of Chinese martial arts. You mentioned once that you were interested in trying martial arts, correct?”

  I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh! Yes, that sounds like fun. Yes, I can fit it into my schedule. When do classes start?”

  “Next Monday. I anticipated that you would say yes, and I have sent a package with the necessary materials. You can expect it to arrive tomorrow.”

  “Mr. Kadam, you really don’t have to do all this for me. You need to restrain yourself from piling on more gifts, or I’ll never be able to pay back this debt.”

  He chided, “Miss Kelsey, there is nothing I could ever do that would come even close to paying the debt I owe you. Please accept these things. It makes an old man’s heart very happy.”

  I laughed. “Okay, Mr. Kadam, don’t get all dramatic about it. I’ll accept if it makes you happy. But, the jury’s still out on the car.”

  “We’ll see about that. By the way, I have deciphered a bit of the second pillar. It may have something to do with air, but it’s too soon to draw any conclusions just yet. That’s one of the reasons I’d like you to learn wushu. It will help you develop a better balance of mind and body, which may prove to be helpful if your next adventure takes place off the ground.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t mind learning how to fight and defend myself too. Wushu would have come in handy against the Kappa.” I joked and continued, “Are the translations difficult?”

  “They’re very . . . challenging. The geographical markers that I have translated are not found on the Indian continent. At this point, I worry that the other three objects we’re looking for could be anywhere in the world. Either that, or my brain is too tired.”

  “Did you stay up all night again? You need your sleep. Make yourself some chamomile tea and go rest for a while.”

  “Perhaps you are right. Maybe I will have some tea and do some light reading on the Himalayas for your paper.”

  “You do that. The resting part, I mean. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too, Miss Kelsey. Good-bye.”

  “Bye.”

  For the first time since being home, I felt a surge of adrenaline rush through my body. But, as soon as I hung up the phone, depression kicked in again. I looked forward to our weekly phone calls and always felt sad when they were over. It was the same kind of feeling I would get after Christmas. Holiday anticipation would build up for the whole month. Then, when the presents were opened, the food was eaten, and the people left to go their separate ways, I always experienced a gloomy feeling of loss.

  Deep down, I knew that the real reason I was sad was because there was only one present that I wished for. I wished he would call. He never did, though. And each week that passed without hearing his voice destroyed my hope. I knew I was the one who left India so he could start a life with someone else. I should have been happy for him. I was, in a way, but I was also devastated for myself.

  I had the-vacation-is-over-now-it’s-time-to-go-back-to-school blues. He was my ultimate present, my own personal miracle, and I’d blown it. I’d given him away. It was like winning backstage passes to meet the rock star of your dreams and donating the tickets to charity. It sucked. Big time.

  Saturday, my mysterious martial arts package arrived via courier. It was large and heavy. I pushed it into the living room and grabbed my office scissors to cut through the tape. Inside, I found black and red workout pants and T-shirts, each bearing the Shing Martial Arts Studio logo which showed one man throwing a punch to the face, and another kicking a foot toward his opponent’s abdomen.

  I also pulled out two pairs of shoes and a silky red jacket and pants set. The jacket had black frog clasps in the front and a black sash. I had no idea when or how I would ever have need to wear this, but it was pretty.

  What made the box heavy was the assortment of weapons I found inside. There were a couple of swords, some hooks, chains, a three-section staff, and several other things that I’d never seen before.

  If Mr. Kadam is trying to turn me into a ninja, he’ll be very disappointed, I thought, remembering how I froze during the panther attack. I wonder if Mr. Kadam is right and I’ll need these skills. I guess they’d come in handy if I return to India and have to fight whatever stands in the way of obtaining Durga’s second gift. The idea made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up.

  Monday, I walked into my Latin class early, and my happy routine hit a snag when Artie, the lab assistant, approached my desk. He stood very close to me. Too close. I looked up at him hoping the conversation would be quick so he could move out of my personal space.

  Artie was the only guy I’d seen in a long time brave enough to wear a sweater-vest with a bow tie. The sad thing was the sweater-vest was too small. He had to keep pulling it down over his rather large stomach. He looked like the kind of guy who belonged in a musty old college.

  “Hi, Artie. How are you?” I asked impatiently.

  Artie pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger and popped open his day planner. He got right to the point. “Hey, are you free at 5:00 p.m. on Wednesday?”

  He stood with his pencil raised and his double chin tucked up against his neck. His brown watery eyes bore into mine as he waited expectantly for my reply.

  “Umm . . . sure, I guess. Does the professor need to see me for something?”

  Artie scratched busily in his planner, shifting some things and erasing others. He ignored my question. Then, he closed his planner with a POP, tucked it under his arm, and yanked his brown sweater-vest down to his belt buckle. I tried not to notice when the material inched back up.

  He smiled weakly at me. “Not at all. That’s when I’ll be picking you up for our date.” Without another word, Artie stepped around me and headed toward the door.

  Did I hear him right? What just happened?

  “Artie, wait. What do you mean?”

  Class was getting started, and the sweater vest turned the corner and was gone. I plopped down in my seat and puzzled through our cryptic conversation. Maybe he doesn’t mean a date-date, I reasoned. Maybe his definition of a date and mine are different. That must be it. Better check to make sure, though.

  I tried unsuccessfully to catch Artie in the lab all day. Clarification on the date would have to wait.

  That night was my first wushu class. I dressed in the black pants, a T-shirt, and the white slippers. I left the top down on the convertible as I drove through the forest into Salem. My whole body relaxed as the cool evening breeze moved around me. The just-setting sun was turning the clouds purple, pink, and orange.

  The martial arts studio was large and took up half the building. I wandered into the back. An open area was surrounded by mirrors and large blue mats
that covered the floor. There were five other people already there. Three young men and one fit young woman were warming up off to one side. Stretching on the floor in another corner was a middle-aged woman who reminded me of my mom. She smiled up at me, and I could tell she was a little scared, but she also had a determined gleam in her eye. I sat down by her and bent over my legs. “Hi, I’m Kelsey.”

  “Jennifer.” She blew her bangs out of her face. “Nice to meet you.”

  Our teacher wandered into the studio, accompanied by a young man. The white-haired instructor seemed old but very spry and tough. In a thick accent, he introduced himself as Chu . . . something, but said we should call him Chuck. The young man next to him was his grandson, Li. Li was a younger version of his grandfather. His black hair was cropped short, and he had a tall, wiry, muscular frame and a nice smile.

  Chuck started the lesson with a short speech: “Wushu is Chinese martial arts. You know about the Shaolin monks? They do wushu. My studio’s name is Shing, which means ‘victory.’ You will all have a chance to feel victory as you master wushu. Do you know the name kung fu?”

  We all nodded.

  “Kung fu means ‘skill.’ Kung fu is not a style of martial arts. It just means you have skill. Maybe the skill is riding horses or swimming. Wushu is a style. Wushu is kicks, stretching, gymnastics, and weapons. Now, who are famous people that use wushu?”

  Nobody answered.

  “Jet Li, Bruce Lee, and Jackie Chan all use wushu. First, I will teach you greetings. This is how you greet your teacher each class. I say, ‘Ni hao ma?’ And you say, ‘Wo hen hao.’ This means ‘How are you?’ And ‘I am fine.’”

  “Ni hao ma?”

  We responded with a stuttered, “Woo hena how.”

  “Wo . . . hen . . . hao.”

  “Wo hen hao.”

  Chuck grinned at us. “Very good, class! Now let’s start with some stretching.”

  He guided us through calf and arm stretching and then encouraged us to sit on the floor and reach for our toes. He said he wanted us to stretch several times a day to increase our flexibility. Then he had us do splits. Four of my classmates were doing fine, but I felt bad for Jennifer. She was already huffing and puffing just from the stretching, and she was making a very determined effort to sink down into splits.

  Chuck smiled at all of us, including his struggling student, encouraging her on. Next, he brought his grandson forward to demonstrate the first stance he wanted us to work on. It was called a horse stance, which looked like it sounded. From there, we moved into bow stance, which killed my calf muscles, and the cat stance. The flat stance was the hardest. The feet stay parallel, but the body has to twist awkwardly to the side. The last one we learned was the rest stance, which didn’t turn out to be restful at all.

  For the remainder of the class, we practiced the five different stances. Li helped me position my feet properly and spent some time demonstrating the flat stance, but I still couldn’t get it. He was very encouraging and smiled at me often.

  Jennifer was red-faced but seemed happy when our class was over. The time flew by very quickly. The exercise felt good, and I looked forward to my next class—which was the same night as my date with Artie.

  I looked for Artie in the language lab three times on Tuesday to clear things up and hopefully cancel. When we finally connected, Artie made a big show of rescheduling our date and kept flipping pages in his day planner until I ran out of excuses. I started to feel guilty and decided that it wouldn’t kill me to go out with the guy just once. Even though I had zero romantic interest in Artie, he could end up being a friend. So I accepted an invitation later in the month.

  The next couple of weeks passed without incident, but I soon found myself in another unusual situation. My anthropology partner, Jason, asked me to the homecoming football game.

  His request totally surprised me. Then something snapped in my brain, and I realized I’d missed all the clues that he’d been sending. I’d been looking at the world through a film of plastic wrap. My mind was so focused on schoolwork that I had assumed he just wanted to work too.

  Jason seemed like a nice guy, but he didn’t hold a candle to the man I left behind in India. I quickly made a mental list of each, and Jason’s side came out short. I knew it wasn’t fair to compare the two. Nobody could compete with him. Still, Jason didn’t make me feel excited or scared, happy, or nervous. My heart didn’t race with anticipation. I couldn’t even tell if we had any chemistry. I just felt numb.

  I have to get over him someday. I have to move on, and try to date, I told myself. I bit my lip. He’s probably ruined my chances of being happy with someone else. How could I ever like other men when they couldn’t possibly compare with him?

  Disgusted with my circular argument, I told Jason I would love to go with him to the football game. He seemed delighted at the prospect, but I worried that he mistook my enthusiasm to forget the past with my interest in him.

  That night in wushu class, we learned kicks. There were several types: the front stretch-kick, the side stretch-kick, inside and outside circle-kicks, and heel-palm-kicks. My favorite was toe-fist-kick. It made me finally feel like I could punch something.

  We practiced kicks all evening until Chuck started randomly calling out kicks to see how fast we could remember them. During the last part of the class, we teamed up in pairs, and I worked with Jennifer. Li asked me to demonstrate the kicks and helped position my arms properly, guiding me through the stance, before moving on. Soon, Li announced that class was over. I thanked him and practiced some more on my own.

  “Li likes you,” Jennifer whispered conspiratorially when I had finished. “I don’t know if he’ll muster up the courage to do anything about it, but it’s obvious. He watches you all the time. How do you feel about him?”

  “I don’t have any feelings about him. He’s a nice guy, but I never thought of him that way.”

  “Oh. There’s someone else.”

  I frowned at the thought. “No. Not anymore.”

  “Oh, honey, you can’t just let life pass you by while you nurse a broken heart. You have to get back up on that horse and try again. Life is too short not to have love in it.”

  I knew she’d been happily married for fifteen years. Her husband was a sweet, balding man who obviously adored her. Every night after class he told her that she looked amazing and was getting so thin that he couldn’t see her from the side anymore. Then he’d kiss her damp curly brown hair and open her car door. If anyone was an expert on love, it was probably Jennifer.

  I thought about what she’d said. I knew she was right. But how do you change your heart?

  Jennifer smiled sympathetically, gathered her things, and squeezed my shoulder. “See you next week, Kelsey.”

  I waved as they drove away and stared out at the black, empty street for a few minutes, lost in thought. When I turned back to gather my things, I noticed that everyone had left already. Li was standing by the front door, waiting patiently for me to go so he could lock up.

  “Sorry, Li. I guess I just lost track of time.”

  He grinned at me. “No problem.”

  I scooped up my towel, car keys, and water bottle and headed for the door.

  Just as I got into my car, Li called out, “Hey, Kelsey. Wait.” He ran over to my door as I rolled down the window. “I wanted to invite you to a game night. A bunch of my friends are getting together on Halloween to play Settlers of Catan. It’s a build-up-your-empire type of game, and there will be good eats. My grandma loves to cook. Would you like to come? I can teach you to play.”

  “Umm.” I didn’t have any plans for Halloween. I knew kids wouldn’t come up to my house because it was way too far off the beaten path. Going over to Mike and Sarah’s didn’t seem like a good option either. All the neighborhood kids avoided their house because they gave out sugarless treats and lectured the parents on the evils of too many sweets.

  Li was still standing there waiting for an answer; so I gave him
one. “Sure, it sounds like fun.”

  He smiled. “Great! See ya!”

  I drove home feeling weird. When I walked in the door, I threw my bag on the couch and pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge. I went upstairs, opened the door to my bedroom balcony, and sat on a deck chair. Leaning my head back, I stared up at the stars.

  Three dates. I had three dates in two weeks, and I wasn’t looking forward to any of them. Something was definitely wrong with me.

  3

  Dating

  DATE 1

  I couldn’t believe the time for my date with Artie had arrived so quickly. I drove to campus, parked, and sat in the car, stalling. I really didn’t want to go out with Artie. His persistence had paid off, and I suspected it wasn’t the first time he had used the same tactic.

  Resigned to get the date over with, I made my way to the language lab. Artie was standing there staring at his watch with a brown package tucked under his arm. I wandered over to him and slid my hands into my jean pockets.

  “Hi, Kelsey. Come on. We’re running late,” he said and walked briskly down the hall. “I have to drop a package off at the post office first for an old friend.”

  He wasn’t only big. He was tall, and his stride was much longer than mine. I had to almost jog to keep up with him. Artie strode right through the parking lot, turned onto a sidewalk, and started heading for town.

  “Uh, shouldn’t we take your car?” I asked. “The post office is a mile-and-a-half away.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t own a car. They’re much too expensive.”

  Good thing I wore my tennis shoes, I thought.

  Artie was walking silently and stiffly ahead. I decided it was probably up to me to get the conversation going. “So . . . who’s the package for?”