HAGEN: 1. Revelations

by Jadhe HAMILTON

“And when you’re standing like that, do you feel protected?!” exclaimed Nina, who was losing her nerves.

  Tara raised her eyes to the ceiling: she hadn’t liked the position from the very beginning, starting with how her feet were positioned. She felt stuck and her back was bent in a completely unnatural way. Her hands, positioned in front of her face, bothered her more than anything else. She knew she was far from getting it right.

  “No,” she replied dryly.

  “Then put them where they’re supposed to be!” Nina said, as she savagely grabbed her fists to place them at the right height.

  Indeed, it felt better that way. Tara swallowed her pride. She had to be patient as she learned.

  “We're going to fine-tune the position of your legs,” Nina continued looking at her from head to toe. “The leg you place in the front is your weak leg, I’m sure you can understand that. That's it, just like that. That's your starting position. The toes of your front leg should always point in the direction of your opponent. For your back leg, they should point slightly outward, about forty-five degrees from your front leg.”

  Tara's brain was having trouble taking it all in, she was getting confused. She meticulously moved her right foot in the hopes of reaching what she thought was the forty-five-degree angle Nina was talking about, but she sensed that she was doing it wrong.

  “Bend your legs slightly, like this... When you’re moving around during a fight, your heels should always be slightly raised. And don't hesitate to change your supporting leg during the fight. All right. Now do as I do. You're going to learn how to move.”

  Nina put her words into action. She placed herself in front of Tara so that she could follow her movements, like looking into a mirror. Nina naturally took the guard position: she was perfect. Tara could see the predator in her and wondered if she would ever be able to attain the same impeccable positioning as her: both threatening and elegant at the same time.

  Nina moved to the left, but her movement was too fast for Tara to catch which foot she had started on. Between holding her guard, the position of her back, her legs, her chin, her toes… she felt lost. She made an ultimate effort to get it right, but her head was so saturated with information that her body stopped moving. She felt as though her mind had short-circuited.

  Nina stopped dead in her tracks. She had a frozen fetus in front of her, she thought with exasperation. She would have to be patient…

  “Well, as long as you stay in that position, everything's okay” she joked. “Raise your fists.”

  Tara didn’t say a word. She knew she looked stupid.

  “You need to push on your right leg if you want to go left, and on your left leg if you want to go right. Let’s do it again.”

  Nina started to move more slowly so Tara had time to learn the movement: she followed scrupulously while the coach moved to the left and to the right. Her rhythm was right, but her body was completely tensed up. Her mind was so concentrated on the position of each of her limbs that it was impossible for her movements to be smooth and in flow.

  “To move forward, you need to lean on your back leg and vice versa.”

  Tara continued to follow Nina’s instructions, finally catching on.

  “Your guard, never forget your guard. It takes only a second of inattention to lose a fight.”

  They continued playing the mirror game for several minutes. When Nina was satisfied, she straightened up:

  “All right,” she said. “The guard position needs to come to you naturally, but you’ll get the hang of it. Now, get closer to the bag. Why do you think I’m training you in Thai boxing? Because it teaches you how to use your fists, elbows, feet, and knees. We don't have a lot of time, and this sport is complete enough for you to get by without too much damage.”

  “A firearm would be more efficient, wouldn't it?” answered Tara, who didn't believe she would be able to make enough progress in such a short time frame.

  “If it's the demons you’re scared of, a gun won’t make any difference. And as far as humans are concerned,” continued Nina, as she resumed her guard position, “we always work cleanly.”

  Tara imitated her, standing on guard, facing the punching bag.

  “As you've noticed,” said the coach, “your strong leg and strong arm are usually in the back so that they can pick up speed and power when you hit. You can switch positions, but for now we'll stick with this one.”

  Nina stood next to Tara in front of the bag and continued:

  “Basically, there are four main punching techniques. The jab, given with your front fist; the cross, given with your back fist; the hook, which is a semi-circular punch, and the uppercut. Like the first two, the hook is given to the face or liver of your opponent. The uppercut is given from bottom to top, hitting the chin or the liver of your opponent. If you can imagine the pain caused by an uppercut, you’ll understand why the guard position is so important. Let's start with the jab.”

  Nina punched the bag violently, making it sway over seven inches.

  “Your turn,” she commanded, as she straightened up.

  Tara got into position. She would try to reproduce Nina’s moves without looking overly ridiculous. As she looked at the red and black bag hanging in front of her, she thought to herself that it couldn't be that hard, she had seen it done in the movies many a time.

  After going over Nina’s instructions in her head one last time, she took the plunge. She threw her fist against the bag with all her might, feeling her small fingers crash painfully against the taut leather. Suddenly, she stumbled backwards, screaming in pain. The bag was as hard as a rock and it had barely moved an inch. She felt like she had broken her hand.

  “What are you doing?” Nina wondered. “Get back in position! And even when you’re hitting, you should never let your guard down, on the contrary.”

  Tara looked at her hand. It had turned bright red on the part she had used to punch. This exercise was much more painful than she had imagined.

  “I can’t imagine that you could have hurt yourself, given the small amount of force you used to punch,” said Nina, with no compassion at all. “Hitting the bag without protection is painful, but you'll get used to it, you’re just starting out.”

  Tara remained silent. Reluctantly, she approached the bag again. She dreaded giving the second blow now that she knew how painful it was.

  Traumatized by her first attempt, her second punch was slow and weak. But even so, it didn’t prevent her from feeling just as much pain. And just as she had expected, her punch had barely moved the bag.

  Realizing what was preventing her from progressing, Nina stopped her and stood in front of her:

  “Tara, you shouldn't be afraid of pain.”

  Tara looked at her in surprise. All of a sudden, the coach was speaking to her in a calm and gentle voice, very uncharacteristic of her. With tolerance and patience, Nina continued:

  “Pain is an integral part of our lives, you have to accept it. When you go into battle, you’re going to receive blows as often as you give them. If you are afraid of getting hurt, you have no chance of winning. You have to accept it.”

  Tara nodded. Accept the pain. There was no battle without pain, and as a warrior, it was true that she couldn’t escape it. She had to rise above this physical and psychological handicap. Her body was only a tool for her mission as a seraph, and she shouldn’t be afraid to damage it. She realized that she had had other bodies before this one, and that she’d have another after she died. A body could be replaced. As a missionary, her body had only one purpose: to destroy the physical enemies identified by the Congregation.

  Having gained a small amount of self-confidence, she returned to her position with greater determination. Warrior. She had to think like a warrior. With a sharp jerk, she hit the bag with all her might, making it move slightly more than the first time. The pain in her hand intensified severely, but she didn't let anything show.

  “That's better,” said Nina, who placed herself behind the
bag, holding it in place for the next round of punches. “Your movements are slow, but the speed will come in time. We also need to work on your strength, but with the pulls you've been doing since you’ve started working out, you're off to a good start. Do it again, give me ten punches in a row, and apply yourself.”

  Tara focused. Nina's unexpected kindness had lifted her spirits. She didn't want to disappoint her. As the coach had requested, she went through the first round of ten punches, and twenty more after that, followed by ten cross punches, and then another twenty.

  She continued training in this way all morning. When the clock struck noon, Nina let go of the punching bag and picked up the bottle of water at her feet. Tara did the same with Emily’s plant potion.

  “That's enough for now,” said the coach, putting her bottle back down on the tatami. “It's time for lunch.”

  “What do I do while I’m waiting for you?”

  “You’re coming with me. You've lost enough weight; Thai boxing will do the rest. You need to nourish your body now.”

  Tara lowered her fists, both uneasy and moved at the idea of it. She thought she’d never be able to have lunch again.

  “Really? Don’t you think I’ll put the weight back on?”

  “No, on the contrary,” Nina replied with a small smile. “With the intensive exercising you're doing and Emily’s potion, you'll probably have trouble gaining weight. You're bound to lose your remaining fat and gain muscle at the same time.”

  Just as she was finishing her sentence, Nina was abruptly lifted into the air by Hugo, who singlehandedly threw her over his shoulder. He approached Tara who took a step back, but before she had time to react, he bent down and grabbed her with his other hand, throwing her over his other shoulder.

  “So girls, shall I take you to lunch?”

  “We can walk by ourselves,” replied Nina coldly, looking desperately at Mark.

  “It's more fun if I carry you, isn't it? Come on, let me carry you: it's been four days since I've touched a woman, I'll go crazy if it goes on any longer.”

  Tara didn't dare answer. Feeling her hair and sweaty clothes sticking to her skin, she felt extremely self-conscious.

  “I'm walking,” she finally exclaimed as Hugo stepped off the tatami.

  “You're lucky, the door isn't wide enough for three,” Hugo admitted, placing her gently on the floor. “As for you,” he continued, giving Nina a monumental spanking that made her scream in pain, “you have no excuse.”

  “I'm going to kill you!” the young woman shouted, struggling like a raging feline.

  But Hugo was holding her so tight that she couldn't get away. Tara watched them leave with a smile on her face. She almost felt included in the group now that she was learning to fight like them. Combat and confrontation were their language, their philosophy. She knew that Nina hadn't invited her to lunch just to be nice. Her relationship with the missionaries had finally taken a positive turn. She was finally becoming a warrior.

  When she arrived in the kitchen, everyone was there except John and Stanislas. Emily had made zucchini with baked potatoes. As a starter, she had prepared a lentil salad. No dessert.

  “Where’s Stanislas?” asked Hugo, as he sat down at the table.

  “He went with John to city hall to take care of some documents.”

  “What!” the young man shouted. “You let Stanislas go out alone with John?”

  “Lower your voice,” snapped Emily. “Stanislas may be old, but he has the right to go out and get some air when he wants to. It does him good.”

  “Sure it does, but have you seen how old he is? He’s not safe with that sissy John. Stanislas is the most exposed one of all, after Tara.”

  “John is an excellent fighter,” corrected Emily.

  “With his little foil? That kid hasn't faced a demon since the day he was born.”

  “The missionary inside him would never let himself be annihilated so easily. Torak has always shown himself to be intelligent and brave in battle.”

  “I hope you're right,” Hugo replied, as he served fresh water to everyone. “But you know I don't like it when Stanislas is outside with John, especially these days. None of us should be leaving the apartment anymore. Who knows what kind of ploys the demons are thinking up to coerce Tara into leaving our protective sphere.”

  No one answered. Hugo wasn’t wrong, Stanislas and John had perhaps made a mistake by going out.

  All of a sudden, the alarm rang and Emily opened the oven door to take out the potatoes. A delicious smell filled the room. Seeing the food suddenly seemed to calm everyone’s spirits. Tara smiled unconsciously as she contemplated the dish that came out of the oven. Not letting it out of his eyes, Hugo commented with more enthusiasm this time:

  “Hey Emily, you're a really great cook, you should choose an incarnation as gifted as this in all your lives.”

  At the same moment, Mark burst out laughing. His deep and penetrating laughter surprised Tara who suddenly turned to him. The Viking guffawed:

  “Do you remember, in around 1336, when we had to flee Constantinople? Diane and Sofia had ordered us to hide in the underground of a monastery!”

  The memory made Hugo chuckle too. A masculine, seductive laugh. Tara found him even more handsome than usual at that moment. The young man continued:

  “Oh yes, she did! How could I forget? It was Sofia who cooked dinner for us then too. She had incarnated into an embittered woman, disillusioned by life. We ate cold food every day, and it was almost never cooked!”

  Emily sat down, offended, as Mark continued:

  “And on the third day, she tried to make us eat raw rats because she said the light from the fire would make the enemy find us!”

  Hugo and Mark had their heads on the table; their hysterical fits of laughter had them both in tears. They could hardly breathe.

  “It was the worst meal of all of my lives put together!” exclaimed Hugo, who had managed to catch his breath.

  “A total outrage,” approved Mark, who dried his tears before having another fit of laughter. “Oh my God, Sofia, you made us all go nuts!”

  “It was mutual,” replied Emily, sitting on her chair.

  “Oh,” remembered Hugo. “It was so awful that the next day, we forbade her to cook for us ever again! It was that legionary, Hydrac, who took over.”

  “He saved our lives,” Mark said, trying not to crack up again. “What a time. It was damn cold. The Decision-Makers should make us bodies that don't fear the cold or the heat.”

  “Azul and Tymor lost their bodies to the cold during that period,” Hugo recalled gravely. “What a waste... You weren't happy,” he continued, turning to Tara. “You’d lost two warriors senselessly, only because of the cold.”

  “Yes, I vaguely remember,” Tara replied, looking into Hugo’s eyes. “They didn't have a very nice death.”

  “You really believe that!” replied Mark, amused. “They couldn’t have been happier to return to the Sphere. Over there, you never feel cold or hungry. Sometimes, when I think about it, I can't wait to go back.”

  “Me too,” approved Hugo, daydreaming about the Sphere. “But on Earth, there are a few extra pleasures that don’t exist up there.”

  “Yes, but you don't feel like there’s anything missing once you're in the Sphere,” Mark answered, still immersed in his memories.

  “Yes, but still,” replied Hugo cheerfully, “nothing can replace a good fuck!”

  “Hugo!” cried Emily, shocked.

  “Well, it's true. Ask Nina!”

  Nina lowered her gaze with an embarrassed smile.

  “You guys are totally obsessed!” Emily exclaimed, as she got up.

  “What?” laughed Hugo. “You're so stuck in your role as an archangel. You should try it sometime.”

  Emily blushed. To hide her discomfort, she grabbed a large spoon and began serving the potatoes.

  “It's true,” Mark agreed. “Emily, Sofia never seems to enjoy her lives on Earth.”


  “We're not here to enjoy our lives on Earth,” replied Emily dryly, as she dug into the potatoes in irritation. “Besides, in this area, you're not in a position to give advice.”

  “My heart is taken,” justified Mark with modesty.

  “She died four hundred years ago,” Hugo politely reminded him. “Don't you think it’s time... to maybe move on?”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Tara.

  “Mark, or rather Massin, his angel, fell in love with a human a few years ago,” Emily explained.

  “A few centuries ago you mean!” Hugo corrected. “He was crazy in love...”

  “She was wonderful,” explained Mark. “She was human, but she had the heart of an angel. A pearl of nature. Goodness personified.”

  “The problem is that human souls lose their form once they go to Heaven,” Emily continued, looking sadly at Mark. “There’s no possibility of reuniting with humans over several centuries, their souls become orbs of conscious energy...”

  “I loved her until her last breath,” Mark said, in a pain-filled voice. “She lived fifty-six years...”

  “At the time, it was a lot,” Hugo explained.

  “I didn't know about this story,” Tara wondered. “Why are you only telling me about this now?”

  “Because at the time, you wouldn't have appreciated knowing that one of your legionaries was being distracted by earthly love,” Mark recalled, looking sadly at his plate.

  Emily looked down, acknowledging that he was right. Tara gazed at him wide-eyed. She wanted to know more.

  “And why didn't you tell me about it afterwards?”

  “She was dead... I was never going to see her again... There was no point in me re-opening my own wound...”

  “Maybe you should really try to move on now,” Emily said, cautiously. “You can’t love her forever.”

  “And why not? I know her soul is still alive. I can connect with her whenever I want. For the past four hundred years, I've always known when she was in Heaven and when she was incarnated. Right now, for example, I know that she’s on Earth, living somewhere near the Swiss border...

  “Oh, Mark!” exclaimed Hugo, enthusiastically. “Why don't you go and find her? Maybe she’ll recognize you!”