Straight to the Point (A Fencing Short Story)

Straight to the Point

 Expertly channeled skill and determination manifested in the swords of two adversaries as they dueled with the speed and ferocity of tigers. They observed fine positions, attacked with marvelous accuracy, and boasted firm parries and precise ripostes. I held my helmet in my left hand, observing the two fencers with utmost attention. The duel seemed to be going evenly in both ways, skills perfectly matched. A foot moved forward and twisted, causing a swift yelp from Clovis. Teacher saw this as a chance to strike and lunged forward, sword point extended. There was a shrill metallic snap! And a choking gasp. Clovis fell to the ground, and the rest of the students murmured in confusion. As Teacher threw his helmet off and sprinted to the fallen duelist’s side, reality sunk in, harsh and bitter. A crimson red was trickling down Clovis’ bib and onto his jacket, staining the immaculate white clothing with the presence of death. Somebody screamed. If it was me or some other student, I did not know. All I could hear was the blood rushing to my head and the muffled slump of my head hitting the mat.

***

My fencing teacher, Lucien Bellamy, was a man of great patience. He had taught the Bellamy Fencing Academy for more than twenty years, assuming his position as fencing master after his father passed away. I had been going there myself for little more than a year, and my skill had yet to be refined. Monday through Friday, we practiced with intense determination. Teacher was someone who exercised strict discipline and commanded the respect of people around him. His skills guaranteed him at least that much. He stood straight and looked everybody that he talked to in the eye. I had felt the intense cobalt eyes boring holes into my skull many times, as had the other students.  It didn’t matter to Teacher if we made an error a hundred times, so long as it was eventually corrected. Each of his students were held to the same standard; no one person was superior to another.

 “Never let mixed signals fool you when trying to find an opening. Indecision is a decision in itself, and it could mean a winning point for the other fencer.”

 That was a phrase drilled into each of us many times per day, so much that I found myself subconsciously repeating it when my attention wavered and I stared off into the distance. Everyone knew their limits with Teacher to guide them,and no goals were made that could not be achieved.

 In a room filled with constants, there was only one variable. Clovis Devaux. Hot-headed, impatient, cocky – he was the opposite of Teacher. Normally, someone like that would be kicked off into the street, terminated from the Bellamy Fencing Academy program. Clovis was hanging over the edge of a cliff with jagged rocks and raging waters beneath him. The only thing that kept him alive was a small thread, almost unnoticeable to the eye. That thread was his skill at fencing. He was good, like Ellen Pries good. Everyone seemed to notice his skill with the saber- except Teacher, that is. Most days were riddled with the impatient outbursts of Clovis Devaux, who was always two steps ahead of everyone else. Today was one of those days.

 “You call yourself a fencer? My grandmother could circle parry a slow thrust like that even without her specs on!” Clovis yelled after I had messed up once again. It was only my third try, but to someone like Clovis, it seemed like a millennium.

 “Clovis Devaux, step away this instant and resume your training,” Teacher ordered, his voice calm and collected, yet menacing.

 The boy ignored him, now consumed by annoyance. He snatched my saber in an instant, so quick I barely saw the blur of the movement. Shoving me away he announced to the whole class, “This is how you execute a circle parry.” Clovis pulled on his helmet and nodded to my previous opponent.

 “En garde!” they shouted simultaneously and engaged. My previous opponent was quick on his feet but was starting to emulate a nervous switching of his feet, no doubt because he was up against Teacher’s best student, Clovis the Quick. The other student lunged, point extended. Standing still this whole time, Clovis snapped his wrist in a clockwise direction and stepped forward, knocking the blade away. Keeping the same momentum, he jabbed thrice, making a trio of faint chalk marks on the jacket of the other student. The recipient of these quick jabs hung his head and fell to his knees, defeated. Clovis the Quick grabbed his helmet and tossed it to the ground, earning his title once again.

 “Clovis, what did I just say?” Teacher asked, lacing the last few words with quiet rage. Now was usually the part where the hot-headed fencer would calm down and resume his position in the normality of the day’s regimen. However, nothing ever lasted and this was the day when Clovis’ patience was lost.

 Spinning around, Clovis pointed his saber at Teacher and called out, “I’m sick and tired of these imbeciles. Why don’t you prove you’re worthy of challenging me, Lucien?” Breaking the mandatory rules of respect Teacher had set by using his first name. Unfazed, Teacher whipped his hand out and gripped his fencing saber, deftly tossing it to his left hand. He pulled on his helmet and strolled up the mat.

 “Clovis, you must not treat your fellow students with such disrespect. I will give you one chance to back down from this duel,” Teacher said in a commanding voice. The hot-headed fencer was unperturbed. They both pulled on their helmets and brandished their sabers, taking up a ready position. The boy who had just been defeated jogged up quickly and placed his left arm in the air.

 ”En garde. Etes-vous prêts? Allez!” the referee bellowed, bringing his arm down in a slashing motion.

 ***

 I woke up not a few seconds later, feeling light-headed and weak. I placed a hand to my forehead to feel the glistening sheen of sweat that lay there. The noise had intensified since I had blacked out, and the room was filled with screams and shouts. I raised my eyes slowly to the fencing mat.

What I saw made bile rise up into my throat until I could taste the vomit. Clovis’ body was slumped in a sleeping position, the red stain now identified as crimson blood leaking down his shirt. A jagged piece of metal was stuck in the front of his helmet, no doubt the front piece of Teacher’s saber. It had been an accident, but one with drastic consequences. I coughed and spluttered strands of moisture on the ground and clutched my chest.

 He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead, a voice whispered in my mind repeatedly, in a monotonic trance.

 Teacher’s blade had pierced through Clovis’ helm, entering his eye orbit and puncturing his brain. Death was instantaneous, or so we were told. Class was never the same from that point on, and Teacher had seemed lackluster ever since the incident. Clovis the Quick had died in a horrible manner, just about to leave his teenage years. Surely, he would have gone on to become a champion fencer, but fate had another plan in store for him.

 I left the Bellamy Fencing Academy a few weeks later. The sport no longer held a passion in my heart, and I tried to distance myself from it as much as possible. Whenever a newspaper or magazine featured a fencing tournament, my mind would instantly think of Clovis the Quick and how his haughty manner led to his untimely death.

 THE END