🚀 go-pugleaf

[Continued From Part Two]

   The tea was steeped to perfection and perfect without any additions.
Angie glanced at Himiko, who was dropping sugar cubes into her drink,
politely looking away with a secret smile. Naturally, Renee had added
nothing to hers, once again displaying her uncanny savour fare. Chelsea had
added just a drop of milk to her tea, making it exactly to her tastes. And
serving them all was Jean, the master become servant for a time.  He and
Renee had had to set an itinerary for the week's tournament, and then had
given instructions to his three assistant teachers in the operation of the
studio in his absence.
   "I just don't know if I'm ready," said Himiko, grimacing as she sipped
her too-sweet tea. "I mean what if I forget the warmups or I forget how to
teach a kick or..."
   "Please, relax Himiko," said Renee smoothly, favouring Himiko with a
self-satisfied smile over the rim of her cup. "I'm sure between the three
of you, you'll manage to have at least one class go right."
   "You have fun coaching at the Regionals," said Chelsea, taking a sip of
her tea. "We teachers will just have to trudge through the week without
you."
    "Mm hm," said Renee, her mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at the word
'teachers'. "You know what they say about those who cannot do, don't you?"
Angie opened her mouth to reply, but Renee continued. "Which is why Jean is
such an inspiration, isn't he? He does and teaches." She surveyed the
table, making sure that the women there knew full well that they were
included in her next statement. "Unfortunate that more people can't manage
what he does."
   Angie's eyes flashed and her fingers fumbled, dropping the mug to the
table where it spattered the girl with hot tea. She shrieked and jumped
back, groaning as brown liquid poured from the table to the floor.
   "Oh no!" she moaned, putting her face in her hand. "His floor was so
clean, too..."
   "Don't get yourself too worked up, Angie," said Chelsea, snatching a
dishcloth from the kitchen sink. "We'll sop this up, you go to the bathroom
and see if you can get some of that out before it stains."
   Himiko nodded, taking a sponge from the kitchen counter and soaking up
the tea that had spilled onto Jean's wooden table before it had a chance to
scald the wood. Renee's contribution to the effort was to move away several
papers that were in danger of being saturated.
   "Thanks guys," said Angie, turning and walking down the hall to the
bathroom where she spent several moments indulging herself in lightly
rapping head against wall for her own clumsiness. Finally,
self-recrimination out of the way, she set to work cleaning off her stained
clothes. With a sigh she realised that only dry cleaning was going to fix
things and reluctantly turned off the water flow, dried her hands and
walked back toward the kitchen.
    Angie's attention was caught by a sight that she'd seen on the way to
the washroom but hadn't registered until that moment. Turning, she admired
the awards, plaques and crests that had been mounted on a living room wall,
a private tribute to the martial accomplishments of one Jean Renaulle. With
a smile, Angie ran her eyes across the top row of awards, meticulously
arranged by year. She noticed that the last was dated 1973.
   "I was wondering what was taking you so long," said a voice behind
Angie, who turned around to face Jean. The man stood in front of her,
wearing his usual small, warm smile that suggested infinite patience and
strong character. "Chelsea told me what happened and I was wondering if you
needed any club soda or whatever they use to get out the stain."
   "No, it seems like I'm going to be going with the leopard look for the
night," said Angie ruefully, pointing out the brown spots that dotted her
shirt. "I just stopped to look at the wall here."
   "Now you know where they are, don't you?" asked Renaulle, his smile
turning into a small grin.
   "Yeah, you really did well... why did you quit competing in '73?"
   Jean's grin swiftly vanished, leaving his blank of expression. "I
didn't," he said, shaking his head. "I quit in '74"
   Angie looked back at the wall, completely bare of any awards from that
year. "But I don't see anything up here from then," she said, trying to
find something that she'd missed. Jean shook his head again.
   "That year's awards aren't up, Angel," he said, a hollow note behind his
voice. "I'm not really proud of what happened."
   "Something happened?" asked Angie, turning back to Jean even as her face
went red. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry into something private."
   "I don't mind telling a friend, Angel," replied Jean, looking at the
wall with a distant gaze. "In '74, I had a very good chance of placing in
the top three... possibly even going all the way to the top. I'd never done
that before, and I was excited. Too excited, I suppose."
   "Something happened?"
   "Something happened. Something terrible. I can't really remember which
match it was that I was fighting, and I don't really want to. But my
opponent made a mistake, and a pretty serious one to boot. I noticed this,
pressed my attack..."
   "Jean?"
   "I crippled him, Angel."
   "But... it was a mistake, wasn't it?"
   Jean nodded his head slowly, as though it weighed more than he could
comfortably lift. "It was a mistake on both our parts, and it's a mistake
I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. But it's a mistake that
he'll have to live with too, every time he wants to walk or run and has to
settle for rolling along, cursing my name with every breath. I just
couldn't compete any more after that."
   "I'm sorry..."
   "Me too, Angel," said Jean, smiling slightly. "But I'd be more sorry
about living in the past. Or letting someone else make the mistake again.
Maybe Renee's right after all.  Those who can't _do_ teach. Let's go to the
kitchen, where the future's baking along with some cookies."
   Angie smiled and walked with her teacher back to the kitchen.

   "Well, it appears an angel outranks a princess in the prince's eyes."
Chelsea blinked at Renee's comment.  Across from her, Himiko blushed a bit,
looking down at her overly sweet tea.  "Or perhaps the princess is merely
out of favour."
   "Renee...." Chelsea growled.  Her eyes narrowed in anger as her friend's
emotions were being toyed with quite little regard, and she knew better
than to think Renee didn't know the scorecard.  Not after that last volley
with Angie.
   "Excuse me..... I think we've covered most of the preparations, and I
really must be going."  Himiko stood up, and walked over to the coat rack,
gathering her things.  Chelsea felt at a total loss as she walked out.
This was a subject that neither really approached; not because it was a
taboo, precisely, but because Star had no clue what to tell her.  As much
respect as she had for Jean, no matter how many wise or witty things he
said, or deeds he did, on this topic he seemed absolutely DENSE.
   "And exit royalty, stage left."  Chelsea whirled her attention to the
person who provoked her companion, and indirectly herself.
  "That, Ms. Dupuis, was not only below the belt, but tactless.  You know
she's been trying for weeks to get through to him."  Chelsea nearly spat
out the last bit.
   The reaction from the other side of the table was calm, collected, and
almost studiously banal.  "Come off of it, Miss Montrose.  Nothing I say
should affect that. As a matter of fact, I see them figuring it out before
the night sets on Duquense."
   "Just what doe--"  Star stopped and quickly composed herself as Angie
and Jean returned from the living room.  She quickly focused her eyes on
the tea and tried to regain her equilibrium.  Renee's little riddle didn't
help, but it could be dealt with.... later.

                                 -<*>-

   The rain continued to drizzle down onto the mourners, and so did the
politician's words. "I sincerely hope that his loving wife, who has lost so
much in these past few days, finds comfort in this time of her
diminishment."
   Angellica felt her eyes narrow predatorily and her mouth turn into a
cold line. Himiko may have lost, but hadn't she gained so much more before
the death? The moments, the memories and the love... Himiko still had these
to cherish. How dare the fat man who sneaked a look at his watch between
thoughts define their value?

                                -<*>-

   Angie walked down the short hallway to Renaulle's office, her thoughts
on this week's problems. One of her more advanced students - Paul - was
causing her no end of trouble and she wanted to ask Jean's advice on the
matter. Without a doubt, he'd have a few words to say on the subject that
would clear everything up in a trice. Or at least, she thought with a
smile, it would seem that way afterward. Noticing that the office door was
open a crack, Angie lowered the hand that had been raised to knock and
pushed on the office door...
   ...and immediately pulled it closed again, not making a sound as she
did. She blushed slightly, though her smile grew at the fresh memory of
Jean and Himiko, locked in an oblivious and much more than friendly kiss.
Angel dashed for the studio before she could burst into a fit of delighted
giggles, mentally checking the date of this momentous event.
  "September eleventh," laughed Angie, plopping herself down onto the bench
that ran in front of the studio's mirror. "Star owes me ten!"

                                -<*>-

  The present resolved itself silently again, creeping up and overtaking
the past that insisted upon making its memory known. Without moving from
his spot, the politico stood between the past and the present, guarding the
way with his rain-soaked notes and gentle, measured words.
     "No man, woman or child ever held a grudge against Jean Renaulle, for
the man's life allowed for none. He was kind in all ways, never using force
where a soft word would suffice. He fought all of his battles with patience
as his armour, compassion as his shield, and love as his sword. If a harsh
word was ever spoken, it never came from his lips."

                                -<*>-

   "Out."  The tone brooked no interference.  Chelsea winced inwardly, even
as she kept her outer demeanour statue-like and her eyes straight ahead,
focused on the student.
   "But, Master--"
   "Out, Paul.  You knew the rules.  No drinking, no drugs.  Not here, not
in -my- studio.  Not where that stupidity will only hurt you if you're
lucky."
   "But--"  Paul never got any farther as the savate master ignored every
precept of form he'd taught and simply grabbed the youth by the shoulders,
throwing him toward the door.  The young man hit the frame and stumbled,
his impaired reactions transforming that stumble into a rather undignified
hard fall.
   Jean shook his head as he walked toward the fallen student.  "You can't
even protect yourself from basics.  Leave."
   The student scrabbled to his feet and made for the door quickly.
   Jean sighed and turned back to the class.  "I'm sorry for the
disruption.  Break up into partners, please, and practice the manoeuvre.
Star, please assist those who ask for help.  I need a few minutes."  He
walked out of the studio.

                                -<*>-

   The tide of words continued to batter against Angellica's resolve, as
she tried to keep still, tried not to fidget every time the politico
twisted the truth into a pretzel and tried not to dwell on how one man
could be taken after death and forced into a gleaming golden crypt of
words, exquisite, beautiful and utterly wrong for its function.
   "Jean was a patient man," continued the politician, wiping rain from his
eyes. "One who would never raise his voice to anyone, who kept private
council and advised those close to him quietly, with nothing but the
greatest of concerns for their feelings."

                                -<*>-

   "Renee," said Jean, walking into the studio.  Angie paused in packing
away equipment long enough to stare at the master striding over to the
student, who had been occupied with a series of stretching warmups.
Suddenly feeling the need to make herself small, Angie pressed herself
against the equipment locker, hidden. Now the room was empty except for the
master and the captain. "I need to talk to you about next month's
regionals."
   "All right," said Renee, abandoning her stretches and facing Jean, arms
crossed over her chest. "What about?"
   "About how they're being trained, Renee," continued Jean, the slightest
touch of anger in his otherwise calm voice. "You've completely abandoned
the routines that I set out for you to use, continually shown preferences
for favourite students and removed two members from the team without
consulting me first. You don't have the authority for that, Renee, so why
did you do it?"
   "I'm simply doing my job as assistant coach," replied Renee smoothly,
without a hint of doubt that she was in the wrong. "You obviously can't be
there as much as I can, so I've been tailoring the program to the needs of
the students. And I had to remove the two from the team as a disciplinary
action."
   "All of which should've been discussed with me first," replied Jean,
shaking his head. "You've overstepped your authority, Renee."
   "If I don't have the authority to make even the slightest decision on my
own, how am I expected to be taken seriously as an authority figure? I need
at least token support from you!"
   "This isn't about power, Renee..."
   "Everything's about power!" replied Renee, raising her voice and causing
Angie to flinch. But both were ignoring the woman as they continued to
feud. "Everything in life is about regulating or being regulated. The
people who have anything got it because they were stronger or luckier than
everyone else. You  even teach people how to take power and direct it in
the most effective way. If you're trying to tell me that life isn't about
power then I can only presume you're living in a dreamworld!"
   "Renee, I do _not_ care to be lectured to in my own martial arts
studio," snapped Jean. "Nor in public, or have you decided that respect has
gone the way of the dinosaur too, just like your limits?"
   "I wouldn't have said anything if you'd just left well enough alone..."
    "That's it," bit off Jean, shaking his head. "Go cool off. We'll
discuss this after!"
   "And you said this wasn't about power?" asked Renee, flippantly, as she
turned to leave. "I beg to differ."
   Angie let both leave before she remembered to breath again. Stacking
away equipment was a good way to focus her mind, so she did that, trying
not to think about what she'd just witnessed.

                                -<*>-

  The politician looked up from his sodden notes to favour the crowd with a
look of solemn dignity, one which was intended to soothe and commiserate,
and one which would convey how deeply he felt the burden of Jean Renaulle's
passing. Token human contact having been made, the politico looked back at
his notes to continue his speech.
  "Jean R..." the man stopped, watching ink run down his page, obliterating
the last name of a man that he had never met. A tense silence fell across
the gathered mourners as the politico tried to puzzle out what had once
been written there. With a small sigh of annoyance that the funeral had had
to take place on this of all days, he soldiered on. "Jean was a good man,
but more than that... he was a leader. A man who knew his community and was
in turn known by all those within it. A man who was not only a part of that
community, but at the very forefront of it, leading the way to--"  Enough.
   "Excuse me, sir, but I must be at the wrong funeral."  Murmurs started
to come from those around the site.  She ignored all of them, save Himiko,
who simply looked at Star questioningly.  "I thought this was Jean
Renaulle's funeral.  Not Ontario's finest fallen warrior and statesman."
   "I...."  The politician gaped a bit and then recovered a little. "Well,
I suppose he is, in a way..."
   "No, he is _not_.  Or at least, not the man I talked to two months ago,
who was wondering if he should retire before the next season, and was
trying to not admit that this session wasn't doing well.  Not the man who
was wondering if it was time to look for a small house in the suburbs or
country with his wife, since the city was getting so dangerous."  She
turned her eyes to survey the crowd.  "Hardly the thoughts of a such a
selfless leader of the community, is it?  But then again, they were some of
the concerns of a teacher and friend of mine. Someone who was proud to a
point of being self-reliant, so he could let others that he chose rely on
him." She looked about, then back toward the casket. "It is wise that a man
should be remembered for his deeds and qualities, but not only the good.
What he was, what he meant to me at least, was what he was, best or worse."
She glared back toward the politico.  "And at his worst, he was far, far
more to me than your blank descriptions."
   The politico turned the brunt of his scorn onto Star, pressing his lips
together in the expression of a strict parent ready to chastise an unruly
child. "Miss, might I remind you that we are at a funeral, which calls for
a certain degree of decorum and dignity? Do you want to turn this man's
burial into a complete farce or give him the proper send-off that he has
earned? Please be still until I'm finished, so you don't distress the
mourners!"
   "Distress... the mourners?" asked Angellica, looking up, a cold fire
burning in her eyes as she felt her temper soar. Intently she walked toward
the speaker, the soft mud squelching under every slow footstep."In what way
is she distressing us, sir? By interrupting the bedtime story that you're
telling us? You say that she's going to turn his death into a farce, but
you're turning his life into a fantasy tale! I would very much like to know
how you find her telling the truth can be even remotely as disturbing as
hearing you stand there, constructing your paint-by-numbers hero while a
person who loved and was loved is in that coffin there, completely ignored!
We're burying a man, not your ideal."
    A shocked silence fell over the grave site, broken only by the
unceasing patter of rain falling to the earth. The politico hurriedly
checked his watch, then looked in outrage at Angellica.
   "Well I never!" he began, muttering as much bluster as possible. Star
cut him off, and the fury died, stillborn, transmuting into impotent
frustration.
   "Never met the man?" she asked. "Never cared about him until today? Yes.
I can very well believe that."
   "Someone else has something to say about Jean Renaulle," said Angellica,
moving up to the podium and locking eyes with the politico. "So please,
step down, scurry back to your office and hope that one day someone will
forgive you for your asinine political tomb robbing. But whoever that is,
it won't be me."
   The politician tried to think of something - anything - to say in reply,
but he was standing on a foundation of sand which shifted under his feet as
he shuffled them. Angrily, he thrust his hands into his pockets and stalked
back to his car, ducking his head low as he walked. Angellica followed the
man with her eyes until she was sure that he had gone, before turning back
to the assembled mourners.
   "Friends," began Angellica, looking over the hushed crowd. Looking back
were faces inscribed with grief but also, for the first time since the
funeral had begun, with respect as well. "I am so dreadfully sorry that you
had to hear what you just have. But in a way it's rather fitting, isn't it?
After all, some of us remember Jean's views on politicians and this is
certainly a vindication of them."
   A small wave of chuckles ran through the mourners as people began to
remember. Angellica continued. "But as I stand here, looking at all of the
people whom Jean has in some way touched, I find that I have a rather
bitter taste in my mouth. That's simply wrong at the funeral of a man
who... influenced my life so much, in ways I never realised until now."
   Angellica looked down at the closed casket, silvered by the falling
rain. How could so much past seem like so little until it was too late?
Fragments of Angellica's life - snippets summoned forth by a rogue memory -
seemed to fall together in her mind like pieces of a jigsaw. She saw the
path that her life had taken and how much Jean had been a part of shaping
that life, both through his teachings and his mistakes. Somehow the picture
on the box that she had trusted for so long just didn't match the finished
puzzle.
   "Jean was... if nothing else... a friend and mentor," said Angellica
after a long pause. "I can't call him a hero because he was no such
thing... he could not be so narrowly defined. Jean taught me about honour
but he also taught me about shame. He taught me compassion and he taught me
anger. He loved some and spurned others. He waged war and he held peace.
And somewhere... between all of that... amidst the good and the bad of this
tangled web was a _man_ who could have been a hero but for one thing: he
never left his humanity that far behind! Jean Renaulle was a man who could
cause terrible pain and misery with a single mistake... he embraced this...
and was all the more careful in life because of it. Not exactly the picture
of sterling silver perfection which was painted before you all earlier. But
it is the truth.
   "No matter who painted his portrait today, Jean Renaulle was my friend.
He enriched my life in ways that I can never count and the world's richness
is diminished by his passing. May he find eternal peace after his long
road, may he live forever in the hearts of those who remember him... and
may those hearts that scatter across the world after today carry just a bit
of this dear man to those... who will never know him in any other way..."
   Angellica felt a hot tear squeeze itself from her eye, trailing down her
cheek. The rain lapped at her face, gently brushing away the salty water. A
murmur ran through the crowd and Angellica knew what had produced it:
memory. Some remembered the joys of knowing Jean, some felt pain bubble to
the surface at the thought of him. But all in attendance remembered the
man, as the warm rain washed away the politico's watercolour portrait.
   As she moved to step back into the crowd, Angellica's eye was caught by
Himiko. Slowly, with tears streaming down her face, the woman brought her
hand up to her heart and then touched it to her head, mouthing the words
'thank you'.
   You're welcome, thought Angellica as she stepped back into the crowd.
And thank you Jean, for giving me the strength to stand against the tide
one last time.

[Concluded In Part Four, Immediately Following.]