PART TWO
As you know, Alita, most of the university students came from Spain, the sons of titled gentlemen whose faces were well known in court -- and respected. It was uncommon to find students hailing from one of our colonies, and Diego was among these few. He had arrived from Los Angeles, a small pueblo in California. Most of the other students promptly dismissed him as being inferior and undeserving to orbit their privileged worlds, but he soon proved them wrong.
Diego excelled in all his classes and studies, with one exception: He could not master the whip. At the time -- and certainly in retrospect! -- I blamed senior Ramirez, his instructor. The man had a cruel streak in him and liked coax similar sentiments from his students.
"The elbow, you fool!" he would cry. "You must bend the elbow, not the wrist. The whip is a weapon, not a noisemaker! When you strike with the whip it must always be to kill or maim your enemy!"
That was at the heart of Diego's difficulty. True, the sword, which he quickly mastered, can also be used to kill or maim, but that takes no real skill. In the hands of an expert, however, a sword can be used to disarm an opponent. In the hands of a professional, a sword can save a life, not just take one away.
Diego strove for the same sort of mastery with all his weapons, including the whip. He went to speak with the chancellor, and the chancellor sent him to me.
I was gathering apples in the orchard the day Diego rode up to see me. He explained his problem and I agreed to help him. I borrowed his whip and pointed to an apple on a branch. I snapped the whip so that it ensnared the apple and, in one motion, plucked it free and into my hand. I showed the apple to Diego, daring him to find a single bruise or break in the skin. It had been three years since I had last given a lesson and I was eager to show off!
I returned the whip to Diego and pointed to a likely target dangling from a low branch. Diego took aim. His movements were graceful, but uncertain. The whip could sense this, of course. The apple exploded into bits. I threw myself to the ground, as if to search for the biggest morsel!
I expected my new student to burst into anger, but he didn't. Diego just stood there, laughing.
"Perhaps that one was better suited for apple sauce!" he joked.
I knew in that moment that we would be friends.
Those poor apples! Bushels and bushels exploded from Diego's whip. I remember bringing the pieces home at the end of each day, brown as dirt.
"What did this?" you asked me.
My assistant, I signed for you.
"Who did you hire?" you challenged, hands on your hips. "A bear?!"
Close enough, I smiled.
"I think your bear needs more training," you said, taking the pieces to wash.
You are right, I nodded.
My bear improved. Each day I carried bigger pieces of apples home. After nearly two weeks, Diego was slicing them in half. A few weeks later, he had mastered the trick. Even I was unable to find a single blemish.
"Congratulations!" you told me one night. "That bear of yours has finally got the knack."
You were right, Alita. It was time to take Diego's training to the next level.
I borrowed his whip again and gestured for him to toss an apple into the air. As he did, I brought the whip around and caught the apple as it fell. Turning quickly, I snapped the whip, flinging the apple high into the air. I coolly handed the whip back to Diego and caught the apple in my outstretched hands! Diego, looking sufficiently impressed, clapped for me, and I took a bow.
This trick took a month of practice, but Diego mastered it, too. I gave him other tasks in the winter and he quickly passed them all. (Which was a good thing, as there were very few apples to be found!) He was a joy to teach. I remember telling you about him one night, pantomiming the parts of Diego and I, collapsing in a chair when I was through.
"I would like to meet this bear you've told me so much about," you said to me. "Diego, you said?"
I nodded, feeling very pleased.
"I want you to invite him to dinner, Bernardo. Ask him to come this Saturday."
Well, of course, Diego said he would gladly come. He reasoned you must be a good cook, as it was obvious that his teacher was well fed!
You fixed your favorite paella and served apple pie. I teased Diego that these apples were from his earlier attempts!
It was a wonderful night, one that will surely bring me a smile all the rest of my life....
It was soon spring and time for the annual competitions. As a former teacher, I was given a place among the faculty. Unfortunately, that place was next to Seņor Ramirez.
"You are pleased with your student?" he asked, gesturing toward Diego.
I am, I nodded.
"He's too soft," snorted Ramirez, "and a fool besides. Kindness and mercy have no place on the battlefield. I've read French accounts of Indians who also live in the New World - and share your student's misplaced sentiment. They ride out and try to touch their enemies with clubs. They call it counting coup, or some such nonsense. The object is to make contact with your enemy without actually hurting or killing him."
Ramirez paused to empty his wineglass, and obviously not for the first time.
"I've fought for my King and country," Ramirez continued, "and it wasn't a game. I've seen my friends and comrades die at the hands of our enemies, and I used whatever means I had at my disposal to kill them in return. If someone had touched me with a club and turned away, I'd have bashed in his brains! Mercy has no place in battle. A weapon in the hands of a wounded man can kill just as surely as a weapon in a healthy man's grasp. Death is the only way of being certain that your enemy cannot harm you."
Ramirez glared at me, as if daring me to contradict him. I didn't know what he expected me to say. If he thought Diego was afraid to kill, he was wrong.
Humans are a strange species, I mused. For all our claims of superiority to other animals -- our mental prowess and imagination -- we're also unique in our propensity and persistence in killing one another for the slightest offense.
I considered other animals and how the males address their rivals. Their fights for mates are serious and often vicious, but rarely do these struggles result in death. The purpose is establishing dominance, not destruction. The Indians Ramirez mentioned understood this. It is more courageous to reach out to an enemy than it is to kill him, it is more honorable to spare a life than it is to take one, and it is more laudable to show mercy and compassion during a struggle than it is to show mercy and compassion when it's convenient. Diego also understood this.
I looked back at Ramirez and shook my head sadly.
"You think he has a chance against Eloy?" Ramirez asked, smiling malevolently.
I followed his gaze to his star pupil, undefeated three years in a row. Eloy was very skilled. He was also ruthless. In his last challenge he had left his opponent blind in one eye.
I don't know, I shrugged, in answer to Ramirez's question.
He laughed and returned his attention to filling his wineglass. I turned from Ramirez to inspect the students who had gathered for the competition.
The competition lasted two weeks, Alita, as you no doubt recall. I know you resented my leaving early each morning and coming home after dark. I told you, as a former teacher, I was expected to be there, but you knew (and I knew) that it was more than that. I loved watching the matches -- this year especially, because of Diego. I knew you weren't feeling well, a cold, but you had Maria, your friend from down the hill, and I was assured that you were in better hands than mine.
You never heard the whole story of what happened, Alita. Up until now, I haven't been able to write it all down. But I'll tell it to you. Now. You deserve at least that much.
It was Diego's first year, as you know, but he beat the older students with deceptive ease. First year students rarely do so well in these competitions and his class cheered him on through fencing, riding, and other challenges.
Then it came time for the whips. I leaned forward in my seat. Diego looked at me and gave me a slight bow of his head, which I returned.
Goblets were placed on a stone wall in front of the participants. Each student had one chance to break the goblet. Many students missed their mark and had to leave the field. Eloy destroyed his goblet with a deafening crack.
I held my breath when it was Diego's turn. As he brought down his whip, the end wrapped around the goblet. With a smooth jerk, the goblet sailed back and landed in Diego's hand.
I breathed a sigh of relief, but the judges looked uneasy.
"You were supposed to break the goblet," they reminded him.
Diego smiled and said, for all to hear, "Now how can I be expected to drink a toast to my classmates with a broken goblet?"
His class cheered -- and so did many of the faculty. The judges whispered briefly among themselves before agreeing to allow Diego to continue. They knew the skill he had demonstrated retrieving the goblet.
Ramirez smoldered with rage.
The next contest required the students to enter a corral with a large bull inside. Using only their whips, students were expected to work their way to the gated exit on the opposite side. A low surrounding wall allowed a quick escape -- and failure -- should it become necessary. Most students tried to keep the bull at bay, as lion tamers do, but bulls are not lions, and most of the students cleared the wall just in time.
Eloy stopped the bull's charge with a terrible snap just above the bull's forehead, which opened a nasty cut. The bull roared in pain and charged blindly around the corral, blood streaming down its eyes. Eloy raised his whip in triumph and ran to the opposite gate.
Ramirez smiled evilly as the bull was destroyed, and another took its place.
Soon it was Diego's turn.
Diego tried walking slowly around the corral, talking low and soothingly, but the bull would have none of that. Dropping its head, the bull charged. Diego had no choice but to run. At first it appeared that he would leap over the wall, as most of the others had done. Instead, Diego snagged his whip on one of the posts. Diego flew over the wall as the bull crashed into it behind him. The momentum of his leap carried Diego in a circle, first over the wall again, then back inside the corral. The bull wasn't badly hurt, only stunned. Diego raced to the gate before the bull could recover.
Diego's classmates cheered wildly.
Ramirez leapt to his feet. "He jumped over the wall! He must be disqualified!"
