Marshall came in and gave me a private smile before one of the other students approached him with a question. I followed him with my eyes for a moment and then considered Carlton, who was on the floor, his legs spraddled to either side, trying to touch his chest to the right leg, then the left. Carlton's thick black hair, normally gelled and swept behind his ears, was getting wild as he straightened and bent, straightened and bent. I pulled the top of my gi out of my gym bag and slid into it, then tended to the tying of the belt.

"So, Carlton. Remember the subduing hold we practiced last time?" I asked. Carlton scrambled to his feet.

"Ah... no. I had so much to learn that one night."

Marshall was laughing with a knot of the younger men in the class.

"Okay. Reach out to grab my gi with your right hand... . That's right. Now, grip hard." Apparently scared he'd pull me off balance, Carlton barely took hold of the loose material. "No, Carlton. You really have to hold on, or you'll think I was able to do this because you weren't exerting full strength."

Carlton, while increasing the force of his grip, looked distinctly anxious. "Oh, I wouldn't think that!" he protested.

"Now, remember? I reach up with my right hand, like so. ... I sink my thumb into the pit between your thumb and forefinger, to hit the pressure point—I got it, I see—and then I twist your hand so that the outside of it, the side of your little finger, is pointed toward the ceiling. ... Of course that rotates your whole arm, right?"

I could tell Carlton was remembering.

"Now I press your knuckles to my chest, being careful to keep your arm rotated. My fingers are wrapped around your hand, to keep the tension on... . My thumb's still applying pressure... and now I—"

"Nooooo," moaned Carlton, dropping to his knees as I applied counterpressure with my left hand on his upper arm and then bent over from the waist.

"Remember the distress signal Marshall showed you last time?" I asked.

Carlton shook his head, deeply involved with his pain.

"Slap your thigh with your free hand."

He lost no time slapping, and I let go instantly.

He looked up at me, his brown eyes wide in a pleading spaniel look that I suppose had been very effective on other women.

"That really hurt," he said after a significant pause.

"We don't apologize, Carlton," I said gently. "I taught you something. We all get hurt."

Carlton stood up, shook himself. He was having a little struggle with pride; his sensible side won.

"Well, here I am, learning," he said ruefully. "So I assume, to show you I learned it correctly, I get to do it to you?"

I reached out and grabbed his T-shirt.

I had to talk Carlton through the steps of hurting me enough for it to count. "Sorry, I don't have to go down... . Twist my hand a little more... . Now go slow. You really don't want to break my arm. Wait for a real fight for that... . Raphael, what is Carlton doing wrong?"

"He's not keeping you close enough," diagnosed Raphael.

"Okay, Carlton, you're backing off, which means I can get free, or I can at least kick you and make you let go. ..." To demonstrate, I lashed out with my foot suddenly, but I pulled back in time just to tap Carlton's groin.

With a gasp, Carlton let go.

"We'll practice later," I said. "You might feel better doing this with Raphael or one of the other guys, because most men get so anxious about hurting a woman partner that they don't give it their best shot."

"That bother you?" he asked.

"It used to. Now I think that in the real world, it would work to my advantage, and since women don't have men's upper-body strength, I need all the edge I can get." I eyed Carlton with my own curiosity. "Why'd you really start coming?"

"I wanted to see what you were so gung ho about. Three nights a week, for years... never missing, always on time. I thought it must be something that was a lot of fun."

"It is," I said, surprised that it could be seen differently.

"The fun is not apparent yet," Carlton said. I hadn't known his voice could be so dry.

"Oh, it will be. You just have to learn a little, and it won't be so confusing." Marshall was about to begin class, so I went to my place in line. I wasn't convinced that Carlton found me of such overwhelming interest that he felt like following my schedule, especially after our little exchange at my house earlier in the week.

"Kiotske!" Marshall called, and the class came to attention.

At water-break time, after calisthenics, Marshall drifted over to me. I could tell he was aiming for me, I was aware every minute of what he was doing as he said a word to this student or that. I was excited by his nearness, but I had not the slightest idea what to say to him.

"Did you hear anything else about what happened to Thea?" I asked after we'd given each other a little nod of greeting.

"No. The police said fingerprinting the doors didn't bring up anything unusual, and none of her neighbors saw anything. That little house has a grown-up backyard, so that's not too surprising. At least the rat was probably just caught in a trap, not tortured or anything."

"Was she very shook-up?"

Marshall's expression was peculiar. "Thea's pretty emotional," he said.

I wondered if Thea had pleaded with him to come home for her protection, a thought I found distasteful. I didn't want to set foot in the situation between Marshall and Thea. But of course if you have sex with a man, I told myself wryly, you're part of the situation between him and his wife automatically.

As I practiced buntai with Janet Shook, the only other woman who consistently came to class, it occurred to me that the hideous practical joke played on me at the Drinkwaters' might be related to the equally hideous prank played on Thea. Was someone else so enamored of Marshall that she was doing horrible things to women she perceived as being involved with him?

As much as the thought made my skin crawl, it at least made some kind of sense out of an otherwise-bewildering incident.

"Lily!" Marshall called. Janet and I stopped our striking-and-blocking practice, and I bowed to Janet briefly before running over to Marshall. He was standing with Carlton, and he looked a little exasperated. "You're a good teacher, Lily. Carlton and I are not—we're not meshing gears on star drill, and I need to help Davis on his kata. Could you ..."

"Sure," I said. Marshall patted my shoulder and moved on to Davis, a weedy twentyish man who sold insurance.

"Sorry you're stuck with me," Carlton said, though he didn't look particularly sorry.

"What part of this exercise are you having trouble with?"

"The whole thing."

I sighed, not too quietly.

"Okay, specifically, I'm having trouble remembering the sequence."

"All right. Get in shiko dachi... . No, turn your feet out... . Now squat some more."

Carlton moaned.

I dropped into position facing him. "Now, you face that way," I told him, pointing to my right, "and I'll face this way... . No, keep your hips in position; just turn the upper torso. ..."

"Explain to me again why we're whacking our arm bones together," Carlton said pathetically.

"To make them tougher. So we don't feel as much pain when we fight."

"We go through it now so we don't feel it later?"

"Ah... right. Now, forearms down, up ... switch sides! Forearms down, up, switch!"

"So," he puffed after a few more seconds, "what would you do right now if I leaned over and kissed you on the neck?"

"Well, you're standing in a position that leaves your genitals wide open. So I'd probably strike you seiken—that is, with a powerful jab, in the groin, and then when you doubled over, I'd get you with an elbow to the back of the neck, and when you were all the way on the floor, I'd kick you repeatedly."