Chapter 10: Ping Ling

Sensei Itsuki showed no compassion for my plight. I could almost swear that he even took some devilish delight in his torture as he resumed teaching me how to fall. After about thirty minutes, he finally took pity on me and sitting beside me on the mat, began to talk of the spiritual side of what we were doing. I must say that it was beginning to make sense.

Then he began to demonstrate what he called forms, or katas before finally having me try to duplicate his moves.

“From now on, Alex, we will begin each session with these. You will arrive here tomorrow at six-thirty and begin,” he instructed as he handed me another bottled water. “Rest and drink plenty of water.” Then he bowed and disappeared back into the pagoda.

When I got back to the house, I had to ask someone where my room was. There, I showered and shaved and pulled out my last pair of clean jeans from my bag. As I looked around for a shirt, I happened to glance in the closet. It was full of clothes. I recognized the clothes I had worn yesterday when I jumped in the lake. They were now cleaned and pressed and on hangers alongside many more. I selected a white shirt with dark grey slacks. When I slipped them on, I was pleased to see they fit me exactly. But I was surprised when I noticed the monogrammed initials on the cuffs of the shirt. I found shoes that fit along with socks and a belt. Placing my thin wallet in my back pocket, I felt kind of spiffy as I made my way back downstairs.

Breakfast this morning was in the atrium, at a round patio table surrounded by all the lush greenery. I suspected it had gotten too cold for the outdoor patio this morning.

Cynthiana was there, along with another young woman and so I asked if I might join them.

“Where did you learn such manners, Alex?” Cynthiana asked when I sat down.

“My parents were big on them when I was growing up,” I explained.

“I’ll have to thank them when I see them,” she replied. “Alex, this is Ingrid. She is my nutritionist.”

“Ingrid, this is Alex. He is the young man I am grooming to take my place one day. Would you help me see that he lives to do so?”

And so began my next odyssey. I guessed that Ingrid was mid-to-late twenties, with dark blonde hair that she wore in a bun on the back of her head, and the longest, sexiest neck I had ever seen. She was slender and had a complexion that was flawless. She simply radiated wholesome vitality.

We talked for almost two hours while she gathered background on my habits concerning eating, lifestyle, and exercise. I discovered that she had several degrees in the health sciences, including a PhD from the University of Munich. I also discovered that she was thirty-eight years old, married to a Swiss banker (naturally) and had a ten-year-old son. And she had been Cynthiana’s nutritionist for twelve years.

“I’ll review this and get back to you on Friday,” she said as she stood and gathered up her notes. “You seem to have a fairly healthy diet but we need to substitute the processed foods with a better selection of fruits and green vegetables. And cut out the potato chips and sugared drinks,” she said.

“Thank you for your time, Ingrid. I’ll look forward to seeing you on Friday,” I said as I saw her to the door. Then I wandered back through the house, searching for Cynthiana’s office. I found her speaking with a distinguished looking gentleman dressed in what I thought was formal attire. I don’t know fashion very well, but it looked formal to me.

“Oh, Alex. There you are. Did you finish with Ingrid?” she asked.

“Until Friday,” I replied.

“Then let me present you to Herr Schröder. He is from a long and distinguished line of financiers. Our families have worked together for almost two hundred years,”

“Herr Schröder, this is the young man I have selected to take my place one day,” she said.

“It is an honor, sir,” I told him.

“I’d say the honor is mine to meet the young man Cynthiana has finally chosen,” he said pleasantly.

Cynthiana went on to tell me how they had worked together and what that portended for my future as the heir to her position within the foundation. It sounded complex with lots of history, but they both assured me I would understand in time. I think I liked this guy. He talked neither up to me or down at me.

Herr Schröder had me sign a couple of documents and said they would have me a Foundation credit card soon, and then he bid us goodbye. After he left, a thought occurred to me and so I asked.

“Cynthiana, does my family know what is happening to me?” I asked.

“Unless Roland or Carina have said something, I believe that they are unaware of my decision at this time. We’ll sit down and discuss it with them when they get here,” she said. “Now why don’t you head to the kitchen and get yourself a bite to eat. Your next appointment will be here at one o’clock.”

The clock on the wall said it was ten minutes until twelve, so I took off to find the kitchen. Isabella was in the atrium and said she would show me the way.

When Cynthiana said to get myself some lunch, I assumed she meant for me to fix myself a sandwich. After all, that’s what I would have done had I been at home. But no, what that meant here was that Isabella and I were shown to a small table in front of a big window in a room next to the kitchen and lunch was served by a young lady in a starched maids uniform. The table was spread with a white tablecloth and held a full complement of utensils, cutlery, china, and crystal.

As we enjoyed our salads, Isabella asked me what I had done to her sister.

“I’ve told you before that a gentleman doesn’t discuss things of that nature,” I told her. “If you must know, ask Sofía.”

“But I can’t,” she whined. “She’s still in bed!”

“You can’t what because who’s still in bed?” said a sleepy Sofía from the doorway as she sat down on my lap. Then placing her hand over mine she smiled.

“Oh, gawd! Not my sister too!” she whined again.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “And Sofía? Would you see about borrowing that young lady’s uniform sometime? You see, I have this fantasy...”

It’s a good thing I was finished because I had to run for my life.

My one o’clock was a proctor. Never heard his name. I was sent with him to an unused office and then given a quick review of the rules and a time limit. Then he handed me two pencils and placed a booklet on the desk in front of me and said simply, “Begin.”

As I completed each booklet (or ran out of time) another was placed in front of me. Finally, as I was completing the fourth booklet, he said, “Time. Pencil down.” Then he gathered up the four booklets and his stuff, put them in his briefcase and left the room. The clock on the wall said four-thirty. My bladder said it was full. So I went in search of a bathroom.

“There you are,” Isabella said when she found me wandering back to the atrium. One thing about the way this house was built, everything eventually led back here. “Here’s your coat. We’re late!”

I didn’t ask, I just followed her out the front door and around to a multicar garage. She hopped behind the wheel of a late model four-door BMW and started it up. “C’mon. Get in.”

Then she wheeled us out on the street headed away from town. We only drove two blocks before she turned left into a small shopping center. When she got out, I looked at her incredulously. “We could have walked here faster!”

“Quit your bellyaching and come on,” she said as she lead me in the door to what looked like a beauty parlor.

I was the only guy in the place. Isabella went over and spoke with an older woman and then turned to me. “Alex, this is Berniece and she’s going to fix your hair.”

I started to object and then thought better of it. I knew that it had gotten pretty shaggy in the last couple of months. So I hopped up in the chair and closed my eyes to better ignore them as Isabella and Berniece began running their fingers through my hair and discussing (in French) what she was going to do to me.